Perhaps, he could indulge...
His lips parted. Desperate. Starved.
...and leave her alive?
He trailed down, his lips grazing over her soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, as they sought out that sweet spot.
The study was quiet save for the faint rustle of paper. It had been that way for hours. Y/n eagerly note-taking at first, scribbling away, jotting ideas down in a notebook with speed and certainty. But now? Now she just read, marking passages with sticky tabs like colour-coded breadcrumbs for her future self to follow. A better rested future self, as the sun had long since set. Not that she’d noticed. Apart from the dim glow of the candelabra above, a half-melted candle rested on the oak table. It painted her focused features with warmth, an image that clashed with the chill of the stone walls. The flickering flames, the only thing pushing back the dark, were a small courtesy left behind by Demetri—her handler—who had both come and gone… at some point. Another thing she’d missed, too wrapped up thumbing through the dense grimoire. Dedication. It blinds you.
Slowly, the unnatural mist seeped in. Unnoticed, it crept through the gaps around the closed door and pooled along the edges of the chamber. As if seizing its prey, it hovered, waiting, its edges undulating slightly. Then, as if by sudden command it pounced with purpose, enveloping y/n in a shroud of nothingness. Her breathing slowed, her body relaxed, and her fingers froze mid-turn of the page. Her mind now a blank slate as all senses; sound, sight, touch, even the sense of self, were stolen from her.
Swift turn of the handle brought the groaning door to open. It wasn't intention but rather compulsion that made him pause. Her scent, rich and layered, swirled around the chamber thicker than the mist he fabricated. He didn’t remember it being like this before. It did something to him. Standing on the threshold, he took another breath. An unnecessarily deep one. A flicker of dark curiosity stirred in his chest. It drew him in.
Having pushed the door back to a close Alec moved through the stillness, his footsteps soundless as he approached. The faint crimson glow of his eyes caught the candlelight for a brief moment before he stopped just behind her, grasping the wooden chair from both sides.
His gaze swept over her, clinical and calculating. She sat perfectly still, her posture loose leaning left, chin resting on the palm of her hand. With a tilt of his head, he moved her hair aside. Smooth, unblemished, strikingly fragile—
No.
Still, the thought of sinking his teeth into that unbroken skin flashed in his mind. The promise of warmth, vitality, and possibly something more. Quickly his eye located it. The faint thrum of her pulse at the jugular, steady and unguarded. The wood creaked under his grasp, frame trembling. Transfixed he lingered, venom pooling in his mouth, the predator inside him pacing restlessly.
Would Aro really mind?
Stepping to her side with inhuman speed, he leaned in, his cold breath brushing up against her neck. So deliciously warm. And the smell— Oh God, the smell— his eyes might have rolled back before a low growl reverberated from deep within him.
Panting now, each inhale a gust of bellows stoking the embers, the fire, the inferno that raged, laying waste to his throat.
This isn't what he came here for... Why did he come here?... He shouldn’t… But the way she sat, her neck inclined to him like an invitation.
His hand cupped the back of her head, just to keep her steady, as he inched closer until his nose pressed firmly to her jawline.
Would— Could anyone blame him?
Actually touching now he could feel the incredible warmth, heat really, almost scorching it seemed. Also the rhythmic vibrations of her pulse... Thump, Thump, Thump, ... crashing against his skin like waves against a rocky cliff. Oh, the beast no longer paced in its cage. It thrashed.
Perhaps, he could indulge...
His lips parted. Desperate. Starved.
...and leave her alive?
He trailed down, his lips grazing over her soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, as they sought out that sweet spot.
THUMP… THUMP…THUMP
He was almost there, the pulse becoming louder. He opened wider, baring his teeth. The beast rejoiced, almost free off its shackles, when suddenly— he paused, exhaling sharply.
Unbelievable.
He was certain he pushed back all her hair earlier.
His fingers entered his mouth to extract the interruptor, while he pulled away just enough to view her entire face.
And there it was.
Before him, a thick strand of hair. Now catching the candlelight as it curled against her cheek.
He observed it with narrowed eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, he reached out, his cold fingers ghosting over her temple as he quickly tucked the stupid strand back. There was no affection in the gesture, only precision—a need to see her fully, unobstructed.
But he didn’t move further. The moment broke, leaving the beast dejected and subdued. His mind lucid, the Volturi's newest rules rang clear. Y/n was not to be harmed—not yet, at least.
His jaw tightened, as he straightened with some effort. Even now, completely unaware and at his mercy... hmph
Crossing his arms his focus fell on her lips. Though her face was completely neutral and her eyes half-lidded, still lost in the abyss thanks to his gift, to him— she smiled. Laughed even. Though he never heard her laugh, did he? Still, mockery is mockery, he could imagine it all the same. Aimed at him though, that was new.
Her mismatched eyes drew his full attention next. One (e/c), warm and curious; the other (e/c), sharp and reflective. Odd. Not unpleasing, but strange. Even in stillness, they seemed to hold secrets. Secrets that irritated and intrigued him in equal measure. He could almost 'see' her staring him down now; just like before in the library, like she would now if— Well, if it weren't for the current circumstances. His near invisible mist continued to swirl around her closely, rendering her senseless. And was that disappointing? The vacancy? The lack of defiance in those eyes?
His focus suddenly shifted to the door.
Satisfied, or perhaps frustrated, he stepped back. His gaze lingered on her for a final moment before he turned to leave, slipping away into the shadows outside. Obeying its master, the mist began to retract, curling away from her body and dissipated after him.
Y/n blinked, her fingers twitching as life returned to her limbs. She glanced at the page in front of her, frowning slightly as though unsure how long she’d been staring at it.
“Guess I zoned out,” she murmured, rubbing her neck.
