#diligent delivery

[gamergenia]

iterator

[astrxealis]

OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM. very happy. my speech i had to give that i crammed on bcs i was really anxious about even just thinking it and i had to deliver it memorized and in front of the whole class for the first time in years? i only got. minus 1.25

[semischarmed]

River

River was a walking enigma. 

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him. 

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly. 

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness. 

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark. 

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night. 

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = = 

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out. 

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment. 

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements. 

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water. 

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs. 

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile. 

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk. 

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite. 

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval. 

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet. 

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped. 

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness. 

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school. 

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists. 

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!” 

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You��re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own. 

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River. 

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind. 

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me. 

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

[crystalflygardener]

“save a cow, milk the milkman.” or let him milk himself…

Milkman/Francis Mosses short drabble where he can't help but (obsessively) pine for MC and that pining brings him to tamper with the milk he delivers to you.

Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

NSFW // CW: obsessive/lovesick and possessive milkman, pining, he’s a little submissive hehe, milkman is actually a horny virgin, breeding kink, it's not only milk in there, anatomically incorrect, lots of horny fantasizing. 1.4k words.

(A/N: he's such a cutie fr; dedicated to my milkman obsessed friends)

He should thank you, he figures, his dick twitches every time he sees you in the lobby. And maybe he purposely forgets his ID or his entry permit, just so you’d stare him down with that suspicious glint in your eye. Thank god all you need to see is his torso and above, or else you might just catch the tent in his pants as he casually strolls through the door you always unlock for him. How kind of you.. He can feel his fingers itching, his cock begging for release while he climbs up the stairs to his apartment. Maybe in the time it takes him to get there, he’ll have calmed down by then. But oh how he wishes that he could stare at you longer, memorize the lines of your face… But what if you start to think he’s a doppelganger? Oh, he would be devastated if you called the D.D.D. on him; all because he doesn’t know how to act around you. And so he’ll keep this ruse going, he’ll let you quietly wonder why his dark circles seem to be getting worse lately. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll worry about him enough to ask about it, or at least that’s what he wishes. The moment he enters his apartment and locks the door behind him, he impatiently yanks off his bow tie. It feels too constricting around his neck. In fact, his whole body feels too constricted in general. He finds himself rushing over to his bedroom and sprawling out onto his bed with his fingers frantically working at the buckle of his belt, sliding his pants down along with his briefs. Finally, his cock springs free from its confines, standing straight and proud, the tip beading with enough precum that his hand is able to glide smoothly up and down his shaft. Francis has a certain dislike, for the way you’re content with only a bottle of milk a day. He’d made sure to alter his schedule for you. You’re the only one he delivers milk to everyday, just so you’d never run out. But the reason why he dislikes it though… is because he also never runs out of 'milk'. Even after a hard day of work, he keeps himself up at night. With his back now against the headboard and his legs spread, his eyes shut as he paints pictures of you in his mind.. You teasing him.. You eagerly working your mouth up and down his length… Only for him to open his eyes and see the emptiness, where you should be, in front of him. It’s all simply wishful thinking, that he can finally replace his hand with any part of you he can get. After all, the glimpses of you he catches when you open your door to accept his milk delivery has proved to him that his hands would fit perfectly on your hips and the curve of your ass. Squeezing and kneading your flesh until it’s red while he empties himself inside you (preferably more than once)… (WARNING: SKIP IF YOU DON’T LIKE MILK TAMPERING) Francis enjoys the image of his cum spilling out of you far more than he likes to admit– it gets him off every time. But for now, he’ll settle for emptying himself inside your next milk delivery. What a diligent worker he is, ruining his sleep to provide you with his own homemade calcium. And if you notice the difference in taste, he’ll just tell you that he worries for your health, that he merely added a bit of vitamin D in there. If you, however, find out the truth, can you really fault the man for simply wanting to offer you a part of himself? (END)

[mini-ism]

#— FLICK YOUR LIGHTER ; IGNITE MY FLAME

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 2,496

synopsis: after lighter’s bike gets vandalized, he seems to find some solace in your laughter. hearing your voice ring in his ears sparks the flame of passion. a kindling is as deadly as an explosion.

warnings: sloppy makeout, biting/marking, semi-public intercourse, slight leather kink, grinding/dry humping, p in v, slight praise kink, semi-clothed, some plot, rough intercourse, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

lighter was always one to keep his cool.

effortless finesse was always his style, slick and oozing with swagger. always leather-clad, impeccable and sharp as his instinct. slightly illusive, maybe, with his style, though that tight leather didn’t lie about his physique. his sunglasses shielded him from the blaring sun of the outer ring, or maybe the scorching glare of his opponent. yet, not once did he falter, burning brighter than a star, than the flame of passion. he lived up to his name, without a doubt. never was he engulfed by it, he emerged time and time again, with ease.

it took you out of your thoughts, sitting on the edge of a wooden platform, you could hear his slight cursing, growling under his breath, “damn thugs,” and, “the fucking audacity!” piper simply grumbled tiredly in response, turning your head to witness the commotion. piper was rubbing her eyes tiredly, nodding to lighter’s fussing, the back of his hand reaching to rub the sweat from his brow.

“lighter, no reason to cuss and whine, it’s really no biggie,” she attempted to console him, to little avail. “i can fix up your paint, they didn’t cause too much damage. seems like your parts are all intact too, calm down now…”

he huffed, “i’m not upset about whatever damage this is, you’re right, it’s nothing. they have some nerve trying to ruin my bike, that’s what i’m pissed about!” lighter folded his arms, assessing the damage for the umpteenth time. he diligently cared for his bike, but lighter was never one to tolerate disrespect.

piper wheeled off the bike to her workstation, nodding off a few times as she carefully thought about how to fix his precious motorbike. he trudged away, footsteps heavy. you could hear the crunch of the dry, hot sand below him as he came close to you. for a while, he stood behind you, scarf whipping in the wind as it blew hot air in both of your faces.

“yes, lighter?” you turned to look at him, “is everything alright? i overheard what happened with your bike.”

just as soon as he heard “bike,” he scowled slightly, his sunglasses reflecting the terrain rather than mirroring his expression. “probably too chickenshit to do it right in front of me. how funny is that?” lighter’s words carried humor, but his delivery did not.

“you’re saying they’re cowards?” the glint of the sunbeam in his sunglasses told you everything you needed to know, the desert wind lashing you and him in the face. he seemed ever-so unperturbed, you couldn’t help but wonder how many more things could possibly be pissing him off? how does he remain so undisturbed by it?

“i’ll be fine, though. don’t worry too much, you’ll get wrinkles like lucy.” he tilted his head down to meet your gaze, a slight smile playing on the corners of his lips. you couldn’t help but chuckle, who knows what lucy would have done if she heard that? instinctively, he lowly chuckled too, your humor slightly infectious.

“i know, i’m funny.” lighter remarked, seeing you laugh slightly harder. you were always the first to erupt in laughter when he made a joke. “you think caesar is gonna make me do comedy next?” lighter grinned as you continued to giggle, your gleeful and unrestrained display stirring something within him. it felt a lot hotter now than it did before. it’s gotta be the sun coming up now.

“okay, okay, that’s enough now.” lighter’s voice was lighter, almost playful. if you kept giggling like this, everyone is gonna start wondering what got you so worked up. “you gotta tell me what burnice made for you this time. what the hell has she been doing to you?”

with your next eruption of laughter, lighter wrapped a strong arm around your abdomen and lifted you up, hauling you by his waist. he let out a breath and carried you further away from prying eyes. mercilessly, he dropped you, watching you catch your breath with a few heavy exhales and snorts. “you shouldn’t be laughing at a man whose had his property damaged.”

his serious tone was accompanied by a coy grin as he towered over your slumped form, “get up. come on, you are grown.” lighter waited as you got yourself up with weak muscles, that same flame flickering in his soul as you beamed at him. he cleared his throat as he flushed lightly, averting his gaze momentarily. now the moment was getting stale, not much else he could really say without taking a step backwards and making you laugh again.

“how long is it gonna take for you to get your bike back, lighter?” you said, with a slight exasperated breath, your cheeks still hurting slightly from heartily laughing. “not long, piper’s great at what she does. maybe a day, if she manages not to pass out a few times.”

you took in your surroundings, noting that you both were sandwiched between two buildings, the space between them cold and narrow. lighter might have already forgotten why you both were here, or what else he might’ve wanted to say.

lighter fixed his sunglasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “does that leather ever get hot?”

“what? i mean, yeah, it does.” he replied blankly.

“why do you wear it then? you know it’s quite hot in the outer ring,” your eyes were glued to the way his jacket clung to his muscles, leaving nothing to be imagined, only observed. “is it cause you want to show off?” your eyes travelled back up to his, holding his steely gaze.

“i show off enough in a fight, wouldn’t you agree? are you asking me to show off for you, now?” lighter probed, folding his arms again, you watched as they flexed under the tight jacket he wore, threatening to nearly bulge out of it.

“if you wanna, i won’t complain.” seriously, you couldn’t peel your eyes away from his arms. they were huge, and that jacket did nothing but define them even more. your words came out more breathy than you wanted them to, causing him to sharply inhale and hold it. as he drew in that breath, you could see his chest puff up as his abs tightened, letting the air shakily exit.

“fuck, you’re testing me, huh?” lighter quickly looked to his left and right, where you both might be seen. there wasn’t anyone around, but he cautiously checked a few more times. before you could react, he pressed his lips to yours, grabbing your upper arms tightly. his kiss was heated and firm, as was his grip around your arm. his fingers pressed into your triceps, wrapping almost entirely around your arm, “you really want to test me? i’m sure you know this leather is hot, but what you don't know is how bad i want to take it off now.”

you could feel his breath ghost against your skin, causing you to shiver as he leaned in, “but i can’t. not yet, tonight. doesn’t mean i can’t give you what we both want.” his words made you squirm, his grip tightening as you wriggled around in arousal. he chuckled lowly, pressing closer to you. without a thought, you wrapped your arms around him, coming beneath his arms to meet on the vast expanse of his back. you could feel every heavy breath through his jacket, how the muscles over his abs and ribs moved with each desperate huff.

as he caged you between the wall and his body, lighter pressed his lips to your neck, exposing the thin, delicate flesh of your throat with a gentle raise of the jaw. you screwed your eyes shut, gripping at the tight-fit that was his jacket, whimpering softly at the sensation. lighter worked his way down, pressing kisses from your mastoid to your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the tender skin on the way down. you could feel his tongue run down the side of your throat, catching your pulse point, savoring the feeling of your rushing blood under his tongue. the sensation was enough to make you squirm and whine.

“you’re real heated now, huh?” lighter whispered against your skin, “just as needy as me.” as he spoke, you could feel the incessant press of his hard cock against you, making you squeak. he turned your head further to the side, exposing the lengthened muscle of your neck further to him. he dove in, gripping your hip tightly with his other hand, sucking onto your neck. he released it with a pop, biting the weak flesh playfully. lighter could hear the pained noise you made, fueling his lustful haze further.

lighter groaned at the sensation, feeling you move beneath him, the friction of your movements rubbing against him. “you tease, you know what you’re doing to me.” you gripped his back harder, pressing yourself into him with vigorous need. he could feel a sharp jolt on his own neck as he let go of your jaw, a playful bite marking his own neck. “fuck, you bit me? that’s petty.”

with another searing kiss, his hands snaked lower, making their way into your pants. he rubbed your clit slowly with his two digits through the fabric of your panties, causing you to moan softly into his demanding lips. lighter’s tongue demanded entrance, exploring your mouth with his, subconsciously grinding against your thigh as he tasted your lips and tongue with his own. he didn’t care much for the mess he was making, saliva dribbling onto both of your chins as his hand and hips continued to pick up the pace. you moaned again into lighter’s kiss, bucking your hips against his touch, feeling the heat build slowly between your thighs. with each stutter of your hips, his cock throbbed in his pants, feeling your thigh brush against him with little restraint.

lighter broke the intense kiss to murmur against your heated lips, “feels so good when you do that, you feel good baby?”

you nodded into his embrace, whining with each stroke of your hardened clit, the fabric separating his touch from your aching pussy — your worst frenemy. lighter pressed himself against you again, “touch me.”

you dropped your dominant hand from his back, the other hand clinging desperately as it had been. lighter grabbed your hand gently, guiding it to his hard cock, drinking in the feeling of your hand through his hands. he quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, eagerly shoving it down into his boxers. he let out a fervent groan, shivering as your hand wrapped around his bare cock. “fuck yes, baby. just like that, yeah…”

he groped your chest a few times through your top, hissing with pleasure each time you stroked him. he could feel pre-cum leaking from his tip, his resolve weakening as he felt you rub his shaft with the pre oozing from his cockhead. he just couldn’t take it anymore, racing to get those pants off of you and fuck. lighter’s hand eventually got them loose, pulling them down enough, pulling one of your legs through out of your pants and underwear, letting them fall and lie around one ankle. you could feel yourself exposed, the colder air contrasting your heated core as lighter excitedly huffed. he grabbed the underside of your thigh, right above the knee, pinning it upwards to expose you enough.

responsively, you pulled his pants down enough to let his cock free, guiding the tip towards your slick entrance. “you wanna take me? tell me you do.”