She shook her head, returning her attention to the research, unaware of the eyes that had watched her, the lips that had almost lingered too long, and the mist that had turned her world into silence.
anonymous asked: Can I request a oneshot or Drabble of Mc sitting in beels sweater and then he loses it n ends up cockwarming them cuz they’re so cute? >\\< ily -🌸
oooOOOOOOO an anon after my own heart!!!! love cockwarming, just so intimate!! this one is on the softer side, but still nsfw for obvious reasons
also i changed the title from 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 cuz i realized that anyone who saw a notification on my phone would know that i’m actually secretly a hoe!
“Baby.”
The sound comes in a low hum, reverberating through the chest that your head rests on. You snuggle in closer, hands trailing the warm skin underneath you. For a few beats, all you can hear is the two of you breathing, and the lift of his chest every time he takes in air.
“Cupcake...”
He sounds a bit more imploring now. The arm that had been holding you against him loosens a bit, and you whine, gripping him tighter. Above your head, you can hear a low chuckle, and you tilt your head up. His hair is a mess still, thanks to your hands tugging and carding through the roots, but it’s the blush on his face that captures your attention more than anything else. The highs of his cheeks are still a pretty pink colour, dyed by exertion, and your heart swells. Beelzebub leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
And then you hear, and feel, a loud grumble from his stomach.
“Dumpling, I really love you, but…” Beelzebub trails off, looking abashed as he smiles shyly. As much as you hate the thought of letting go of him and losing your heat source -- your room is so cold, why is it always so cold? -- you know he can’t help it. Laughing quietly, you slowly slide yourself off of him, already missing his presence despite him not even leaving your bed yet.
“No worries. Can you bring me back something too?” You hum at his grin, and can’t help but smile back. Beelzebub crawls out from under your bed covers and walks over to the other side of your room, searching for the boxers he has discarded early on in the night. Whistling as he bends over to grab them off of the floor, you bury your bare body further under your blankets. The bed is already cooling down without his heat. Beelzebub laughs softly, shaking his head before making his way to the door.
“Of course. I’ll be right back,” he smiles, shutting the door behind him quietly. Everything is too quiet now, without his breaths, without his heartbeat against your ear. Especially after the extended intimacy of the night, you’re desperate to fill yourself to the brim with him once more, craving the touch of his skin. Not only that, but his body heat as well. Even for a demon, who naturally have higher body temperatures than humans, Beel runs hot; it proves extremely beneficial, especially because the House is always kept so damn cold. What that also means, though, is that at times like this, you’re left even colder than you’d started.
Soon enough, however, your saviour comes into view. While you much prefer to have Beelzebub at your side, his sweater will do. You’ve always loved the sweater; it looks so good on him, and is worn down just enough so that it became one of the comfiest things that you’ve ever worn. It’s also big, even on him. What this means was that when you put it on, you can practically swim in the soft fabric. You don’t get to wear it often, as it’s his favourite and therefore always on his body, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to pass up this chance. Psyching yourself up for a moment, you prepare to bear the cold air with no protection from your blankets. Okay… okay.
First, you decide to slowly peel the sheets out from under you. Nope! Nope. Bad idea. That draws it out and makes it worse, and already your nipples are getting hard from the chill. Okay, no… gotta do it like a bandaid.
Damn it all.
Quickly, you pull the blankets from your body. The movement causes cold air to fan against your body and you curse, but manage to waddle as fast as you can towards the sweater, despite the initial shaking in your knees when you climbed off of your mattress. Beelzebub is always kind to you in bed, and the soreness is a delicious reminder of what just occurred, but it still inhibits your ability to move very fast. Nevertheless, you manage to lift his sweater off of the table in your room, where it had been thrown haphazardly, and tug it on. It’s cold from being left alone for so long, but the scent that fills your nose makes up for it tenfold. Pushing the sleeves up so that they bunch at your wrist, you zip up the sweater, and once again find yourself completely surrounded by comfort. For a moment you stand there, relishing the feeling, but it doesn’t take long for you to notice the chill air on your legs causing goosebumps, and you sigh. Now just to make your way back to bed, and…
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed all of it.”
You can hear the smile on Beelzebub’s face through his voice, and can’t help but smile back. Turning around to face the door, you see a stack of various snacks, some with bites taken out of them already, completely hiding your boyfriend’s face. Beel walks over to the table in your room and sets the snacks down, before casting his gaze on you.
“Do you want some of…” His voice quiets to a murmur and you tilt your head, walking up to him. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach Beel pulls you in, holding you close against his body. Already, against your leg, you can feel something semi-hard prodding your thigh.
“Beel?’
“Sorry,” he mutters into your shoulder, arms tightening around your waist. “I was thinking about you the whole time I was in the kitchen, thinking about what we did.”
His voice takes on the low tone that he only ever uses in bed, and once again your legs shake. You’re not sure how much more you can take.
“You’re insatiable,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t know how much more I can handle, though. We’ve already done it more than usual.” Your reply is honest, and even though Beel tries to hide it, you can feel him deflate a bit. To make up for it, you squeeze him for a moment. He’s quiet, thoughtful.
“Could I just be inside you? Wanna be close. You’re too cute.”
Your heart pounds at the thought, and you take a few moments to consider. There’s no harm, right? And with little Beel poking at your leg, growing bigger by the second… who are you to say no?
“Alright. Yeah, okay. That sounds g-- ah!” Breathe evades you for a moment as Beelzebub lifts you without a second thought, carrying you in his arms. He takes a step towards the bed, hesitates a few moments, then grabs a few snacks from the table to place on your nightstand. Despite how exhausted you are, your body responds to the thought of him being inside you once again, twitching subtly. You’re still… prepared. He’d wiped you down afterwards, but that doesn’t change the fact that he came in you almost every time, leaving your insides wet and weeping. Even now, he can just slip in and not be met with any resistance, and the thought itself is delectable.
Ever so gently he places you on the bed, and you roll to your side. He tugs off his boxers before making his way into bed behind you. Already, you can see he’s fully hard, and it takes all you have not to bite your lip at the thought. He’s so fucking big. Maybe you’re up for one more round?
The ache in your body as he pulls you closer says otherwise, however, and you sigh. This might be enough, then.
“You’re so cute,” Beel murmurs against the back of your head, one arm slipping its way under his… no, your sweater, to wrap around your waist. The other, you feel, is positioning his tip against your entrance, and you find yourself clenching around nothing in anticipation. You can hear Beel lick his lips.
Your body shivers.
“So adorable,” he murmurs half-mindedly, pushing in the tip agonizingly slowly. A shaky breath finds its way into your lungs, and you slip your arm under the sweater, placing it over his and squeezing gently with your hand. He hums.
“I love seeing you in my clothes, did you know that? Makes you look so small and cute.”
He pushes in another inch and, as you expected, is met with no resistance. The multiple rounds before had prepared you well. “And makes you smell like me.”
You can feel him smile against the back of your head as he tightens his grip on you momentarily. His hips stutter, and he swallows hard.
“And makes me smell like you, too. Afterwards, I mean. When you give it back.”
This is something you’ll always appreciate about Beelzebub. Despite knowing you’re more than ready to take him quickly, he makes sure to go slow, lifting his head to check your expression to ensure you weren’t in any pain. When he notices your furrowed brows he worries, but the flush of your cheeks and redness of your bottom lip tells him otherwise, and he leans down to press a kiss to the shell of your ear.
Finally, he’s fully seated inside you. You sigh, almost grateful that he doesn’t have to move anymore, and allow your body to fully relax. Now, you can fully appreciate the feeling of him inside you, how big he is. Beelzebub presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and you feel him move his lips to speak a few moments before any sound comes out.
“... Are you sure you can’t go another round, Muffin?”
You laugh, and the feeling causes him to shudder. As much as you’d like to… you’re tired. Your body aches and your eyelids are so heavy it’s hard to keep them open. Without you answering, Beel knows. You reply anyways.
a/n: im SO SO sorry this took so long and i hope u like it even a little and that it makes u smile thank u for being so patient ily!! ily!!! reminder im always here for u!!
In which you find that time is meaningless when Joochan is not by your side.
~
wonderboy.
-
Sometimes, you speculate whether Joochan has some kind of genius for finding you as soon as the school bell rings, signalling the end of another day.
Today, he surprises you behind the auditorium where you lean against a maple tree, hugging your bag to your chest, because you’ve skipped your last period (Introduction to Psychology) in favor of lying on the grass so you can watch the clouds in peace. And Joochan smiles a fond, fond smile because you have that look on your face again that you only get when you’re lost in thought.
“Missed me?”
You tense from shock before relaxing at the sight of your boyfriend who widens his arms so you can walk right into them.
“How’d you find me?” Your voice is muffled in the fabric of his vest and Joochan reaches up so he can play with the back of your collar.
“Just had a little hunch you might be here.” And this is the answer he always gives, accompanied with the same smug smile each time.
You pout even if Joochan can’t see it. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“Well now,” he says in an affected voice that sounds like the narrator from that National Geographic documentary on penguins the two of you watched last week, “I can’t afford to have you getting your hands on all my secrets, can I? I’ve got to keep some things to myself so that in ten year's time, you’ll still think I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe.”
It’s ridiculous, you think, how it’s nearly winter but the way you can feel the laughter that starts in his chest and electrifies you to your fingertips is more than capable of keeping you warm and making you feel like you’re really alive.
“Doesn’t matter if I find out all your secrets or not,” you mumble, “you’ll always be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe to me.”
From the courtyard around the corner, you can hear Jaehyun shouting a loud “Oi Joochan!”.
Joochan ignores him and instead casually pecks your cheek with a kiss that feels like a blessing. “Always?”
You tilt your head as though unsure. "Well… for at least fifty years, probably.”
“Fifty?!” Joochan echoes in mock outrage, and you playfully poke his side to which he flinches slightly.
“I was lying. I meant for all of time ever.”
And despite him doing his best to hide it, your boyfriend melts instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck where he’s probably smiling his brilliant smile that feels like the sun against your skin.
Jaehyun’s voice interrupts the peace and quiet once again with a noticeably louder and more panicked tone.
“Hong Joochan! We’re going to be late for soccer practice!”
Joochan groans exaggeratedly and you can’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “Wish I didn’t have to go to stupid practice,” he grumbles.
“You know, I’ll wait for you in the library until you’re done,” you offer and Joochan perks up - if only slightly because your arms still feel like heaven after years of loving you, and two hours of kicking a ball around (while Donghyun and Jibeom brainstorm inventive ways to trip each other up, much to Coach Lee’s chagrin) just can’t compete. He tells you as much in the way his arms tighten around you.
“You’re the best,” Joochan declares suddenly, “I might be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe, but you’re the best.”
You snort. “Go to practice already before Jaehyun starts going spare, wonderboy.”
Joochan kisses your forehead one last time before he detaches himself from you with a dejected sigh and picks up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder despite your protests. “Walk with me to the oval?”
You slip your hand into his hand only to find it a perfect fit and wonder briefly if there is anywhere in this world you would not walk to with Hong Joochan, the boy who has a smile like sunlight and a personality like a billion shooting stars.
“Of course.”
*
fm.
-
There is the occasional moment in which you wish that your boyfriend wasn’t so exceedingly talented in nearly every field he tries his hand at, because the various extracurriculars that Joochan (being the naturally energetic and enthusiastic person he is) involves himself with have an awful way of making tremendous demands on his time towards the end of the semester.
Right now is one of those moments when Joochan trudges into your room and dives face first onto your bed without even bothering to shake his coat off. “So what was it today?” you ask in a voice that betrays your concern and Joochan can’t help but smile at it.
“Theatre rehearsal,” he yawns, “then string quartet practice. Also an hour of soccer drills with some of the boys. Even though it’s a Saturday.”
You get up from your chair at the desk so you can sit on the bed where Joochan immediately moves his head onto your lap, lifting your hand and resting it on his hair. You absentmindedly start stroking it, staring out the window at a soft grey sky.