“i wanna take you so bad, lighter…” you murmured, more of your efforts going towards getting him all the way inside you, buried to the hilt. he drank your response in deliciously, biting his lip with his handsome low chuckle, “i know you do.”

lighter pushed into you, your slick cunt accepting him graciously. you mewled as his cock stretched you out more with each inch, covering your mouth with his to dampen your moans. every fiber of you felt like you were being split open, yet you wanted no more than that, you wanted everything he could possibly give to you. his kiss grew deeper with each inch sunk into you, the feeling of your cunt nearly intoxicating, “knew you could do it, take it good, that’s it.”

with a ferocious first thrust, you couldn’t help but yelp loudly, followed by lighter’s harsh shushing and more kisses. he took no time to break you in, fucking you with slow, brutal thrusts, each more forceful than the last. lighter could not find it in him to care if he was shaking the walls of the building he had you against. his grip on the inner underside of your thigh tightened, his nails digging into the soft, supple flesh.

“you fuckin’ like this, yeah, bet you do,” he growled between kisses, diving back in for a particularly lewd sounding tongue kiss. lighter shoved his tongue down your throat as his other hand came up to grope your breast. his thrusts were starting to become more erratic. faster, but still merciless.

“you’re so goddamn tight, fuck, you trying to keep me in you?” he looked down at his cock, breaking eye contact with you, watching how your body bounced with each thrust. he squeezed your chest particularly hard, his thumb brushing against your nipple, relishing every noise you and your body made.

“you’re getting me close, you wanna take all of me? i’ll give you what you asked for.”

without letting you respond, he drove himself deeper inside you, more so than you previously thought he could, his lingering promise hanging in the air as your body buzzed with ecstasy, “gonna fuck you so good, you won't remember a name but mine.”

you could feel the heat pooling intensely in your gut, burning like nitro-fuel down your throat, forever ablaze as passion was. passion, this is what it is. it takes a small flame to light everything on fire. a kindling is as deadly as an explosion in the right circumstances. bright and smoldering as the fucking sun.

he was right, you can’t remember a thing but the flicker of heat inside you. you tightened around him with a sweet sounding whine, your pussy gushing around his cock, his dick hitting every spot within you. you were so close, so… so close…

a kindling is as deadly as an explosion.

you leaned into him as your orgasm washed over you, riding it out as he reached his own peak, groaning curses and dirty words into your ear. yet, you couldn’t understand a word, not a single sentence. the sweat dripped down from his brow and onto your skin as his grip tightened, then loosened. your senses were on fire, the world around you both seemed to burn away, leaving nothing but the searing throes of passion and lingering desire.

quite a match, that lighter was with you.

[emeritusemeritus]

Girlfriend Wars [Fred Weasley]

(Gif not mine)

Title: Girlfriend Wars

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!reader (established relationship) & George Weasley x Angelina Johnson (established relationship)

Timeline: Non-specified, though I imagined it set after Goblet of Fire.

Summary: Angelina Johnson, girlfriend of George Weasley, struggles telling her boyfriend and his twin brother apart. Reader, girlfriend of Fred, does not. Only a game of blind testing can determine who is better at telling the twins apart.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual acts, though no graphic description or smut is used, established relationships. Pretty much fluff.

As always, I’ve used artistic license to allow access to both dorms, regardless of sex, for the benefit of the story.

There were many things you loved about your boyfriend Fred being an identical twin, especially as you were so close with his slightly younger brother; constant companionship, lifelong friendship, dual protectiveness that couldn't be matched. On the other hand, there were a few things you disliked entirely; the inability to find much alone time and the constant fear of being walked in on (this was more due to them sharing a room and a dorm... but it still counted).

The thing you hated most of all however, was people mistaking your boyfriend for George. And by people, specifically George's girlfriend Angelina. How the hell she couldn't tell her own boyfriend apart from his twin brother baffled you completely.

Fred's reaction to her constantly mistaking her for his brother did however amuse you enough to make up for any grievance you had on the matter.

You were sat in the common room long after classes had finished, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on one sofa, Ginny and you sat on the other. Fred was talking to Lee and some first years over in the corner, no doubt plotting something or making a deal you didn't want to know about whilst George had ran up to their dorm to fetch something relating to their scheme. You all flickered your eyes over to the sound of the door opening and saw that Angelina, Alicia and Katie had walked in, books in hand, as they made their way into the room.

You followed her diligently with your eyes as she headed straight towards Fred with a smile on her face. Both Lee and Fred had begun walking back over to you, Fred pocketing a few sickles into his trousers with the smug smirk on his lips. As she approached him in the middle of the common room, he briefly looked up at her and without hesitation he bluntly said "nope," and carried on walking back over to your group. She stood dumbfounded for a few moments, shocked at the sudden rejection until Fred dropped down onto the sofa between you and Ginny and threw his arm around you, not even slightly fazed by her. You had to bite your lip not to laugh at Fred's blunt delivery and her following reaction, much like Ginny who had watched the entire thing and was trying to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles threatening to spill out.

George had walked down the stairs carrying their briefcase only a few moments later and smiled at his girlfriend who stood there with an almighty awkward expression. George absently threw the briefcase over to Fred who luckily caught it before it could hit anyone as George went to go kiss his girlfriend, blissfully unaware of the situation that had just nearly unfolded. Ginny walked off at this point to join Harry and Ron after her brother had called her over, sitting on the floor in front of Hermione as they conversed. Fred threw down the briefcase onto the now vacant seat beside him and shoved the sickles he'd made into the little velvet coin pouch before closing the briefcase.

"How does she get so confused?" You asked out loud, quiet enough so that only Fred could hear. "You don't even look the same."

Fred turned to face you and gave you a look of utter confusion at your statement, declaring that he and his identical twin didn't look the same, "are you joking?"

"No," you laughed, though it was true. You'd spent so much time with both the twins that you were able to tell them apart easily.

The truth was that you'd developed feelings for Fred early on in your friendship and those feelings had caused you to finally tune your ability to tell them apart, never wanting to be caught staring or flirting with the wrong twin. Over time, you had begun to notice all the differences between them that only seemed to be exaggerated as they grew up and now to you, you could hardly see them as identical anymore.

"You look more like Percy," you joked, deadpan in expression. Fred immediately took offence and lunged at you, tickling you into submission as he laughed at your squirming body. Tears threatened to spill at the intensity of the tickles as Fred knew the exact spots to target to make you relent.

"Seriously though, you don't look remotely identical to me," you said after you'd recovered and caught your breath. A familiar, foreboding twinkle suddenly appeared in Fred's eyes, which from experience you knew meant something potentially dangerous was about to happen.

"Oi Georgie!" Fred shouts as he looks over towards his brother who was still stood with Angelina, smiling and whispering cutely to each other. George whips his head round to look at the mischievous brother with a questioning gaze. "I've had an idea." Never a good thing to hear come from Fred Weasley's mouth, you thought.

George made his way over to you both almost immediately, trailing Angelina with him by their interlocked hands. "Sup Freddie?"

"My girl says we don't look identical, I think we should put it to the test," Fred says with his trademark smirk, casting a wicked glance at you as he slings his arm back around your shoulders.

"What do you mean not identical?" George says in bewilderment as he looks at you. You shrug in reply, unfazed and unashamed of your statement. Surely it shouldn't be a surprise to him, you'd been foiling their attempts at switching places many times over the years, never believing them when they actively tried to persuade you that the one wearing the G jumper was George and the alternative when you knew for a fact it was not.

"What do you say? Girlfriend test!" Fred says, pointing between you and Angelina. You cast a glance at Angelina who looked absolutely mortified by the proposition, clearly unsure of her ability to differentiate between to the two. You on the other hand laughed at the suggestion, thinking it could actually be quite fun.

"Yeah wicked!" George laughs, sharing a look at his brother before turning towards his girlfriend and immediately seeing her trepidation, "unless you don't want to." Angelina looks towards you and sees that you are clearly up for the challenge with your smile.

"Uh sure," she says nervously, feigning a smile towards her boyfriend. You turn to Fred and share a knowing glance at each other, knowing she wouldn't have the faintest chance of winning, she could barely tell them apart right next to each other.

"Jordan you're referee," George says, calling over Lee who seemed to unquestioningly fall into line with their plan, just as usual.

It takes all of five minutes to arrive at the boys dorm where you would conduct your little game, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other students. You and Angelina were sat on two wooden chairs in the middle of the messy room, awaiting orders. You were laughing at something Lee said as he prepared notes, taking his role of referee very seriously whereas Angelina was sat quietly with a smug smile on her lips, apparently finding her confidence.

"Right, Angelina you are contestant A, y/n you're contestant B. Winner gets to chose their own prize. Rule number one, no hard feelings whatever happens," Lee says, looking towards all of you as you nod. "Rule two, no inappropriate touching or contact with the other brother's girlfriend." Again, earning a very honest nod, each of you knowing the clear boundaries there. "Rule three, um, I guess that's it really. I'm keeping score, ladies, blindfolds on." He handed out two spare house ties to both you and Angelina and your respective boyfriends began to tie them around your eyes so that you would be completely blindfolded. You could hear George and Angelina struggling with the task, no doubt because of George's stumbling and nerves, catching Angelina's hair in the bind. Fred however, had no issues getting you blindfolded, and had even leaned down into your ear to teasingly whisper, "this is familiar princess", earning him a not so gentle shove to shut him up which he laughs at.

"Okay, girls what number am I holding up?" Lee asks, checking that you couldn't see anything.

"Umm 4?" Angelina replies, taking a wild guess and sounding unsure of herself.

"How do I know? I'm blindfolded you tosspot," you joked, earning a laugh from all three boys in the room but not from the girl beside you. You felt a hand on your shoulder briefly, knowing that it was Fred who had not yet moved away from you, his thumb absently stroking the patch of skin he could touch over your collar.

"Right, round one!" Lee announces. "Starting easy, we're starting with their voices, gentlemen I'd like you to gather around contestant A and say her name out loud," Lee says, falling deeper into a role of gameshow host rather than referee. You feel Fred move away from behind you as the twins shuffle about and approach Angelina.

"Angelina."

"Angelina."

"Umm, the first one?" She asks, unsure of herself.

"Correct!" Lee says and you hear Angelina huff out a relieved breath.

"Contestant B!" You heard a shuffling at the twins moved to stand each side of you.

"Y/n."

"Y/n."

There was no denying that their voices were eerily similar but you had a finely tuned ear and could tell that the slightly breathiness of the first voice was undoubtedly your boyfriend.

"First one was Fred," you said quickly.

"Correct! Okay ladies keep the blindfolds on, next we're doing a touch test. One twin will stand in front of you and you can touch their face to determine if it's your boyfriend or not."

They started with Angelina, one of them stepping closer to crouch down in front of her so that she could try and feel for who it was. A minute passed and she was clearly struggling.

"Um, George?" She says nervously. A moment of silence passes until Lee speaks out, "incorrect that was Fred Weasley! Contestant B!"

You feel one of the twins moving to stand in front of you, crouching down so that you were eye level with each other. You begin to feel around for the face and begin by touching their hair and bringing your right hand down to the right eyebrow, trying to be gentle and not gauge any eyes out in the process. You smirked, feeling the telltale scar that sat on the eyebrow of your boyfriend and ran your finger over his cheek towards his nose to check for the little chicken pox scar. Once you were certain, you slowly ran your fingers down his face towards hip lip and leaned forward with a smirk to capture his lips with yours, knowing exactly who it was. You pulled away, hearing Fred let out a little breath of laughter and you spoke clearly, "Freddie," before leaning in to whisper to him, "hoped it was George." You immediately squealed, feeling him tickle you as a punishment for your teasing as Lee announced your were correct.

"Okay last round, a kiss test," Jordan says. Immediately you and Angelina squark out your complaints but he silences you a moment later, "forehead kiss only." Angelina went first and incorrectly guessed that it was Fred, even though it was actually George who had kissed her.

"Y/n, last chance to take a clean sweep!"

You felt movement in front of you and then felt a pair of lips delicately place a kiss on your forehead. The kiss immediately felt wrong, like there was a shyness to it. You didn't doubt that Fred would try his hardest to try and confuse you by not kissing you in his regular style but this felt entirely different. You could also smell the strong laundry smell that radiated off the Molly crafted, knitted jumper that George was wearing, whereas Fred was still wearing his shirt and jumper, meaning that it could only be one person.