“Did you eat?”
Joochan shakes his head. “No time. My dumb E string broke again so I barely managed to have half an apple before we went straight into a new Mozart piece today. Think we might perform it at the next concert. You’d come, right?” And he asks that in a self-assured tone, because he already knows what your answer is going to be.
You give it to him anyway because there’s no point in hiding your blatant admiration for all that he does. “No matter what.”
“And just to see me, right?”
You fake a pause that has Joochan peering up at you suspiciously.
“You do know I have friends who aren’t you that are participating in the concert, right? Like Jangjun and Sungyoon?”
Joochan scowls. “But none of those hooligans are your boyfriend, who - in case you forgot but I do know you’d never - is me.”
“That’s quite true,” you concede before leaning down to kiss his cheek with a smile that makes Joochan’s stomach fill with butterflies which are probably colored pink and green and blue. It never gets old, he thinks: your talent for turning his world upside down in a look or a word or an action. And you don’t even know you’re doing it most of the time.
“Mean,” he accuses but in a half-hearted manner and your smile only widens because you know that Joochan is supremely happy despite his exhaustion, if the way his brow has smoothed completely and he has started drawing little stars on your knee is anything to go by.
There’s a gentle lull in the conversation while you continue to run your fingers through Joochan’s hair, and especially his fringe. It’s almost as though time has passed you by, leaving you together in your own little reality where things like hazy futures and big concerts and broken violin strings do not dare draw near.
“Wanna order something later on for dinner?” you ask quietly.
“Maybe,” he grins through closed eyes, “but nap first.”
Your radio continues to run, and you drift in and out of listening to the DJ duo while watching the rain finally fall outside.
“It’s been pretty cold recently, hasn’t it?” one of the DJs opens the conversation after a small stream of ads.
“Sure has, pal. And speaking of the cold, apparently our first snow of the season is scheduled for next week Friday!”
“So do you have any plans lined up with a special someone?”
“Just had to remind me of how single I am, didn’t you”- rambunctious peals of laughter crackle from the speakers - “but maybe some of our lovely listeners will send in their plans for next Friday.”
“I sure did - and wow, they’re already pouring in! Do you wanna read one out?”
“Let’s see… Listener ha_miii_ran says: ‘I’m planning on confessing to my crush of two years. I’m pretty nervous about this so I’m hoping the two of you will wish me luck!’ All the best of luck to you, Ha Miran-nim, from the both of us. I don’t know how you’re planning on it, but hopefully the first snow will act as a good luck charm for you!”
“Yeah, good luck Ha Miran-nim!” the other DJ chimes in. “Be sure to update us on how it goes!”
“Well, we’ll be back with some more stories after this excerpt from a famous piano concerto - maybe some of our more classically-inclined audience will recognise its globally renowned composer.”
A beautiful melody begins to play and you’re on the cusp of losing yourself in the music when you are most abruptly interrupted by a sleepy, but decisive, “Gershwin.”
You blink down at Joochan. “What?”
“It’s Gershwin. The composer. Don't you think your boyfriend's clever for knowing that?"
“I thought my boyfriend was asleep, actually,” and you narrow your eyes.
“I was,” Joochan protests, “I only woke up when they were talking about the snow or something. And then they talked about that person who’s confessing to their crush of two years - got me thinking about how I can relate because I vividly remember having a crush on you for at least three before I could muster up the courage to confess. Which ended up working out for the best, you know,” he adds in a thoughtful tone, “but sometimes I’d get so nervous just thinking about it that I couldn’t sleep at all. Anyways, I’m really hungry now, so can we order something soon please?”
Maybe it’s the way he so nonchalantly wears his heart for you on his sleeve, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you as though you have strung the Milky Way itself together and made a gift of it to him. Maybe it’s the way you simply realize that you might not be able to live with yourself if you were to lose your boyfriend, ever. But for whatever reason it is, a thousand smiles bloom in your heart and you lean down to give Joochan a kiss that hopefully tastes like everything you cannot possibly put into words.
“Anything you want,” you whisper, and Joochan draws a heart on your knee in response.
*
enchanted.
-
You’re outside the auditorium again but in front of it, this time, and not behind. The post-concert hubbub has died down, mostly owing to the fact that much of the audience has left already whether it’s to a late congratulatory supper or down to the boardwalk where fireworks are scheduled to go off at midnight. The bouquet of lily of the valleys in your hand trembles slightly as you use your other hand to fumble around for your ringing phone.
“Hello?”
“You’re waiting outside, right?” Joochan asks.
“Yeah, I am.”
“See, Donghyun, I told you I was right about - wait. Wait! Don't move!”
And then you have less than two seconds to process exactly what is happening before your boyfriend catches you up in a running embrace that sends the world spinning in a flurry of snow and stars and kisses that Joochan plants all over your cheeks. He remains blissfully unaware that somewhere in the vicinity, Donghyun has started making gagging sounds at your very public display of affection, punctuated by Jaehyun’s giggling. (You pay them no mind.)
“Did you enjoy the concert?” he asks, fond expectation twinkling in his eyes.
You nod too much. “You were incredible,” you tell him honestly, and Joochan beams.
“I was, wasn’t I?” he says in a satisfied voice as he pulls you closer. “Guess all those hours of practice paid off.”
“It’s almost like that’s the whole point of practicing,” you tease.
“It’s lucky you’re cute and I’m hopelessly in love with you,” Joochan crinkles his nose in contrived distaste for your little jab before hugging you again so he can hear you whisper just how proud you are of him, right into his ear.
And the two of you stay like that for a little before you remember the gift you brought with you.
“For me?” And the look in his eyes reminds you of how he looked at you when you first told him that you loved him too - or maybe of every time you’ve told him that you love him too.
“Who else?”
He snaps up the bouquet, pressing it against his nose and inhaling deeply with a smile. "This is a nice surprise."
"They mean 'return to happiness'," you say, gently touching a little white bloom that looks like a star against the backdrop of Joochan's black school blazer. "Thought it was cute. And the florist was sold out of roses anyway."
Joochan laughs with the warmth of a thousand sunbeams and puts your hand in his so he can start gently tugging you away.
“But your violin”- you begin protesting.
“But nothing,” he shushes you as the school gets smaller and smaller behind you in the distance. “I don’t even want to see that thing for a week. Hey, and guess what - I found a secret place for just you and me so we can watch the fireworks without being pressed up against everyone else like sardines in a tin can.”
“You and I are going to watch the fireworks?” you echo, surprise colouring your voice.
Joochan’s exhale turns into a giggle. “Who else?” And you dig an elbow into his side, hiding a smile at his antics.
The two of you stroll down quiet streets and you lean into your boyfriend’s comforting warmth. Most shops are closed with the exception of some fast food chains and convenience stores, but you notice almost none of them now as Joochan picks up the pace, his excitement bleeding into the quiet song he sings that floats up in the air and is lost somewhere in the stars above.
“Here we are,” says Joochan proudly and he helps you up into the little gazebo at the top of the hill you hadn’t realized you were climbing. “Take this,” he adds as he tosses you a torch that brightly illuminates the space you’re in as soon as you switch it on. You turn to the rustling sounds on your left, finally seeing the wooden bench that Joochan is busy spreading a rug over.
“You planned this beforehand?” And there’s a note of wonder in your voice - the same kind that only Joochan ever seems to be able to evoke. “I thought we were going straight home.”
He gestures for you to sit next to him with a charming smile and you do so immediately. “Told you I can’t give up all the secrecy. Not yet.” Or, he thinks privately to himself, not when you look at him like that.
The golden light from the torch casts long shadows over the grass and gives Joochan’s face a nearly ethereal glow that reminds you of summer sunsets despite the cold. You slip into a soft and easy silence - one that comes from memories built upon memories, resulting in a code made up of gazes and touch that only the two of you will ever understand. And so when he squeezes your hand gently, you instantly open your arms for him to sink right into.
There’s only a few minutes left until midnight when you finally speak.
“Joochan,” you murmur.
“Mm?”
“You ever think about where we’ll be this time next year?”
Joochan shifts his posture slightly. “Often, actually. Especially when I go to sleep at night and think about tomorrow - then I’ll wonder if it’ll even remotely go the way I want it to.”
“And how do you usually want it to go?” you ask.
“Someone has a lot of questions today,” Joochan remarks with a droll look on his face that makes you laugh briefly before his expression sobers. “But usually I want it to go safely. You know? Everything in its proper place and things like that. And more importantly, I want to know all the time that I’ll be able to see you.”
You’re silent for a moment, looking out over the view of the city. If you squint, you can just make out the boardwalk by the beach and the crowds of people who have gathered there, young and old alike. “I’m scared sometimes.”
Joochan frowns. “Scared of what? I’ll fight it off for you,” and he waves a threatening fist at nothing in particular.
“The future, I guess. It sounds silly but… sometimes I don’t know if we’ll always be okay. Like this, the way things are right now. Whether it’s tomorrow or next year or even after that.” Your voice fades in volume until it’s nearly lost against the threads of your scarf, and Joochan’s heart breaks a little when he hears it: the genuine uncertainty and timid fear that seeps past the smile you give him in an effort to hide it.
“Why do you think we might not be okay?”
You look down at your feet, almost embarrassed by your own honesty. “Well, people… change, Joo. They move places, and have goals to achieve and dreams to chase down. And we’re not immune to that either.”
It’s Joochan’s turn to be silent for a bit as he mulls over your words before he straightens in your hold, turning his face towards you so he can affectionately bump his nose against yours. “You’re right,” he says in a voice that mirrors your sadness, “and it would be a lie to say I don’t think about the same things you do. But”- and he leans in to give you a quick kiss that’s shaped like a smile - “it’d also be a lie to say that every dream doesn’t feature you in it. Because every dream of mine that I’ve ever had places you centre stage.”
He kisses you again, a little longer - a little more wistfully.
“You see, the real problem here is that you have me perpetually thinking that I can’t do any of this without you,” he says simply. “Whether it’s late night phone calls or early morning messages; or maybe we’ll find ourselves having to book flights for each other, holding bags full of gifts that remind us of us. And maybe it’ll be hard and maybe I’ll wake up some days, knowing I won’t be able to see you. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be okay.”
You swallow and Joochan watches you carefully, the urgency in his eyes prompting him to lift your chin so you can see it too.
“Even if we change,” he continues in a whisper, hoping you will understand the heart in his words. “And we should. And we will, and we’ll still be okay. You believe me, don’t you? Seeing as I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe?”
Somewhere, midnight comes and goes and the fireworks start, dousing you and Joochan in bursts of coloured light.
“Of course I do,” you smile with eyes that glitter with tears of relief and he pulls you into a tight hug, so tight you can feel every movement of his rib cage as he breathes in and out.
For once, you do not feel that fear deep down that threatens to taint your time with the only boy you think you cannot live without. And so you unreservedly hold him in return, fingers running through his hair as he tells you that he loves you, over and over again.
*
up, up and away.
-
There had been a time during your childhood when your one greatest wish had been to go see the stars.
So your friend Joochan, in all his clumsy sincerity, had done his best to make you a rocket out of a box he’d found at home. He’d then brought it to your house after he’d finished it, blue marker staining his fingertips and glitter shaped like stars lost in his thick fringe.
The two of you had sat in it together and looked up at the moon, holding hands from childish innocence and recounting thrilling tales of adventures you’d never had. And before having to go home to bed that day, he’d made you a promise that present-day Joochan complains about not being able to fulfill.
“I know I said I’d take you to the stars,” Joochan sighs in displeasure from where he lies on your bed, right next to you, “but while your boyfriend is exceptionally talented, you do know I’m no astronaut, right?”