"Georgie gross!" You laughed, attempting to wipe the spot he had kissed, earning a laugh from the boys in the room.

"Contestant B is the winner!" Lee announced as someone reached around to untie your makeshift blindfold, immediately coming face to face with Fred who lunged into a kiss as you both smiled at your victory.

As you pulled apart, you saw that George and Angelina looked slightly awkward with each other and you had to cringe a little at their interaction, feeling a little guilty for them.

"Good game, good game," Lee went around shaking everyone's hand as the room filled with laughter.

"Mate you could always be a game show host if the quidditch commentator thing doesn't work out," you laughed as he lit up and nodded enthusiastically at the prospect.

"So," Fred whispers into your ear, coming to stand behind you as he leans down to rest his head on your shoulder, his arms shaking around your waist. "What will your prize be princess?" His voice is dripping with innuendo as he teases you and you can picture the smirk on his face already as he nuzzles into your hair. "Watching one of your favourite muggle movies, a sugar mouse from honeydukes or something better?"

His mouth comes to nibble at your neck gently, just enough to cause a shiver to run over you as he licks at the mark he's just made. You twist your neck to look up at him, not answering his question directly and grin devilishly as you reply, telling him all that he needed to know, "better put that tongue away Weasley, you'll be needing it later."

Fred openly groans as his head falls on your shoulder at the implication of your words, his arms pulling you in tighter as arousal washes over him, knowing exactly what it did to him. You let out a little chuckle and move to spin around around in his arms to that you're facing each other, both smiling as he pulls you in for a scorching kiss.

"Um, I'm still here you know," Lee says jokingly, earning a quick pillow to the head as Fred breaks the kiss only for a second to reach down and launch the closest pillow at him with impressive precision.

"Point taken, maybe I'll go find George and Angelina," he mumbles, causing you and Fred to pull apart, realising that the other couple had since evacuated.

"I feel kind of bad," you admitted.

"For being able to tell which twin is your boyfriend? Thought that was a basic requirement to be honest," Fred replies, mocking Angelina in a subtle way. You tap his chest at his words, but couldn't deny he was wrong.

"I'm just saying, a few mistakes I can understand, especially from behind or something but she clearly can't even tell in broad daylight," he snickers.

"Maybe it's all a ploy, maybe it's you she actually wants and just uses it as an excuse," you laugh, earning a bark of laughter from Fred.

"Well I am the better looking twin," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Amen," you say, pulling him by the collar for another kiss until you pull away, giving him your most seductive look as you pull him by the hand towards the edge of his bed.

"So... my prize," you say seductively, enjoying seeing the look of shock and excitement quickly pass over his face until the look of arousal washes over his twinkling eyes and a small smirk tugs at his lips.

"Colloportus," Fred says absently, pulling his wand from his pocket and pointing it towards the door, locking it with just a flick of his wrist, allowing you to claim your prize in private.

[writingrock]

a lost dream

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: katsuki has been missing you a lot recently, so he decides to visit you

notes: angst, major death, mourning, hurt, slight toxicity, moving on, time skip, mentions of alcohol, traumatic flashback

word count: 3.3k

a/n: recently made a prequel to this here!

“Hey, is Dynamight in? Got some papers he needs to sign.” 

“Oh.. um– honestly not sure. He’s been in and out all day. Why don’t you leave them on his desk?”

Simple enough. The office mailman wasn’t going to complain about that. It beats personally handing this to the pro hero. It’s always been fifty-fifty that the pro hero is either grumpy or decent. The man walks towards the pro-hero’s office, shuffling the stack of papers awkwardly as he opens the door with his elbow. Hoping that he opens it without making a mess. He knows he couldn't be bothered to pick them up if they did spill onto the floor. Muttering a line of prayer under his breath, his elbow sits on top of the doorknob. Pushing it down as he readied himself for the papers to fall.

Thankfully, the stack of paper remains stable. A small exhale of relief leaves his mouth as he walks into the office. Dynamight’s office is vacant and dark. Only a small section of the office is illuminated by the light seeping through the open door. Using the side of his shoulder, he manages to press the light switch to turn on. Flickering on with a low buzz, the office comes to view. The office is neat despite what one might think. Organised shelves filled with numerous documents and files with labels. Well kept and clean office space.

Yet on his desk were scattered piles of paperwork, almost as if he hasn’t been looking at any of them today. Usually even when looking at them, he’s still very tidy with them. Always keeping them in sections. Odd. The pro hero is usually diligent and retroactive. It wouldn’t make sense if he hasn’t already blazed through them. Carefully arranging the stacks of paperwork on the desk, he makes space for the new delivery of papers.

The simple office mailman continues to come up with various scenarios on why the boss isn’t here. His mind coming up with wild ideas that were pure fiction. He was about to leave when something clicked in his head. A sudden thought enters his head as he sets the papers down. "Could it be.." he sucks his breath in. Confirming his suspicions, the mailman looks at the calendar. On the wall is a well used calendar with marks and indications of deadlines and events. The ninth is circled. Suddenly, it makes sense.

“Ah.. it's the ninth of August already?”

Driving down a quiet road is a sleek, velvety red sports car, the low purr of the engine cuts through the air. Newly tinted windows hiding the identity of the driver. One hand on the steering wheel whilst the other turns off his phone completely. The screen turns black and in the reflection, you can see the famed hero Dynamight. Slinking back into the carseat, his steely gaze remains on the road. The one hand on the wheel smoothly manoeuvring the car perfectly to the road. Almost as if he’s driven through it multiple times. With a click of his tongue, Katsuki places his other hand on the steering wheel. It's as if someone was next to him, telling him to do so. But there’s no one but himself.

The roads are narrow, gently curving through the forest, the tree branches forming a natural canopy overhead. Turning his wrist to face him, his eyes peek at the time displayed on his watch. Ensuring he would be alone. Everyone had their set time when they visited you, he preferred it when he was alone when he did. Most knew this and never came by when he planned to visit you. Parking his car near your place, he gets out of the car with the bouquet he always gets for you.

Pure white lilies and purple heliotrope flowers paired with hyacinths painted with a beautiful gradient of blue and purple hues. You’ve always loved hyacinths. He also can’t forget that expensive sake he promised you. God forbid he did. If he turns up without flowers and alcohol, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Heavy footsteps crunch against the soft, damp grass. Brushing over the blades of grass with each step. The sound changes to low thuds as he moves from the grass to a stone pathing. You’ve managed to find a beautiful place to live in. The area is abundant in maple trees with well maintained stone pathways. It's well taken care of: carefully pruned bushes and manicured lawns, the grass trimmed almost perfectly. There’s an air of serenity and peace here. You’ve always said you were going to live in a luxurious area surrounded by nature. The walk to your home isn’t far and before he knows it, he’s in front of your place.

You’d go up to the door and greet him with a hug. Your same cheerful greeting that he’s grown fond of. Like usual, he’d pretend to be annoyed at you. But it’s different. Not because the two of you got into a fight where the two of you aren’t on speaking terms. Katsuki would actually much prefer that rather than the one he’s currently experiencing. Heck, he’ll deal with petty fights, dumb hypothetical questions and even your indecisiveness. He’d much prefer to have you annoy him every day of the year. All of it is better to deal with than to live in a universe where you’re dead.

You can’t hug him because you’re buried under his feet– instead of you, there is only a slender, polished tombstone. 

“I’m here, Dumbass.” The usual gruffness in his voice turns soft as he places the bouquet on the base of your grave. Fresh, fragrant blooms giving colour against the cool grey slate. 'Dumbass' becoming a term of endearment for you. Around your grave, there are some recent offerings from the morning when you had other guests. Starting with the basic respects, he lights the incense, letting the thin line of smoke waft in the cool air before sticking it into the small incense holder. He gives a deep bow to greet your soul. Every year, he’d pay for a professional team to clean your grave. There wasn’t a chance he was going to let your grave be overgrown and turn into a mess. Hell would have to freeze over before he let that happen.

Katsuki is silent as he sits down on the ground, bringing out two ornate sake glasses as he pours one for you and another for him. Without a second thought, he downs the shot of sake, letting the slight burn settle in his throat. “I bought you this darn sake so you better enjoy it.” a grumble leaves his lips as he pours another for himself. Honestly, he drinks straight from the bottle but he could already hear your nagging from the grave so he stops. Putting the bottle aside, he gestures to his current outfit. His hero attire. Katsuki definitely looks incredibly out of place in this cemetery but he doesn’t give a damn. It’s for you. “You’ve always said you wanted to see my hero outfit. I can’t lie there hasn’t been a huge change but this is my most recent one. Figured you’d still want to see.” He explains as if you’re sitting next to him, “my gauntlets are probably the ones that changed the most though.”

He removes one of his gauntlets and starts to demonstrate the intricate details to his hero gear, disassembling it and reassembling it for you. Not a slightest sign of worry on his face as he expertly showcased the gauntlet. Describing each part and how it all worked together to become his weapons of destruction. You were always interested in his gear and how it worked. Finding all sorts of excuses to ask him about his hero outfit or gauntlets. 

“In the future, you’d better update me on your gear.” Your voice firm as you look up at your blond haired classmate. The two of you huddled over his hero gear, inspecting it curiously. Screws and loose bits were pushed to the side neatly to ensure they did not get lost. Snaps of metal prying open filling the dorm room. Complex mechanisms on the ground, cracked open to investigate the inner workings of the gauntlet.

Why would you care about his gear in the future? You’re just being nosy. He only scoffed at your words, “I’m not doing that. It’s none of your damn business,” his hands busy reassembling the gauntlets, your head peeking from his shoulder. Katsuki did not manage to reassemble his gauntlet. He got in trouble and had to do without his gear for a week. Despite his words, he always did end up updating you on every detail regarding his gear or costuming. Usually because you noticed a difference and bugged him about it. 

Slotting his gauntlet back on, Katsuki turns to point at the car parked under the maple trees. The deep, vibrant red paint gleams under the soft, filtered light that passes through the leaves of the maple tree. The polished alloy wheels had a metallic sheen to it, twinkling in the soft light. “You’re the reason I drove that damn thing here. You better take a good look at it.” Slight embarrassment laces his words as he turns away from the car. Unable to look at it. He feels like some asshole, show-off driving that car all the way here. Like some rich numbskull who has nothing better to do but show his car off at a cemetery. Who even drives a sports car to the cemetery? “I haven’t gotten those imported sports cars you used to talk about. But I’ll drive it over when I do.” Even if he looks like a lunatic driving a sports car to a cemetery.

He wouldn't have done it if not for you. Back when the two of you were classmates, you often talked to him about racing or any new sports cars that piqued your interest. Ranting about any recent races and how it was either rigged or perfect. Gushing about your favourite drivers who performed well in their races. Sometimes it wasn’t clear if you liked them for their talent or looks– honestly, it was probably a mix of both factors. Katsuki always acted like he didn’t care but he was always listening to you go on and on about them. The way you pulled magazines up to his face and essentially forced him to look at some cars. He always told you he didn’t care but it’s never stopped you from continuing your ramble. In a way, your endless talking did benefit Katsuki. Often at any event, someone eventually brings up those topics and thanks to you, he can actually chip in with a few thoughts. 

“Hey– when you get loaded, can you buy a sports car and drive me around?” A loud laugh and scoff left his mouth when he fully registered your words. Katsuki could not believe you just said that. What did you think he was? His eyes stared you down in pure disbelief. “Idiot, who the hell do I look like? I’m not buying some shitty sports car and then driving you– of all people– around.” His laughter filled the dorm room as he processed your words. At that moment, he thought your brain cells burned off from training.

“Why don’t you get one yourself?” He shoots back, still recovering from the dumb question you asked. Katsuki still remembered the look on your face. The blankest expression on your face as you bluntly say, “I don’t think I’ll ever make enough money to buy one.” Katsuki remembers this as if it happened yesterday- the way he chortled at your words and used his hand to rub your scalp roughly. His fingers running through your hair as he messed it all up. Your hair ended up looking like you just got out of bed. He thought you looked cute though. 

Katsuki can’t take you for a ride. But he can at least show you that in the end, he did buy one of those shitty sports cars. The wind blows past Katsuki, the palm of the wind running through his wild, dusty blond locks. Slowly, he turns back to the bottle and pours himself another shot. It’s been eight years. He’s moved on the best he can. At least he tried to. Nightmares of your death plaguing him occasionally during the month of August. They’ve gotten lesser over the years but they still occur. Detailed ones as if he was transported back to your death.

Sometimes he still asks himself if he could have saved you. The answer is no but he still lingers on the thoughts where he could have saved you. Etched into his brain is the sight of your mangled and bruised body lying lifelessly on the ground, beyond saving. Blood soaked through the rubble under your body. The air thickened with devastation and tragedy. In these night terrors, he’s always holding your body close to his, cradling your frail body as he wept. Choking through sobs as your name leaves his lips. Rocking his body slowly as he registers your death. A blank, empty stare staring down at your face. A painfully deafening ringing plays in his ears when he revisits the memory.