You hold his hand in response and look into his eyes that sparkle with mirth and deeper in, shine with a love that always gives you peace.
It may be that Joochan will never be able to keep his promise of taking you to space in a real, functioning rocket. But, as you drop a kiss on his mouth that soon widens into a brilliant smile, you can’t find it in yourself to really care.
After all, it’s hard to miss the stars when for you, they all start with Joochan and end with him.
-
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Mikasa's heavy eyelids slowly flutters open, her half gaze catching a seagull flying past the round window.
"You're awake."
She shifts slightly and remembers the presence next to her. Mikasa lifts her head from his shoulder and leans back on the wall "How long did i slept?"
"Long enough. It's fine, we're still far from Odiha." Levi answers, his tone groggy, as if he's only just woken up himself.
How long ago has she earned herself some good sleep? Months, maybe even years.
She's killed. Enemies, friends, sometimes she can't tell the difference. Someone like her doesn't deserve a good sleep.
"You lost the scarf."
She turns to him, the bandages obscured most of his face but she can see the heavy bag underneath his eye, and the way his eyebrow is pinching slightly. He's in pain.
He had to kill his own squad.
Levi looks at her from the corner of his eye. She faces away.
"I chose not to wear it."
Silence engulfs them. She thinks she would never get used to the sounds of the ocean.
She hears shuffles outside their door, they're almost arriving.
"I lost him a long time ago. we all did..but i didn't realize it sooner," She brings her legs to her chest "i was clinging to the hopes that he was still there."
"Maybe he is," his voice resonates her, "what will you do then?"
"I won't know until it happens." Her legs falls again, and she moves to leave the bed but his voice stops her.
"I know i should've said this a long time ago," she turns to him as he speaks, and they finally face each other.
"when all of this is over..come back to me."
He squeezes her hand that was intertwined with his since the beginning. She looks down.
Their hands lay in the middle.
Why hadn't she realized?
She smiles wistfully, Levi looks away. she might be crying, but she's afraid to find out.
She could feel it, deep within her. That feeling she thought she would never get to know again.
Hope.
A/N; i noticed their relationship has always been subtle but definitely there. I imagine this is how their conversation would go. Only brief words but lots of feelings involved. Levi would wait until the war is over before they could really talk, he doesn't say "Don't die." Because he trust that she'll survive. The scarf part is foreshadowing "I chose not to wear it" meant she had chosen and came to terms that Eren could never be. And Levi telling her to come back to him implies she still has something to fight for. At the end ,she still has him. They have each other.
It's a little silly. I had the worst time trying to write the opening paragraph for a chapter, but (after sitting on it for like two weeks) I got there in the end!
It's such a small thing, yet it feels really good. It feels good falling in love with the process and not just the final 'product'.
Suppose I'm also sharing this because I'm scared someone might accuse me of using a.i. due to my flagrant overuse of the majestic em dash.
You ARE bed (and so much more): Alec Volturi One-shot
Premise: Imagine the impossible, Alec Volturi no longer part of the Volturi. Instead of lurking in the shadows of stone-paved Volterra, he's now at a place unimaginable. Unfathomable. Something nobody could have possibly dreamed up. Then again, they do say life is stranger than fiction. If at all possible, picture this; a coven, yes, but not a simple vampire coven. No. A blended coven. One made up of vampires, witches, and… Well, whatever spawned whenever the two, you know.
The silence between them was peaceful, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the chirp of crickets. Agnes shifted slightly on the blanket, leaning back on her elbows as she glanced up at the tree overhead. The branches swayed gently, framing the already visible moon in the persimmon sky as it peeked through the canopy.
A short distance away, sat Alec, leaning against the tree eyes closed. He hasn't moved or spoken in a while. If she hadn't known better, she'd say that he was asleep.
She glanced at him and suppressed a sigh. What was this meant to be? Was this his idea of 'fun'?
Surely, this wasn't a case of non-feelings. The boy practically scoured the Earth to find her, after she escaped Volterra, no longer willing to work for the self-appointed, undead rulers— AND HE STAYED.
Was he trying to drive her mad? Because 'Aloof' didn't even begin to cover it. His actions screamed committment, yet his general disposition merely shrugged at her entire existence.
If this were a game of chess, then… Oh, forget it. Playing it his way would lead to nowhere. Clearly, like all the times before, if she wanted more then she'd have to be the one to take the leap.
Her lip curled as she peered at the sky. "This is nice,—"
"—but you know what would make it even nicer?" she asked, a mischievous lilt in her voice.
He didn't look at her as he responded. Didn't open his eyes. "What?"
Instead of answering, Agnes moved across the blanket, her hands pressing lightly into the fabric as she crawled toward him. Without hesitation, she nestled herself against his side, slipping under his arm and resting her head beneath his chin. Her hair brushed his neck, soft and warm, as she adjusted to fit comfortably against him.
His arm automatically shifted to accommodate her, wrapping loosely around her shoulders. His movements were smooth, instinctive—no hesitation, no awkward stiffness.
“Personal space?” Agnes teased, her voice muffled slightly. “Nope. Never heard of her.”
“So I’ve noticed,” he hummed.
She grinned, tilting her head slightly to look up at him. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
His tone flat but with a faint, teasing edge. “I’ve learned that resistance is futile.”
She laughed softly, her breath warm against his collarbone. “Smart vampire.”
They sat like that for a while, the stillness of the evening settling comfortably around them once again. Agnes’ breathing was steady, her presence grounding in a way Alec hadn’t expected. He wasn’t used to this—this— hmm. But with her, it was… easy. She made it easy.
His eyes opened and for a moment Alec simply watched her, the tension that so often lingered in his chest dissipating. For once, he didn’t think about the future, or the impossibilities of what they were.
“You know, for someone who pretends to hate company, you’re pretty good at it.”
Alec huffed quietly, his fingers brushing absently against her sleeve.
When he didn't say anything else, Agnes adjusted slightly. Then, without looking up, she reached out for his free hand— the one resting lightly against the blanket. Her touch was soft, tentative at first, as though testing to see if he'd pull away.
He didn't.
Agnes turned his hand over in hers, her fingers tracing lightly along the contours of his palm. She didn’t speak, her focus entirely on the texture and shape beneath her touch. The coolness of his skin was familiar now, no longer startling but still strange in its own way.
He watched her in silence, his gaze unreadable. He could feel the subtle tremor in her hands, the way her fingertips skimmed over his cuticles, trailed along the edges of his fingers. It wasn’t a calculated touch—more curious than anything else—but there was something in the quiet intensity of her focus that rooted him in place.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked, his voice low but lacking its usual sharpness.
A faint smile was her only reply as she pressed her thumb lightly into the centre of his palm, feeling the uncanny smoothness. “Your hands don’t feel like hands, you know.”
“Do they not?” he murmured, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.
“No,” Agnes replied, shaking her head.
She ran her fingers over the ridges of his knuckles, her voice softening. “They’re too perfect. No calluses, no imperfections. "They’re…"
Her mind drifted. What have these hands done over the centuries? 1200 years is a long time. A very long time. How many were silenced? How many drained and killed? "…unnerving.”
She turned his hand slightly, her thumb brushing against the underside of his wrist. Her movements slowed as she traced the faint lines there, her thoughts now running in another direction. How many times have these very same hands guided, held, and saved her? Her chest grew warm. Far too many times.
“They’re also kind of beautiful,” she admitted quietly, as though the words had slipped out before she could stop them.
Alec’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his expression remained composed. “Beautiful?”
'Beautiful? Beautiful!?' She had never described him that way before. What came over her?
"Y-yeah…" Agnes nodded, her fingers trailing back to his palm. "Like… I don't know. Artful."
Trying to remain 'cool' she placed her hand against his, palm to palm, comparing the size. His fingers extended well past hers, his hand broader, longer, and so still it might as well have been carved from stone.
“You make me feel tiny, you know that?” she said with a faint laugh, tilting her head to look up at him.
Alec glanced at their hands, the contrast between them stark—the warmth of her skin against the chill of his, the old burn marks etched into hers. He didn’t comment on them, though his gaze lingered briefly before returning to her face. “You are.”
"Hey!" she exclaimed. "That's ruuuude."
Alec didn’t reply, his fingers twitching slightly beneath hers. She noticed, of course—she always noticed—but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned his hand again, letting her fingers brush along the back of it, tracing the veins that didn’t carry blood.
“Agnes,” Alec said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness.
“Hmm?”
His gaze was steady, unreadable. “Why are you doing this?”
Agnes paused, her fingers stilling for just a moment. Then she smiled, glancing up at him. “Because I can.”
Although his mouth parted neither spoke after that, the words he meant to say ('I'm glad you feel like you can') having died on his tongue. Another thing she missed was the soft, lingering smile that finally (finally!) broke the neutrality of his expression. But perhaps she felt all this somehow, because as they both gazed at the darkening horizon, their hands slowly, tentatively, interlocked.
***
Gradually, the evening bled into night. Fireflies appeared, floating through the air around them like willow-wisps. At her behest, now that she could see them too, he told her about the stars and constellations above them. Why did he know so much about the night sky? He told her the truth. Throughout his existence, the world around him changed to an unnatural degree, but the stars— the stars haven't changed at all. There was solidarity in that. Recognition. Familiarity. He spoke too much and she too little, he suddenly realised before growing silent.
As the air around them chilled, he repositioned, pulling her closer against him whilst pulling the blanket up to cover her. It wasn't often that he wished to be mortal, but right now was one of those times. Instead of this infernal frigidity, he wished he could offer her more comfort; warmth, softness. Honestly, she deserved so much more.
Voice heavy, burdned by sleep. "Alec…"
He glanced at her. It wasn't a question. "Yes?"
"I…" she trailed off with a soft sigh.
He almost chuckled. Almost. "Is that code for 'carry me to bed'?" He asked, pushing back a strand of her toffee-coloured hair.
"Nooo," she protested with a breathy laugh, nuzzling closer into his neck. "You… you ARE bed."
He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't comment.
"Besides…," she continued, "I'm not sleeping. Keep… keep telling me about this Cassiopeia."
He knew that this was her being 'sleep-drunk'. That he should take her home, tuck her into her bed. But the thing was, that he was enjoying this more than he would ever admit… and if she insisted that he was her home—well, why should he deprive her?
"You'll regret this in the morning," he promised her softly, before indulging her further.
It wasn't long before a twitch in her arm made him pause again. Unsurprisingly, he found her weight on him just a bit more fluid, as well as her breath slower, pulse steadier and even.
"…liar."
'This makes it how many times now?'
His fingers drifted to her temple, without hesitation he pushed back a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Lingering, his touch slowly traversed downward. The back of his fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake.
He paused there. His gaze fixed on the pulsing spot. It wasn't hunger that called him, the coven never let him thirst after all. If he had to be honest, until now he didn't notice just how long it's been since the last time his throat burned. It almost felt— HE almost felt— human. Maybe that's why…
She inhaled deeply and sighed, leaning more into him. A fleeting smile graced his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
So no, it wasn't hunger. It was something, something he couldn't quite name. Not yet.
He searched her face from an angle, as she rested on his shoulder. But the answer to the recently ever present, gnawing thought wasn't there.
His hand dropped away from her neck. Instead, he took hold of her hand that lay limply in his lap. Tracing along the edges of the scars, burn marks, that will likely never fade completely.
This girl that never stops giving. Who forgives and sometimes even forgets. The girl who trusts monsters to do the right thing, to not hurt her…
He stopped moving completely. His grip on her hand unconsciously tightened. Just a little. Just enough to feel something real.
So why hasn’t she trusted me?
At least not completely. Not with her blood.
'I don't get it Agnes.'