Katsuki doesn’t even realise how tightly he’s gripping the glass whilst the painful scene plays out in his head. A curse slips past his lips. Snapping out of it, he puts the glass aside and looks back at the erected tombstone. Your name written on the polished stone. His quivering red orbs tracing the curve of the letters in your name. Memorising the carved name on your tombstone.

Katsuki always thinks of you when he has a shit night. Memories of you entertwined with his emotions in the stillness of the night. When the weight of the world presses him down into the earth, the thought of you lightens the load even just slightly. Comfort tinged with sadness. He lays in his bed, thinking about every aspect of you. Your smile and the way you always spoke– the way you knew how to comfort him during trying times. During these nights, your absence is palpable and raw. All he wants to do is reach for your touch but you’re just a hollow space. 

“I’ve started seeing someone,” he awkwardly starts, the words don’t feel right leaving his mouth, “I know you would have wanted me to find someone. Because in your own words, ‘I can’t be alone.’ .” Katsuki rolled his eyes, it was like he could hear you say that phrase again. He describes his current partner to you. Every detail from how they met and every ‘dumb’ thing he did to court her. In a soft voice, he tells you of how she’s helped him move on and learn to regulate his emotions. How she lets him lean on her whenever he requires. As well as how she dragged him to therapy. She’s the rock he can lean on and he’s also hers. He’s devoted to her, wanting to take care of her as much as he can. To protect and be the man she needs him to be. Strangely, his current partner understands how much you mean to him and respects it. Words cannot describe how thankful he is for such a wonderful partner to enter his life.

Honestly, she reminds him of your stubbornness and wit. Almost as if you sent her to find him. His special lady is probably the most understanding and strong-willed woman he’s ever met. Besides you of course. Nothing could ever compare to you though. You are the dream he lost. Probably one of the best things that’s happened to him in his life. You’ll always hold a part of his heart no matter what. Because you’ve always been that irritating stain on his heart.

Painfully, he had to admit that the number of times he’s seen you in his new lover only fills him with guilt. It should have been you. He hates it when this thought springs through his mind and all he does is bury it deep. Katsuki swears he’ll never say it out loud because it’s unfair to his current partner. He hates himself for even harbouring that thought. Guilt and disgust coils in his stomach when that thought comes up. He refuses to acknowledge such a disrespectful thought. You'd find it appalling and scream at him if he ever revealed such thoughts. Hence why he takes his time in therapy seriously and pays no mind to such thoughts. His lover deserves that at least.

Katsuki allows himself this one day every year to mourn you again and reminisce of old memories. The ninth of August is when he comes here to sit in peace and talk to you, his lover. To fall back in love with you just for one day. The rest of the year, he does not think of you– or at least he tries not to. There’s no forgetting you no matter what he does. Hours of therapy or drinking will never be able to untangle you from him. The two of you essentially grew up together, meeting in UA and going through the whole ordeal of becoming friends. Not to mention that whole messy timeline where neither of you confessed the blatant feelings you both had for each other. He sighs at those memories. A pair of fucking idiots the two of you were.

Possibly the only regret in his life is that he didn’t ask you out sooner. But there wasn’t a way for him to know he’d have such little time with you. Katsuki accepts that you’ll always linger in his life, and he doesn’t mind. He never wants to forget you. But he’s learnt that he can make space for others too. Hours pass and he sits there, talking to you. Not registering the time that has already gone by. It’s only when the sky starts to turn into a deep orange, he gets up from the floor. Cursing to himself as he dusts any debris on his pants. His low gaze stares at where your body is buried and manages to curl his lips into the smirk you loved so much.

“I’ll see you next year. Savour the rest of that sake yeah?” Katsuki says goodbye to you. Hands in his pockets as he turns away, walking back to his car. “And I know, keep two hands on the wheel.” a long drawn out sigh leaves his mouth as he automatically repeats what you always told him. When he first got his licence and drove you around, he swears that’s all you said. Coincidentally, the wind runs by the blond and gently caresses him as he leaves. As if you had taken the form of the wind to give him a peck on his cheek.

Soft sounds of his footsteps echoing as he leaves your grave. Time slows as you watch him go further and further into the distance. The engine of that sports car you’ve always talked about purring to life as he gets in. You can hear the car drive off into the distance back to the city. Presumably back home and to his new lover. It should be you right? It should have been you. Your heart swells at the sight, slinking back into your home. At least you still had the sake right?

A dry chuckle leaves your ghostly form as you take the sake. Katsuki was right about one thing, your corpse would have rattled in your coffin if he did not bring this for you. Possibly haunting him out of spite.

In this lifetime, you’re simply a dream that will never come to fruition. The only thing you can wish for is to be reborn into another universe where you are next to him tonight. You'll wait for him to reincarnate together.

a/n : i wrote this for myself but i hope yall enjoy it <3

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[keeksandgigz]

the witch hunt

eddie munson x witch!reader

part 2 of "the love witch"

Summary: You've been good about keeping your magic a secret from Eddie, much to your dismay, so diligent on hiding your true self. What happens when you leave your potion cabinet unattended, he drinks one of your concoctions and turns himself into stone, leaving you to turn him back, right in front of his eyes?

CW: 5k words, no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, eddie turns to stone, angsty angst angst but with a happy ending, witchy casts some serious spells in this one, mentions of witchy being depressed, eddie being a lovesick fool

thank u to my lovely @reidsbtch for beta reading I love u I love u I love u

Read part 1 here, Witchyverse masterpost here

feedback is always appreciated!

You've been good. You've been diligent. You've been following the rules of the coven.

To not share the gift with anyone, a secret kept under oath, hand over the binding of an old spell book, its surface course and rough, centuries of hands- young, old, powerful and weak, all part of the history of how that book came to be.

When you started dating Eddie, you were summoned, warned by your coven to keep the magic away from your human boyfriend, hidden under a veil of thin shame disguised as indifference.

And six months went by, then a year. You thought you were safe, you thought you'd gotten through the worst part of keeping the secret.

You deluded yourself. He loves you so much, there's no reason he would leave you, not even for a secret as big as yours. You've put protection spells around everything that involved actual magic in your house, the potion cabinet you kept in the hallways as decoration, the spell books hidden under a floorboard in your room.

Although he could not feel it, your apartment pulsated with raw magical energy in its purest form. You really thought you were safe.

A rainy November afternoon, you're tasked to bring some ingredients you've had stashed at your apartment to your aunt Hilda's house, a delivery from Janice- ingredients from Bulgaria, after your shift.

What surprises you about your aunt Hilda is that despite being a witch, she does not go unnoticed- living in one of the Painted Ladies house in the heart of San Francisco, all by herself and her cat, Arsenio.

She always invites you in for tea and a reading, so you step into her house, smelling of antique parchment, tea leaves and a mystical smell of pungent resin and wood, much different from your incense and dried flowers smell.

"I need to invite Janice over one of these days" she says in her veiled voice, pouring you a cup of jasmine tea.

"I don't know if she's going to be able to get out of Haight Ashbury, Aunt Hilda. She's like two- hundred years old or something" you laugh, rummaging through your bag for the delivery you visited your aunt for, placing the jars on the table.

She gasps in delight "You can't get those plants anywhere else, she must have paid a fortune for that blood from a vampire's fangs" she squeals, running to her cabinet to find a home for her new deliveries.

"How's your human, dear?" she asks from the kitchen, followed by clattering of glass and metal.

"Oh, Eddie's fine, he should be off work soon, maybe we'll do something after" you shrug, petting her cat, Arsenio, on your lap.

"And his handsome hunk of an uncle?" you roll your eyes at that.

"God, Aunt Hilda, gross" you groan, sinking in your seat.

"Let me know when he's back in town, I need to invite them both over one of these days, it might be nice. Shall we do a reading before I leave?" she sits back down at the small table and takes a sip of her tea, tarot cards in hand.

"Yeah, I'll ask him for his schedule" you finish your tea "Let me do a one card pull, I need to get home"

"You know, dear, you've been awfully nervous lately- so jumpy" She says, as she shuffles the laminated cards for what feels like forever,

"I'm okay, Aunt Hilda, just stressed with work" you lie, exhaling with anticipation as her wrinkled hand holds the deck. Your aunt's readings have always made you nervous.

You'd been jumpy for a while, the thought of Eddie finding out had been making you nervous, but you wouldn't dare to tell your aunt that.

She offers the deck to you, you pick a card and then give it to her. A gasp escapes her upon looking at it.

A panic rises through your body "What? What is it?" you ask, your bag already across your shoulder, holding on to its strap.

"The Tower" she mutters, destruction, unexpected change, awakening.

A shiver runs down your spine, one by one your vertebrae straighten "I just had a really bad feeling, dear. I would check in on your human boy" she places a hand on her temple, heart racing as you bolt out of your seat and leave.

On the train, panic settles in, wondering if Eddie was somehow connected to this.

A call startles you. It's him.

You tremble when nearing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, witchy, I'm at your house- I used the spare key. I just called 'cause I had a question" he says, voice dubious and vague.

"What is it, Ed? I'm on my way home"

"I was just wondering if it's normal that the cabinet in your hallway is open? I had to stop Circe from getting into it a couple times" you hear a meowing in the background, he must be holding her.

"What cabinet?" you feel your chest rise and fall at an incredibly fast pace.

"The one with the wilted flowers on them, it has a bunch of bottles. Are- are these fake potions?" There's an amused lilt in his voice, almost as if he's laughing at you. Fuck. The potion cabinet.

"Eddie don't touch anything, I'm literally here" your alarmed tone freaks him out, but he has no time to say anything as you hang up and enter your apartment building.

You run up the stairs, heart in your throat, as you reach your front door and slam it open. Eddie's head swings violently.

"Hey, witchy, what's wrong?" he stands up from the cabinet, holding Circe on one arm. You're heaving, irregular breaths, as you see he's still standing, alive, and breathing.

You close the door. "You didn't touch anything in there, did you?" you run towards the open cabinet, checking for missing bottles.

"Witchy, honey, I don't get why you're so jumpy about a couple of fake potions, they would actually be really useful for DnD" Eddie chuckles, reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle, observing it up close. A greyish- blue liquid swirls inside the bottle.

"Eddie! Put it back! It's dangerous!" you exclaim as you reach for the bottle, but he's blocking you.

"Baby, I think you might be getting a little too carried away with this witchy stuff. There's no way you should be reacting like this over some water and dye" he swirls the bottle once again "I'll even drink it, show you it's not actually that dangerous"

A smug smile adorns his lips, as you watch helplessly while he uncorks the small vial and downs its content. 

“EDDIE NO” You aren’t even sure what it is, which makes a panic set into your stomach, hoping you could reverse whatever he ingested.

“No, no, no, no, what have you done?” your head encapsulated in your hands, feeling the beady sweat on your hairline, falling to your knees with the realization. You’re going to have to tell him.

“See? Not dangerous, baby. I love you, but you need to do something about this obsession, it’s getting out of hand” he sighs “I’m hungry i’m gonna get some food” but before he can even take a step, the rumbling of stone fills the room. 

You grab the empty glass vial and examine its label. Shit. He turned himself to stone.

In a panic, he looks at you. 

“Witchy, what’s going on?” his eyes dart from you to his frozen legs, the stone spreading itself upward quickly “Witch-what- is that stone?” He goes still after that.

A statue. His cold, grey eyes staring up at you in a panic. 

Tears brimming your eyes at the sudden realization that once you turn him back to normal he’s going to know. 

His hands feel cold at the touch as you cling on to your boyfriend’s statued form. Mouth agape, eyebrows pinched in fear, it hurt you to see him like this. You were going to lose it all because of a dumb mistake.

A desperate scream bubbles inside your chest as you hold yourself flush against Eddie’s cold surface, wishing his arms could hug you back, having to come to terms with the fact that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see him in your home. You won’t ever get to hold him again.

Weak and teary- eyed you reach for your phone, wiping under your eyes as you try to stabilize yourself. 

“Hello, dear?” aunt Hilda says through the phone. 

“Aunt Hilda I made a really terrible mistake” you sob, shoulders shaking with the violence of your hiccups. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” the concern is palpable through her voice. 

“I left- left my potion cabinet open and Eddie-” another string of violent sobs follow, rumbled deep in your chest, shaking you to your very core. 

“What happened to Eddie?” The question is cautious, though unfortunately you could feel the alarm and sternness in her voice.

“He turned to stone” you sigh, exasperated, letting yourself sink into the sofa. 

“Stone? How did a human man turn to stone?” ever the help, your aunt exclaims. 

A dramatic exhale you feel like you’ve been holding onto “I left my potion cabinet open and he- and he has a spare key” you sob- all your fault for letting your guard down, all your fault for letting yourself care for him so mindlessly. 

“He got into it thinking they were all fake, I tried to- to stop him” a siffle stops you “he was trying to be funny” a string of sobs followed, unable to speak any longer. 

“You need to pull yourself together,” Hilda says, amidst your inconsolable sobs “you know how to reverse this” her voice is stern, yet shaky, she feels for you, having to let your love go. 

“The mirror” you mumble. 

“That’s right, get a mirror- circle of reflection, circle of protection” she reminds you “repeat those words, he’ll be okay, dear” you can tell that she is hurting, breaking the law of your coven, making you face consequences you haven't even thought of.  

Would you be losing your power? Would you have to move away from him? In hindsight that would be a blessing, as you doubt he would want to stay, now that your secret is uncovered. 

Hilda hangs up the phone as you scramble to get a mirror, and smear salt over his heart. Trying to reverse the spell that might have broken it. 

The mirror faces your boyfriend, his features grey and scared- the last time you’ll ever see him in this lifetime.

Circle of reflection, circle of protection

Circle of reflection, circle of protection

Circle of reflection, circle of protection

The hand that is not holding the mirror is clutched on tightly to his chest, as you keep repeating the words. 

The sound of rubble breaking makes your heart wrench, selfishly wanting him to stay a statue for a little longer, so you won’t have to say goodbye to him just yet, but the stone armor sheds, and his eyes are brown instead of dull and grey, and his arms move, as well as his mouth, closing in itself, breathing as if he’s come to life for the first time. 

He rubs his eyes first, drowsy, like waking up from a one- hundred year old slumber. He looks around the room, it’s familiar to him, the smell of incense that was there, and then it wasn’t, blocked by the earthy smell of rubble and earth. 

“What happened?” he mumbles, shaking his stiff limbs, kicking the broken suit of stone armor at his feet, your hand still on his heart “Witchy?” 

His eyes are blown wide, memories of what had happened an hour before coming to the surface. The same panicked look adorns his face. 

“The potion- it wasn’t” he begins, as you move your hand off of his body, much to your heart’s dismay. You shake your head. 

“It wasn’t fake. None of them are fake” you mutter, staring at the floor, not even daring to look at him. There’s a quiet tension, an almost awkward silence, charged with pain and heartbreak, as Eddie realizes what you mean by ‘not fake.’

“And you brought me back from whatever I turned into” he breathes.

You just nod, head fixated on the floorboards and the rubble surrounding his feet.

“Does that make you-” he gulps. Can’t even bring himself to say it. 

“A witch” you mumble under your breath “a real one,” your gaze falls on his eyes, dilated and sad, as his eyebrows curve up, a line forming on the bridge of his nose. 

There’s once again an unsettling quiet between you two, as he tries to wrap his head around the news. 

His chest feels hollow, where your hand had been just moments before, an unrecognizable phantom pressing down on his heart, rubbing salt in a gashing wound, hoping it would ameliorate it, only to make it bleed more.

He takes a few steps back, watching his step over the rubble, breaking his silence after what feels like hours. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” it’s a mere mumble, but the question was clear, hurt, and a little scared, maybe. 

“I swore under oath that I would keep it a secret” you purse your lips, taking a step forward. Your heart shatters when he takes a step back.

His chest is stilled, breath caught in his throat, hands at his sides as he scoffs. 

“You swore you’d keep it a secret? Is that why you’ve been so jumpy lately? You knew I was bound to find out and you didn’t tell me?” his head is reeling, betrayal cuts through him like a knife as more and more of looking at you twists the dagger in his chest. 

“I didn’t want you to find out, Ed. I promised to my coven-” 

“Your coven?  There’s more of you?” you can’t do anything else but swallow on the knot in your throat, scratching and engorging with every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth, and nod. 

“And you let me drink the potion, God knows what it could have been” he trembles, a shaky breath escapes him. 

“I tried to stop you, Eddie!” you reach for him, hanging on the feeble hope he’ll realize that you have never meant to hurt him in the first place. 

“And- and what if you spelled me, huh? What if you spelled me to make me fall in love with you? Is my love for you not real?” that hurt you more than anything else he could have said, tears brimming your eyes, escaping from their confinement as they streak down your cheeks. 

“I’ve never used my magic on you,” you admit, voice thick with salty tears “my love for you is real, as yours is. I never tampered with your heart, it’s not who I am” bottom lip jutted out and trembling, feeling on the teetering edge of the end.

“I don’t know who you are” a stab to the heart would have hurt less. “You’ve been lying to me for the past year about who you are. No wonder I was so in love with you, you made me fall in love with a person that doesn’t exist, you spelled me!” he’s trembling, you can see it in the way that his fists are balled up– something he does to stabilize himself whenever he’s upset. 

And now he’s upset because of you. 

“Eddie–” you take a step forward, he takes a step back. 

“No. Don’t- don’t come closer.” tears well at the bottom of your lash line, as you watch him turn away, leave and close the door behind him. Words trapped at the bottom of your throat. Words you’ll never get to say again. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the doorknob, hoping that it might turn, revealing Eddie once again, ready for you to explain everything to him. 

But the doorknob doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open, and Eddie doesn’t come back. 

You refuse to sweep the rubble from the last time he was in your apartment, hoping that the smell of him stuck to the cold stone, but there’s nothing left of him in your space. 

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break,  the life force of their power fades. 

So within a short span of days, you notice yourself being weakened. Simple spells become a hard feat, as you can barely make things levitate, sitting in the darkness of your room. 

Days begin to merge into themselves, as you get yourself to work, then home, then work, then home. A repeating cycle you don’t intend to stop. You leave around the back side of the store, to not let Eddie see you while he’s on his smoke break, blending into the crowded streets of what once seemed like the best place in the world.

Your aunt Hilda doesn’t hear from you, and neither does anyone else. You fall off the face of the earth, hoping that your hours never coincide with Eddie’s. 

But you can feel it from next door, the pain and hurt that radiates from the record store. You feel it in the way he speaks to customers, in the way he sighs as he gets off his smoke break. 

You hear him ask Janice about you, she tells him that she doesn’t know, that she hasn’t seen you in a while. Respecting your wishes to let him live his life in peace. 

But he wasn’t living his life in peace. In fact, Eddie was miserable. 

He was miserable in the way that everything reminded him of you, in the way that if he stepped too close to your store (to make sure you were working that day), he’d smell the rose incense you’d light at your house. The one he would smell on your clothes. 

The crystals that sat on his windowsill were now tightly packed and shoved away on a far up shelf that he would not be reminded of you. He burned every trace of you, the taste of betrayal bitter in his throat as he sat on his couch every night, always on the left side, because you sat on the right. A place for you was always carved in his mind, whether it was unconscious or intentional. 

 The smell of your shampoo lingers in the pink bottles in his shower, in the silk pillow you always slept on when you went over to his house. A silk shirt you left on his bed, gingerly placed on his pillow as he lets your smell engulf him. That’s the only way he can sleep. 

There’s a fear deeply setting in, that he might just never be able to get over you. Despite the lies and the secrets, he will never be able to not think about you, not when the smell of rose incense or the color pink exist, not when long skirts and crystals and tarot cards and brocade rugs exist. Not when you exist. Not when you keep walking the earth, sadness seeping in every crevice and every crack of his walls.

He knows he can’t go on like this. Not while you roam the same streets he roams, waiting for you to turn around. Look at me, witchy, look at me. 

And you’re so sad. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you don’t carry yourself like you used to– shoulders slouched, dressed in black like you’re mourning the loss of your heart. Mourning the loss of your love.

He debates going back to Hawkins for a bit. Going back to live with his uncle– leave this new world behind, just until the air has been purified of you. Until he’s no longer thinking about the witchy girl who haunts his dreams at night. Go work where his friend Steve works at, shitty, dead- end job, just for a bit. 

Confine himself to the life of a hermit, just so he can allow you to live in peace. 

So he goes back to Hawkins, under the guise of going home for the holidays. He picks up whatever jobs his uncle can’t do anymore because of his age, driving the beat up yellow pick- up truck in and out of town. 

“I never thought I’d see the day Munson would come crawling back” he’d hear a couple of people say on the street. He’s never gone unnoticed, but now more so than before– integrated in the San Francisco scene, he did anything but blend in. And he swears he sees you a few times, walking around downtown Hawkins, your hair, your clothes, your bag. Prancing around like your life is back to normal. 

Could it have been a spell? Did you spell him to not make him forget about you? 

But he knows it isn’t like you. Not malicious, not even as a witch, he assumes. 

He keeps himself up at night thinking about you. You’d never use magic on him. With a sound mind, he tells himself that’s true. Your love for him is real. Is his love for you real? Shivering in the freezing temperature of his uncle’s trailer he’d ponder whether what you had was real or not. 

Real.

He drives himself crazy, the thought of you plaguing his mind. 

Even his uncle grows worried, the purple bags under his nephew’s eyes, all the books on witchcraft Eddie could find at the Hawkins local library sitting on his desk. Staying up to read on anything and everything that could help him.

And when that doesn’t work he goes on his uncle’s shitty wifi he never uses to research anything about witches, about magic, about you.

You don’t sense him anymore. Not through the walls, not in his sardonic laugh. It’s like he’d vanished into thin air. 

You find yourself stepping into the record store after a shift, asking his shitty coworkers what happened to Eddie. 

And you’re so weak. So tired, it is even a feat to be able to make it through one full shift standing up, finding a stool to sit on. You’ve paled, eyes dark and lifeless. 

“He’s gone back home for the holidays” one of the assholes who made fun of you says “left you stranded here all by yourself? Or did he kick you to the curb?” he smirks, and the other idiot laughs. You make a mental note to hex them for good next time. 

If you don’t die first. 

Eddie comes back to San Francisco after the holidays, and it’s like he’s never left. 

Union Square has taken off the tree and the ice skating rink– he wanted to take you there. He thought you’d be good at ice skating. You’re good at everything. Or maybe it’s because you’re magic. 

The restaurant you went to on your first date has closed down. There’s a smile creeping on his face as he remembers you laughing because he couldn’t eat with chopsticks. He misses hearing you laugh. He misses seeing you smile. 

The tiny twinkle, the stars in your eyes. The way he’d braid your hair at night. Petting Circe, nestled in between you two in your bed. 

He sees you for the first time since he’s been back on the porch of your shop. His heart shrinks at the sight of you. Eyes sunken in, buried in layers and layers of woolen fabric, staring blankly at the street in front of you. 

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break,  the life force of their power fades. 

He remembers reading that in an old looking book during the holidays. He wrote it down in his notebook. 

A love witch. Thrives on being loved and being in love.  

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered. 

He sees it now.

He shows up to your house after talking himself into it for a week, with the excuse of returning a shirt. The same silk  shirt he’d been sleeping on top of since he left you. He had it washed for you. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.

He knocks. Is it him or are his hands always that sweaty? Is his heart beating at a normal pace? Is his hair okay? And his breath? Oh shit, he has a zit on his chin.

“Go away Aunt Hilda!” he hears you say, grumpy and grouchy. The veiled sadness in your voice creates a rift between him and the door. 

So he knocks. Again. And Again. 

“Aunt Hilda I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I don’t want– Eddie” A breath gets trapped in your diaphragm, feeling your heart start picking up its pace for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

“Hi” he gives you a tight smile, the silk balled up in a fist, purple with little black swirls on it. 

“Hi, um, I– what are you doing here? Do you wanna come in?” you slither like a worm, that’s how you feel. The boy you’ve been pining and crying and suffering for is here. Right in front of you. 

You look so much more frail than he’d remembered “I uh–” he holds up the fabric “you left this at my house” 

“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet of you” Your heart drops, you really thought he was going to make amends with you?

You extend your arm, so he can give the shirt to you. So he can be on his way and be gone forever. 

Hands, fingers, knuckles. He misses holding your hand. 

“I heard you went home for the holidays, how was that?” you lean on the doorframe, hands crossed on your chest. 

“It was good, I just spent it with my uncle. He told me to tell you happy new year, uh— even though we’re not—” he shouldn’t have said the last part, he sees you sink into yourself, gazing down at the hardwood floor. His stomach twists. 

“What did you do for the holidays?” he asks. He doesn’t want it to be over, not yet. 

“I just stayed in, I’ve been pretty sick lately, flu season in full swing. I’ve just been—”

“Your heart’s broken, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so sick?” your heart drops. How does he know all this? 

He reads your puzzled expression “I um— did some research. That’s what I did most of my holidays.  I just wanted to understand. I know you didn’t spell me, or whatever. You’re a love witch” he takes out a piece of paper, highlighted is a sentence, in light pink.

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered. 

Your head is reeling, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He spent his holidays researching you, your kind. He knows you didn’t lie to him. 

Tears begin to spill onto the old parchment, the tears you haven’t shed in the past two months resurfacing, as you violently jerk and sob in front of him. You missed him.