'You fall asleep like this… you see me drink from the others…'
He looked back at the sky, as if the moon and the stars knew the secret, and let the night drag on. Tried to. The thought refused to be buried.
'You… wouldn't play with my heart, would you?'
Maybe it was the scrutiny of the celestial lights that in the end convinced him.
'How about this,' he laughed to himself at the absurdity, 'I'll trust you not to hurt me.'
As predicted, once the morning came Agnes wasn't thrilled to find herself still outside. He had to remind her, matter-of-fact, that it was she who insisted on this impromptu camping experience.
What's a sky with but one star gone—missing?
Nobody will notice.
How could they?
How could anyone, when millions spill all over?
Except, you were part of a constellation,
whether you realize or not,
you'll be missed.
If not by those who came before,
or those who know you now,
then by those your light was meant to touch—
but now never will
Typically I dabble with stories and fics, but last night trying to get into my MC's head for a specific scene I ended up with a poem -- I think. Posting it here in case it can make you (or someone) feel something. It demanded to be shared.
in which you meet a boy running from the rules and straight into your heart.
a/n: this joochan high school au drabble would NOT leave me alone until i posted it despite knowing i have 2 requests to finish + edit + post but i forgive it because it’s so cute even though i’m the one who wrote it LOL also in future i would be really interested in making this into a full blown fic!! but for now please show it lots of love!!! thank you!!!!!! -ju
~
The first time you meet Joochan coincidentally happens to be the first time you nearly set your chemistry class on fire.
In retrospect, the new burn you sport on your thumb is minor and will heal up after a week, except your chemistry teacher is also a frazzled worrywart who immediately frog marches you to the infirmary as soon as the panic has died down and advises the nurse to keep you in bed until lunch. It may also be because she’s scared you’ll cause some other big incident that really will cause a school evacuation this time but either way, you’re not complaining because it means you get to miss national history and nap instead.
Or at least, that’s the working plan until someone abruptly slides the curtain of your cubicle back and loudly clears his throat.
Your eyes shoot open and - instead of some random teacher - you see a rather sweaty-looking boy with a shock of light blonde hair, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
He points to the bed you’re lying on. “Are you on the brink of death?”
“What?”
Something about his voice tells you that he is not joking but you are still dumbfounded.
“I said, are you”- You shake your head hurriedly as soon as you spot how his left foot has started tapping impatiently.
The boy breathes a quick sigh of relief. “Great. Okay. Just - don’t say anything, alright? You never saw me.”
And then without any further warning, he dives under the bed and rearranges the sheets so as to conceal himself entirely from anyone who might have been hunting for a boy clearly breaking the school’s regulations on hair color, and poked their head through the entrance of the infirmary.
All of this happens within the span of twenty seconds before you can hear your school’s discipline officer’s robust voice from across the room.
“Is anyone in here?”
You stay quiet as per Mysterious Blonde Boy’s request.
“Oi, you there”- and the discipline officer draws close to your bed - “have you seen anyone run by here? About this tall and sporting yellow hair?”
Despite not being a good actor, you hope the look of confused innocence on your face is enough to fool the officer and it apparently works because he then sighs in a somewhat defeated manner. “Alright. Sorry for interrupting your rest, anyway. If you do see him, come let me know, won’t you?” And he walks off, leaving you to lean back against the pillows you’d propped up.
Another ten seconds tick by.
“Is he gone yet?”
You jump, not accustomed to hearing a voice speak from beneath you. “Y-yes. I think. He’s not in the room, if that helps.”
“Hm. I’ll stay here just a few minutes more so he can put more distance between us, if you don’t mind.” You don’t really, despite how odd this entire situation is, but you worry about him having to hide all cramped up beneath your bed and you tell him as much.
“I’ve hidden in worse places,” he tells you nonchalantly. “So. What are you in here for?”
You subconsciously look down at your thumb, encased in a thick white bandage that you have already started picking at. “I nearly burned down my chemistry class.”
“Oh, that was you?” The boy’s voice sounds amused now and you flush at how the news of your mishap seems to have already spread so quickly. “My friend is in that class, by the way. That’s how I heard about it. You know Kim Jibeom? Tall and in the music performance club?”
You nod before realizing the boy can’t see you. “He gave a great presentation last week about the lab we did on recombinant DNA.”
“Yeah, Jibeom’s pretty smart,” he says. “But clumsy. And so are you, I guess. How’d you end up nearly committing arson anyway?”
It might be the fact that his voice is so comforting and soft that you find yourself focusing less on the fear that he will think you ridiculous like everyone else might. And so you tell him the whole story: from the way you just had to pick the only faulty Bunsen burner in the whole classroom to the way your partner had neglected to turn the gas off, and finally how your lab coat sleeve had caught on the lips of some test tubes containing Highly Inflammatory Materials to the detriment of your teacher’s sanity. He interjects at the appropriate intervals with funny quips about the whole situation that have you feeling better, like maybe you weren’t the world’s biggest embarrassment - and this is how you end up spending your time in the infirmary, swapping stories with the boy beneath your bed about all the times you’ve both been hilariously unlucky.
In fact, the time passes so swiftly that you both forget about the predicament the boy is in until the bell rings to signal the end of lunchtime. With a rustle, he slides out unceremoniously from his hiding place of the last twenty minutes. And this is when you get your first, proper look at him, at the bright smile on his face, at the name on his badge.
Hong Joochan.
“Thanks for everything,” he says and now that you finally have a face to properly associate with the voice, you feel a little awkward again. You guess he does too because he clears his throat again but much more quietly this time. “Well - I suppose I’ll get going now.”
It’s strange, this feeling of disappointment that has suddenly lodged itself in your throat. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you around probably, seeing as you’re in Jibeom’s class.”
You nod.
He nods too before smiling again and turning on his heel to walk out of the infirmary just as suddenly as he’d run into it.
Left to stare dumbly out the window, you think back to his smile for a brief moment.
Oh. Oh.
You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding onto and place a shaky hand over your rapidly beating heart.