Eddie quickly steps into your apartment and closes the door, enveloping you in a hug. And it feels good for your heart, a soothing balm for all the cracks and wounds it’s suffered. 

“It’s okay, witchy, you can let it out” he says, as you continue to sob on his shoulder. Soft shushing sounds as he caresses your hair “Shhh…shhh… I’ve got you” and it’s like he’s never left. 

“I’m here now, I’m not leaving” his assurance makes your body feel whole again. He sits you both down on the couch. 

“Witchy, I didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. I would see you everywhere, I thought I was going crazy” he begins, and maybe he sees a twinkle in your eye, something weak, almost like a heartbeat being revived. 

“I thought going to Hawkins, just to distance myself would change things. But I’d keep myself awake thinking about you, all the time, wondering if you were doing okay.” His hand brushes yours, as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. 

“I would see you at work, or out and about and you looked so sad. And I just couldn’t explain to myself what happened to you, until I came across that book” he finishes.

And in turn, you don’t say anything, you just kiss him. It’s wet and messy with the tears and the saliva, but he immediately kisses you back, cradling your face in his hand. Your heart beats faster than it has in a while, and it’s like magically, your skin has a bit more color to it. 

And Eddie sees the stars in your eyes again. 

When you detach you just lay your head on his chest. You listen for his heartbeat, lulling you into a deep sleep, the best sleep you’ve had in two months. He follows you not soon after, Circe on his lap, as he falls into slumber with a peaceful smile on his face. 

Once awoken from your sleep, you go make a cup of tea for the both of you.

“Witchy?” your head lifts at the nickname as you pour him his tea.

 “So, are you a witch, a mage or a sorceress?” 

You just roll your eyes and kiss him again. 

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[reikaryu]

20:41 with mingyu

pairing : kim mingyu x gen!reader

summary : it’s almost nine in the night and your boyfriend misses you.

genre : timestamp, fluff, idol!au, established relationship

warning(s) : nothing other than adorable mingyu <3

it’s been a week since you saw your boyfriend face to face. he’s been practising diligently with his group mates for the upcoming comeback, while you were stuck in your studio producing songs for a number of artists.

considering the amount of songs you had to create a baseline for, you haven’t had the time to even think about what mingyu was up to. much less miss his comforting presence and clinginess. but it was not the same for him.

mingyu, despite being entirely focused on improving his dance moves, managed to slip you into the depths of his mind every once in a while. no one has yet to call him out for constantly checking his phone in case you ever texted or called him.

he contemplated surprising you at your apartment but decided against it, since he wasn’t too sure that you were home.

he was fortunate that he didn’t, because you haven’t left your studio since you entered it a week ago. you took two-hour long naps whenever you couldn’t think up anything for the songs and ordered take-out every time you were hungry. basically, no one except for the delivery men have seen you in this past week.

alas completing half of the work you were given, you decided to take a little break and play around with your instruments. but bumzu had noticed that the door to your studio had been closed a little too long and knocked on it before entering. the two of you got into a little argument about your work and personal life and you ended up going home because he threatened to confiscate the keys to your studio for an entire month.

you’re home now. you have just kicked off your shoes and placed them neatly into the cabinet near the entrance. you don’t fail to notice the extra pair that you certainly don’t own. smiling to yourself, you throw your bag on the couch and head into the kitchen.

unsurprisingly, you find mingyu near the stove, undoubtedly cooking up some pasta for the two of you to share.

“gyu,” you exclaim in a soft whisper, happy to see him. “how did you know I was coming home?”

he turns the fire off and pivots on his foot to be met with your body crashing against his. he lets out a laugh, stroking your hair gently.

“I figured you hadn’t left your studio in some time,” he uses a stern tone towards the last few words. you bite back a grin. “I called bumzu hyung to get you out of that suffocating place no matter what.”

“mmh,” you hum, cheek pressed against his chest. “he threatened to confiscate my studio keys. it’s not like he doesn’t lock himself in his own studio sometimes.”

mingyu pushes you away to break the hug as he says, “that’s true.” then, he leads you to the table and sits you down. “I’ll get the food ready. just wait.”

after dinner, you wash up and crash into bed with him. while he snuggles into your side, missing your scent and comforting touch, you continue a book from where you left off a week ago. it really seems like only a day has passed.

it may have been hours or minutes that passed, you don’t know. what you do know, however, is that mingyu is trying his very best not to fall asleep right now. you know what he’s up to and can’t help but feel guilty.

“you can go to sleep, gyu,” you whisper in a sweet tone, marking your book and putting it aside. he hums, but his droopy eyes are still trying to stay open. you chuckle, stroking his hair.

mingyu whines, “I haven’t seen you at all in a week!” he smushes his face into your abdomen as you ruffle his hair as a form of affection. “I miss you.” and he ends with a pout that looks like :c

you want to kiss him right now. smother him in pecks and smooches, but you like this position. it’s comfortable. so you settle with stroking his slightly long hair. “I won’t be going to work tomorrow; bumzu might just lock me out of my studio. I never should have joined universe factory.”

he knows you’re up to something — knows what that something is — and waits in anticipation for you to continue your words. and you know he knows. you try your hardest to hold back a smug grin.

“so that means you’ll get me for a whole day. twenty-four hours seems like a lot, doesn’t it?” you ask mingyu, looking down at him adoringly.

he flashes his famous smile, his fangs (the ones you absolutely fawn over) showing themselves proudly. “I’m gonna sleep now, since I have a whole day to you tomorrow,” he announces cheerfully, hugging you tightly and closing his eyes.

you go back to work the day after tomorrow with mingyu clinging to your side. when bumzu sees you, he smiles and chuckles knowingly.

I absolutely LOVE mingyu’s fangs. they’re so perfect oh my gosh.

taglist : @i520sn @piakae @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @f3v3rs @wonwoospartyhat @lesdevoeux @wonuulvr @svtcaratlove @amazingly-amazing-loser @ckline35 @enhacolor @woozarts @famouspoetrydinosaur @kokoiinuts @ahnneyong @kawennote09 @jcngh0-hq @marrgohh @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @reverbtunes @starnight-charmer @bimbo4jotaro @zonked_times @bangbangtandotcom

mingyu will kiss you if you reblog (.◜◡◝)

[greedyhoneyz]

One Born Every Minute

ೃ࿔*:･pairing: eren yeager x pregnant!mom!reader .ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: as first-time parents, both (name) and eren are filled with excitement and anticipation. (name) is ecstatic, whilst eren is clouded by what-ifs. but when (name) is admitted, their roles reverse - (name), reality finally sinking in, is overwhelmed but with eren by her side, who supports her with a calm and supportive demeanour, she’ll face her newfound fears and meet her little one. .ೃ࿔*:･cw: angst. childbirth. inaccurate representation of birth. mostly fluff. .ೃ࿔*:･authors note: this is a long one, 2.2k words. the longest I've done in a while. i wanted to write a detailed story of reader and eren at birth, and used help to make this story sound as natural as I could make it. i hope that at least one part of this story can be understood but overall, I think this story might be my new favourite.

The dreary lift ride to the delivery ward felt like an eternity, the soft hum of the elevator and the simultaneous tapping of (name’s) nails against her phone and Eren’s uneasy feet shifting across the lift floor only added to the tension in the air.

Eren stilled, tightening his grasp on the handles of (name’s) hospital bag and glanced at her. His lips were pursed, his eyebrows contorting inwards as he asked. “How are you feeling?” 

Slowing the motion in her fingers, (name) turned away from her phone and peered up at Eren, a smile coming to her lips. “I feel fine.”

“That’s good…good,” Eren mumbled quietly, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Do you…need me…uh…did you think we forgot anything at home?”

“No,” (name) shook her head and wrapped her arm around Eren as best as she could despite her belly getting in the way. She rested her head on his shoulder, hugged him tightly, and reassured him. “We’ll be fine babe, we’re ready for this.”

The lift jolted to a halt and its door rustled open, greeting the couple with sounds and sights of the hospital hallway. People hurried by, doctors in scrubs rushed past, and the faint buzzing from the fluorescent lights above filled the air. 

(name) followed Eren wilfully, panting between slow, steady breaths as he carefully led her across the hallway, following the signs to the delivery ward.

They reached the door to the ward, the muted sounds of labour echoing from within and entered, to be greeted by a nurse at the reception desk and her welcoming smile. 

Eren and (name) stood at the ward’s reception desk, the sterile scent of the ward filled the air. (name) clutched her belly, her face contorting into a frown and held onto the desk for support as a tide of agony, rippled across her stomach in waves that came closer and closer together. 

“Are you okay?” Eren asked fretfully. He clambered over (name), rubbed her middle and gently touched her shoulder.

Between the strikes of pain and shaky breaths, (name) tried her best to concentrate, to formulate her words yet all she could offer was a moan and weary grin as her hands trembled slightly. 

Eren frowned, his eyebrows knitted together and knawed at his bottom lip. He greeted the nurse at the desk, whilst (name) riffed through her contractions and shuffled impatiently as she settled into her recliner. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, the gentle clicking of the keys a soothing backdrop to (name’s) muffled howls. 

“Alright, I need you to fill out these forms before we get you settled in.” She handed Eren a clipboard with a stack of papers attached and he hurriedly took it. He skimmed through the paperwork, jotting down (name’s) medical history, and insurance information from memory, the scratch of his pen against the paper a steady rhythm.

Bunching the papers together, Eren returned the paperwork and watched diligently as the nurse promptly glanced through the information, ensuring everything was complete before tucking the papers into (name’s) file.

She stood from her chair and circled her desk, a clipboard tucked underneath her arm. She beckoned the couple over and gestured for them to follow her down the corridor. She led them past rows of closed doors until they reached room ‘406’.

“Okay, you’re gonna be right in here.”

“I’ll grab you a gown.”

Slam. The door shut, and Eren and (name) were left alone. 

“It’s nice.” (name) spoke out between a few bated breaths, finally at ease. Her gentle voice filled the barren room as she carefully eased herself onto the edge of her bed. 

Placing her bag at his feet, Eren glanced at (name). “What?”

“The room,” (name) murmured, motioning her hand across the room. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Eren breathed, pulling up a chair beside her. He sat down, sinking into its firm cushion, and tucked his feet beneath.

As Eren sat and drew a breath, he felt a sense of overwhelming fatigue wash over him. He had been running on little sleep, juggling work responsibilities and last-minute preparations for the baby's arrival. His mind was a constant whirlwind of worries - about (name’s) well-being, about the health of their baby, about the obscure challenges that lay ahead with childbirth. 

“Here you go,”

The nurse entered with a warm smile bound to her face as she greeted the couple with a hospital gown in hand. She placed it on the bed beside (name) and after checking her watch, issued instructions to the couple. “After you get changed, we’ll come and check how far you’ve dilated.”

“Okay.” (name) nodded, shifting her gaze between the gown beside her and Eren. 

“Great! See ya in a few.” Slam.

“You need my help?”

“Please,” (name) cajoled, raising her arms like she wanted him to carry her.

Rising from his seat, Eren helped (name) to her feet and into her hospital gown. She shuffled out of her sweatshirt and sweatpants and stepped into her gown. She struggled to manoeuvre her swollen belly into the gown but Eren’s hand steadied her fidgeting and carefully draped the fabric over her middle and slightly above her knee.

Eren stood back, fatigue swelled in his gaze and relished at the sight of (name’s) swollen belly. The sight of her middle, veiled beneath the loose fabric of the hospital gown, filled him with pride and gloom. Very soon, the belly he had watched grow, expand and move would be no more, and an infant, the size of a small watermelon, would replace it. 

Wrapping his arm around her lower back, supporting her labour movements, Eren gently guided (name) towards the hospital bed. The hospital room was dimly lit, with only the sound of (name’s) heavy breathing, the soft hum of machines and the gentle beeping of monitors.

As they reached the bed, Eren helped (name) lay down. She sank into the mattress, letting out a relief smile as he fluffed up the pillows behind her and carefully tucked the sheets around, ensuring she was warm and comfortable. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his love and concern evident in his tired eyes.

(name) smiled up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude and affection as she whispered. “Thank you.”

Eren returned to his seat beside her, his heart swelled with love as he gazed at his wife and her swollen middle.

With each contraction that belted through, came a bolt of agony that consumed (name’s) entire being. She yelled at the top of her lungs, her face flushed with frustration and pain, as her eyes squeezed shut. She gripped Eren’s hand tightly, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip and clamped her lips together as she pushed. 

Eren could see the pain etched on his wife's face and could feel the heat of her breath against his skin as she struggled through each contraction– she was exhausted, stressed and in pain. 

“You’re doing amazing, baby,” Eren whispered, his voice glinting between hints of admiration and concern. “I’m so proud of you. Just breathe, okay? You’ve got this.”

(name) nodded, her head bobbing to the side as she focused on tempering her breathing, desperate to find a rhythm that would ease the pain. Eren stood by her side, offering words of encouragement and gentle touches, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of labour.

“Eren?” (name) spoke, her voice shaky.

“Yeah, baby?” Eren replied, offering a warm smile.

(name) swallowed deeply, and slowly opened her mouth, yet no words emerged. Instead, a strangled cry escaped her lips, the dam of her emotions breaking in a rush of pain and despair, and the feeling of overwhelmingness. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unashamed as she wailed. “I-I should have taken the epidural. It hurts so much.”

Eren wrapped his arm around as best as he could, minding the side rails that separated him from his wife and the nurses working diligently around him. He held her face as she wept, and muttered words of tenderness and reassurance. “It's okay baby, you're doing great. Just a couple more pushes and he’ll be here. Okay? I know it hurts but you're almost done.”

As (name’s) tears began to subside, her chest heaved upwards and downwards in sporadic tremors. She lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and gazed at her husband. “...Eren…”

“I know baby,” Eren whispered. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against the side rail, and pressed a kiss to the side of (name’s) head and then to her soiled cheek. “You’ll be okay.”

The pain returned in stronger and more intense waves, and (name) howled. She writhed in discomfort and agony, jeering her head from left to right and squeezed Eren’s hand tighter. Her face contorted into a mean scowl, her breath coming in short and sharp gaps as she pushed and then exhaled and then pushed, inhaling deeply. 

And when the pain stopped, Eren pampered (name) with his comforting touch; wiping away her tears and soothing her trembling figure with careful rubs. He held her as best as he could from beside her bed and urged her softly, his feathery voice a timid facade to the pacing worry pumping through his blood. 

In a stop-start fashion, (name) pressed through labour steadily as the doctor on call and the nurses bustled around the room. They worked in perfect harmony, their movements choreographed with precision and and expertise. They checked (name’s) vitals, monitored the baby’s heart rate and adjusted the beeping monitors every so often.

And in the centre of it all, (name) laboured through her contractions, tears brimmed between her eyes. Sweat glistened above her brows, her breath escaping through ragged gasps and tired pleas. 

“Alright, (name),” one of the nurses spoke, her voice gentle yet firm. “A couple more pushes and the baby will slip on out.”

(name) moaned tiredly and turned away, stuck in a lonesome daze. She could feel the wave of emotions building inside of her: doubt, resentment; anguish. Such emotions weighed heavily on her stomach, yanking at her resolve, her courage, her joy, until she crumbled.

The hospital room filled with the sound of soft, muffled sobs as (name) laid still, her sullen face tucked behind the few plaits draped across the side of her face, tears pooled down her cheeks and soiled her bed sheets. “I just want…I just want it to be over.”

Eren stared down at (name’s) trembling figure, dejection burned through his eyes. He reached out, took her hand, intertwining it in his own, and called her delicately. “(name).” He spoke, squeezing her hand.

“(name)– baby look at me,” He retorted firmly, beckoning her over with a gentle touch to the shoulder. “Look at me.”

She turned to him, her eyes welled with tears and hummed sullenly. “Yes.”

Eren spoke earnestly, his voice filled with conviction. “I know it hurts. I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels but our baby, your baby is ready and he wants to come out and the more we wait, the harder it is on him.”

“But–”

Eren shook his head. “I know. But he’s coming, he’s coming out to see you.”

(name) sniffled, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she took in Eren’s words. She squeezed his hand, holding it to her chest and whispered, her shaky voice thick with emotions. “Okay.”

Unweaving her fingers from Eren’s, (name) slowly sat up and lurched herself forward. Her chest pressed against her middle, her hands gripping the handles of her bed. A fierce look flashed through her eyes as with the last drop of strength left in her spirit, she let out a guttural grunt.  

From between her legs, she felt the force of her baby crowing, tearing her flesh apart, and held her breath. She pushed, the baby’s head free from its cavern, and pushed, the baby’s shoulder untroubled, and pushed, the baby finally slipping into the hands of a neonatal nurse.

“There he is!”

A boy was born, and here he was nascent eyes opening, mouth rooting for milk.

He shrieked and finicked, shackled from neck to bottom and damp, and toted away from his lustrous mother to a bassinet, the thick air that once comforted him replaced by the palpable sense of anticipation and excitement echoed through alien voices and strange objects that toyed at his skin.

“Would Dad like to cut the umbilical cord?” 

The nurse beckoned Eren over, a pair of scissors in hand and journeyed him to the bassinet. With trembling hands, Eren carefully cut the plump and pale cord, severing the physical bond that had sustained their child in the womb for nine long months. As he did so, a wave of adoration washed over him, a sense of deep joy and fulfilment.

And then, after what felt like an eternity the infant fell to the solace of his (name’s) bare chest, a white blanket draped across his body. He was dry after a brief wipe down but gleamed beautifully like no other, purple and all. 

Erem glanced over his newfound family, tears rooting from the brims of his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of (name’s) head as she leaned into his touch, sighing woefully. His heart swelled with tenderness and relief, as gaze down (name) and their tiny newborn held in her arms. 

"He’s here," he spoke between shaky breaths and a sniffle, a prideful smile pulling on his face. "You did it, baby."

[sliebman10]

Florist AU

“New order,” Sirius said, looking at the ticket before handing it off to Remus.

Remus scanned it and nodded. “Should be done by the end of the day…I have the centerpieces for the wedding ready to go,” he said, gesturing toward his work station, where there were fifteen small, white tea pots filled with blue and white flowers. 

“Those are lovely as always, Moony,” Sirius said, kissing the top of his head as he walked by.

“This one is a special order though…” Remus said, squinting at the order. Chrysanthemums, peonies and daffodils?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s from…

“Our birthday months,” Remus said thoughtfully, an idea forming in his brain.

He diligently created the bouquet as requested, adding some flourishes he wouldn’t have normally added. Sirius admired his work as he did the books at the table across from him. 

This was how they spent most days in Full Moon Flowers. Sirius taking care of the business end, Remus fulfilling the orders. Sirius had tried to make the bouquets, but they never came out as good as when Remus made them. 

Later, the door chimed when Remus was bringing the centerpieces to the front for delivery and Sirius was talking to a customer at the register. When Sirius looked up, he froze a little.

“I ordered the bouquet earlier,” the familiar voice said.

Sirius’s head snapped up in surprise, then his face melted into a grin.”You’re home!” Sirius exclaimed, pulling the visitor into a bear hug. “Moony!”

Remus poked his head back in. “Harry?” he said, in surprise. Their boy had been traveling and hadn’t been around in months.

Harry grinned at the pair of them as Remus joined the hug. “I am. It’s good to be home.”

Word Count: 292

@wolfstarmicrofic

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 41 part one

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)  (whole thing on AO3)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Empathy

We start off with Wei Wuxian, paper edition, flinging himself onto the surprisingly well-preserved face of Nie Mingjue.

Back in their room, Lan Wangji immediately recognizes that Wei Wuxian is doing empathy, even though it's an advanced technique that Lan Wangji hasn't seen him use before, as far as I can recall. Maybe the wind from nowhere that kicks up as soon as the empathy session starts is an indicator he's been trained to recognize.

Lan Wangji: Where's my fan?

Watercooler Gossip

We head into an extended flashback from Nie Mingjue's memories.

Dead-Nie-Mingjue spends a surprising amount of time thinking about how sexy and imposing he used to be, as well as remembering things he wasn't actually there to witness. The whole sequence is presented in usual close-third-person narrative POV. Maybe when we die, we switch to third-person camera view. *shrug*

Nie Mingjue finishes off a couple of Zombies without wiping his sabre, which would make Aslan very unhappy if we were in Narnia.

Then he glares angrily at his crew of cheerful disciples and their unbloodied swords, for reasons that are unclear. He's an angry guy.

(More behind the cut!)

He says to call the dude who was "the last one to stay guard last time." When they say it's Meng Yao he looks shocked. I don't know why he's shocked because I don't know what he actually means by "the last one to stay guard last time." On Netflix this is translated as the dude who "stayed the latest last time," which I guess means that Meng Yao works harder than everyone else? But apparently the result is that he is required to carry water for the rest of the group, so maybe it means he's a slacker? Without seeing the duty roster I can't really tell what the deal is here.

Next we see Meng Yao walking up with a whole bunch of water bottles on a hill above the CDrama River of Questionable Life Choices, where we have previously seen Wei Wuxian, Wen Kexing, A-Qing, and maybe those Lotus Casebook guys.

He approaches the mouth of a (incredibly beautiful) cave, where he can hear people talking shit about him inside.

Instead of going inside and telling them to shut their collective pie hole, he goes and sits by a tree to have lunch by himself. With…all the water? They should have waited to insult him until AFTER the water delivery. Jeez, these guys are dumb.

While he chows down on his bread, he keeps glancing wistfully at the cave where the dudes are, but somehow fails to notice Nie Mingjue walking up to him until he's 2 feet away.

Nie Mingjue asks why Meng Yao isn't in the cave with the others. Meng Yao makes a face at the cave and Nie Mingjue strides over there, eager for an opportunity to be pissed off about something.

They walk into the cave together and the dudes are STILL talking shit about him. I get that gossip is fun, but there are only 3 things to know about Meng Yao. 1. Mom was a sex worker 2. dad is reknowned creep Jin Guangshan 3. got kicked down the stairs at Jinlintai. That's it.

Anyone who enjoys gossip knows that the conversation would have shifted by now, to one of the following topics: 1. who else's mom is a sex worker? Yours, no yours! 2. the further creep adventures of Jin Guangshan 3. every over-long staircase that anyone in the group has ever heard of, and everyone who either climbed up it or fell down it.

Instead, the conversation has stayed resolutely on the topic of Meng Yao, and Nie Mingjue just stands there with him behind a rock wall, listening while his guys lay out all of the embarrasing detail, along with their big opinions.

One guy says that Meng Yao has accepted his fate and has to run and get water for them, but another guy says he hasn't accepted it, that he's diligent & working hard all the time so he can gain fame and get his father to acknowledge him. This is the only guy who has said anything positive about him, and this is the speech Nie Mingjue decides to interrupt, rather than the speech about how many men Meng Yao's mom has fucked. What the hell, Nie Mingjue? Nie Minjue clearly has no interest in saving Meng Yao embarrassment.

Nie Mingjue yells at everyone and tells Meng Yao that the more that these assholes talk shit about him, the more he has to achieve to make sure there's nothing they can say. Which is…pretty decent advice, sadly.

While Nie Mingjue delivers his lecture, Meng Yao mentally counts up how many guys he's going to be murdering later. Then Nie Mingjue pointedly promotes him to be his deputy General. Meng Yao thanks him formally and apparently sincerely.

Before we jump ahead to what happens next, let's talk about how this scene sets up the relationship between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. I think it's a super toxic relationship right from the get-go.

When I first watched this scene it played like a leader seeing the value in his subordinate, defending him from his peers, and elevating him as a reward for his hard work. But I think that's not really what we're seeing. Nie Mingjue's focus throughout this encounter is on the rest of his men; specifically on their unvirtuous behavior and his rage about it. He's using Meng Yao to teach them a lesson, and it seems like he elevates him above them not as a reward for himself, but as a punishment for them.

On the flip side, Meng Yao's lunchtime pity party seems a lot less spontaneous to me, now that I've seen so many other Wuxia & Xianxia dramas, than it did when I first fell into this CDrama rabbit hole. His meek, butthurt reaction to people talking shit about him is inappropriate for a cultivator or any fighter in the Jianghu. It's an entire culture based around fighting and responding to challenges. He definitely doesn't lack courage, so I think his meekness in this situation is crafted for its effect on Nie Mingjue.

Cloud Recesses Revisited

Let's have a flashback of our own, so we can compare this meeting with Meng Yao's first meeting with Lan Xichen, back in Episode 4.

When Meng Yao is presented, some Jiang sect douchebags in the back lay out his whole backstory in loud stage whispers. Lan Qiren quickly silences them -- without losing his temper, notably.

Even though he's a grumpy SOB who doesn't normally hesitate to yell at Wei Wuxian students, he does not embarrass Meng Yao by making a big deal of the situation; not even to say Gossip is Forbidden.

Lan Xichen then steps up and, smooth king that he is, drops the piece of gossip HE has heard about Meng Yao: "I've heard that Clan Leader Nie has a helpful assistant." Then he compliments the elegance of his speech, saying that he matches up to his expectations.

Then he strokes his fingers while he praises the gift he's brought. Then he grabs him and kisses him passionately in front of everyone Ahem. Pardon me.

Where Nie Mingjue's reaction to malicious gossip is to listen to every word of it and then make a big show of criticizing the people speaking, Lan Xichen moves to counteract it with praise, subtly shaming the gossipers in a way that genuinely uplifts Meng Yao. And he does it just because he's a nice guy who finds Meng Yao pleasing, not because he requires anything from him. Whereas Nie Mingjue appears to require quite a lot from Meng Yao.

Nie Mingjue's goal seems to be to improve Meng Yao in a fundamental way; to educate him and sort of force him onto the path of virtue. He also wants to use him to force his men onto the path of virtue...a path he himself does not, actually, walk.

Murder Will Out

Next we jump ahead to Meng Yao shanking the guard captain.

I think Nie Mingjue needs to overhaul his hiring practices because this dude is very easy to stab and perhaps should not be in charge of anything relating to combat. Maybe the "block" button on his game controller broke.

Note that Meng Yao picks up a saber to do this - not a Wen sword, but a Nie saber, which might be a props error, since later Nie Mingjue accuses him of deliberately using a Wen sword to disguise his actions.

We've seen these events before, back in episode 10, but the editing adds some things in the current episode, and removes others. Let's look at the differences.

1. Drunk Guard Captain

The night before this fight, there's a banquet and Meng Yao spends most of it making out with guarding Xue Yang. He does this by checking on him a bunch, which doesn't seem like it should be necessary in a fortress with a proper dungeon, but whatevs.

In Episode 10, we see Meng Yao briefly encounter the drunken, hostile guard captain, who shoulder-checks him and calls him son of a [sex worker], but otherwise we don't see any of their conversation.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue's head remembers a longer version of the encounter, with bonus vomiting. The captain tells Meng Yao he saw him talking to someone, asks what he's up to, accuses him of lying, and Meng Yao tells the captain's sidekick to put his drunk ass to bed.

This whole scene is HILARIOUS when you consider that this is Nie Mingjue's mental account of events, which means the Captain must have put everything we see in his report to the boss.

"Well, sir, I was incredibly drunk and vomiting in public near the Lan guest quarters when that twink that you like was seen talking to someone, so I roughed him up a bit and insulted his mother before I went to pass out from drunkenness. I hope you will reprimand him for his bad behavior."

That scene, in Episode 41, ends with Meng Yao all alone, straightening and brushing off his clothes and making his "I'm plotting your death" face.

Nie Mingjue sure does remember a lot of stuff he wasn't actually around to see. Maybe he's filling in gaps with everything he's heard during all the times Meng Yao has stood in front of his head-shelf and gloated out loud about stuff.

2. Wens Attack

In episode 10, Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu bring some guys to attack the Unclean Realm. Meng Yao goes and stabs the guard captain while Nie Mingjue is in a melee 1-on-1 with Wen Zhuliu, which requires all of his focus and spinning.

Nie Mingjue glances to the side in a moment of respite and sees Meng Yao stabbing the guard captain; he promptly forgets about fighting Wen Zhuliu in order to go shout at Meng Yao.

Meng Yao pulls on a tee shirt that says "commmit to the bit" and proceeds to say "it wasn't me" over and over despite having been caught red-handed.

This distraction enables Wen Zhuliu to almost stab Nie Mingjue, but he's saved by Meng Yao throwing himself in the way of the blade. These people should learn to block with something besides their torsos.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue's head has forgotten that Wen Zhuliu was ever there, and doesn't focus on the other Wen dudes right in his eye line. He notices Meng Yao acting a tiny bit squirrely and stops fighting in order to go follow him. Like. Stops fighting to defend his fortress, seat of his power, family home, etc., because he doesn't trust his subordinate.

Did I mention the need to overhaul Nie Clan hiring practices? Also some management training wouldn't be out of place.

Nie Mingjue's head also remembers that Meng Yao smirked evilly while doing the stabbing.

It's cool that he had time to notice this and be shocked and appalled rather than, you know, moving quickly to intercept the blow or otherwise help his captain out.

Side note: Meng Yao doesn't wipe his saber when he's done with it. Aslan is sad now.

3. You're Fired

After the battle is resolved, we go to Nie Mingjue's office. In episode 10 we jump in with Meng Yao groveling on the floor while Nie Mingjue yells at him. In Episode 41, we learn that he's on the floor not because he put himself there, but because Nie Mingjue apparently kicked him and his recent chest wound across the room.

In Episode 10, Meng Yao makes it makes it clear that he killed the guard captain on purpose, and gives a pretty good list of reasons for killing him.

you promoted me to vice general, but he always looked down on me

insulting, beating, and humiliating me

taking credit for my achievements

he let Xue Yang go

Meng Yao says that he could tolerate the first two problems, but he 100% will not tolerate #3. It's not about personal pride, for him, it's about ambition.

There's always gonna be another mountain I'm always gonna wanna make it move Always gonna be an uphill battle Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose Ain't about how fast I get there Ain't about what's waiting on the other side It's the climb

The part about Xue Yang is bullshit, of course, but the rest seem like pretty okay reasons for killing the guy. I mean, in the world of the show, where justice is mostly determined by stabbing.

Nie Mingjue doesn't think pride in your own achievements is a good enough reason, and banishes him.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue remembers things differently; this time Meng Yao's justification is:

He let Xue Yang go

He wanted to kill me

He insulted my mother

This time, Nie Mingjue feels like it would be ok to kill the captain in a sudden moment of anger, but if that was how it went down, you wouldn't have an evil smirk on your face. Also, why pretend that Xue Yang did it and why use a Wen Sword? [it was clearly a Nie saber, bruh]

Nie Mingjue thinks he's been planning this for a long time, because the guard captain told him that Meng Yao was colluding with Xue Yang. Nie Mingjue has ALMOST figured out what's going on here, but his anger is making him stupid.

Instead of following through to the logical conclusion that Meng Yao is getting up to some shenanigans with Xue Yang, he focuses on his own hurt feelings, suspecting that Meng Yao was manipulating him from the beginning. Which, of course, he was, but Nie Mingjue was using Meng Yao, too. Red flags all around.

He wonders if Meng Yao would have killed the caveful of bullies if Nie Mingjue hadn't come to help him out. Which is ridiculous since Meng Yao was just sitting and having his lunch when NMJ showed up; if he felt like killing those guys it would be pretty simple to poison the water they were making him carry for them.

Nie Mingjue proceeds to banish Meng Yao not precisely for killing a guy without permission, but for having the wrong priorities and values. So he really shouldn't be surprised when Meng Yao goes to work for Wen Ruohan.

Soundtrack: The Climb, Alan Cumming version

[lale-txt]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒: 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞

♫ Adrienne Lenker - Angels

I don't really like you, I just wanna kiss you I don't know how to love you, but somedays, I miss you Oh I just wanna see you there, sleeping on my floor With the ache inside to ride the mighty wind and nothing more

✰ 𝐜𝐰: discovering more y/n lore in this one. implied child neglect (no detailed description), brief death mention but in a more lighthearted way (if that still squicks you skip the 8th slide of the convo between Makki & y/n) written part between the handwritten collage and SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

Another sold out night. The lively sea of voices is slowly quieting down, familiar and new faces going either home or out dancing for the night. Onigiri Miya attracts all kinds of people, there’s a plate for everyone. He wouldn’t want it any other way. At the end of day, everyone needs to eat, no matter their background or story. And if they all collide in the tiny universe of his shop, even better.

There’s only around a handful people left when Osamu starts his nightly routine of cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. Ever since he opened his own shop, he understands his old captain a little better. Repetition, perseverance, and diligence–it does feel good. Helps him to unwind after a long day of shaping rice balls, mincing ingredients and ringing up orders. Wherever a hand is needed, he is there.

“It’s on the house,” Osamu says smiling, placing two cold bottles of ramune on the counter where Bokuto and Akaashi are sitting, huddled together like two lovebirds.

It’s the same spot where he saw her crying, her hands jittery when she wiped her cheeks, obviously flustered but unable to stop the tears from falling either. He could see how hard she tried to hold them back, the small wobble of her bottom lip, the clenching and unclenching of her fists. How she still took photos of her plate, clearly knowing which angle and lightning was best, practiced. The small gleam of excitement despite everything in her glassy eyes. Her palms pressed together in a silent gesture of appreciation after she finished her meal. Osamu couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t her first time holding her crown up like this, when everything inside of her was cracking. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about her ever since. 

Not when he ran after her to find her on the empty playground, dimly lit by the light of the vending machine. Not when she hesitantly accepted the brown paper bag he shoved into her still trembling hands. Not when she kind of magically pulled out a box of the tastiest sweet treat he ever had in his entire life, her voice suddenly more calm once she started rambling about the process of making it.

Osamu felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t fathom in words, like an invisible pull inside of him.

Had he been upset over her bad review? Maybe a little. But whatever hint of annoyance he felt when reading it over his morning tea quickly vanished once he dove deeper into her blog. There was so much love between every line she wrote. She was witty and smart and always a little hungry; for life and the next plate in front of her. He found himself nodding along when she shared about her experience in culinary school and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of deep admiration for her openness about mental health and the cruel sides of working in food service. Osamu knew best how grueling it can be, striving to do better. 

Three whole days. That’s how long it took him to read through her entire blog, more than ten years of her life. He read it over breakfast, in between short breaks at work, leaning against the backdoor while waiting for the daily delivery, at night when he brushed his teeth. Several times he told himself that he should just close the damn tab, that it was just a drunk and petty review and that they’ll never cross paths again.

Here lay the problem though–he wanted to see her again. 

Preferably when she was not upset over something (or worse: him), but honestly any scenario would do. The cap she forgot at his shop is now hanging from his coat rack at home, silently greeting him every night after work. He can’t help but wonder if she’ll really come around again one day to pick it up. Osamu was no dick, just a little petty himself, and he'd send the cap off with her roommate Akaashi if there was no way in hell that she’d ever return to Osaka again. But when she unblocked and followed him on Twitter the other night, that must have been a glimmer of hope, right? Even though she’s been mostly hostile so far in her replies.

But they’d get there. 

Some day.

Probably.

“Samu? Saaamuuuu?” 

Osamu blinks out of his daze and realizes that not only has he been polishing the same glass for five minutes straight now, but Bokuto is also leaning over the counter, shoving a phone under Osamu’s nose for him to see. He throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder and takes it, eyes on the bright screen. 

“Look, look,” Bokuto urges him with a grin while Akaashi next to him smiles a bit more subtle, but knowingly. “Keiji just talked about how they were having a barbeque a few days ago on their rooftop. Y/N prepared a feast for them, see?”

The photo is bright and colorful, a whole arrangement of various small plates assembled on the table, each holding some delicacy. Dips, grilled veggies, pita (which looks like it was handmade), olives, stuffed peppers, a small cheese platter, cut fruit, pastel purple drinks (lavender syrup, Osamu remembers)... but what Osamu ends up zooming in is not the food but her, sitting at the table with the sleeves of her oversized shirt rolled up casually and smiling brighter than the late summer sun–wearing his cap.

No. No, no, no. 

His heart did not just skip a beat, no fucking way. 

Oh, he was in deep. 

“She won’t admit it, but she likes it,” Akaashi says as if he read Osamu’s thoughts. He hands the phone back to him and a small voice in the back of his head is tempted to ask for the photo, just so he can stare at it a little longer (for the food, he lies to himself), but he knows she wouldn’t want that. Osamu is not sure if he wants it, either. It doesn’t feel right. Maybe he can get her an Onigiri Miya shirt as well as a matching apron and snap his own photo one day, and then… 

Fuck.

What was he even thinking?

But the stupid, wide smile on his face just won’t falter.

✽ 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫…

like i said, this chapter is a love letter to Makki in disguise

y/n would spend all big holidays at the Hanamaki family home, even her own birthday would be celebrated there lovingly

she has gone no contact with her birth family after she graduated from high school

the cooking TV show has been one of the most stressful events in her entire life and she still can't watch clips from it without wanting to die from cringe (she did really great though)

her approach to anything in life is a constant "oh shit oh no oh bad bad bad" and "fuck it we ball" and it amazingly works for her. most of the time.

y/n always leaves some money on the table when she's gone for longer than 24h because she is afraid the food in the fridge might not be enough (it's always enough)

no one of the roommates knows where the Hello Kitty condoms came from but they've been a staple in this household ever since

also a first Osamu POV!! i was waiting to finally write this

Akaashi is PLOTTING isn't he

y/n was very tempted to deep fry the cap but then came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of oil probably

or maybe she's just lying to herself. we'll get more into this later

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup

send me an ask or dm to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open!　─ Hello Qi! I hope I am able to get this letter in before the cutoff 😖 May I send a love letter to yan!Jing Yuan, and have him address a Foxian!reader w gn nicknames?

\\\______\\\\________\\\

To my dearest Scoundrel,

You are quite the terrible influence my dear general, are you aware of this? How am I supposed to resolve this trade agreement with our fellow Xianzhou flagships in a timely manner, when you have more or less conditioned me to take naps during most hours of the day?

Truly despicable of you really. And on top of that, your "parting gifts" you left on me are still very tender; very distracting from my work. Efficiency and diligence, I fear will be strangers to me during this trip.

Regardless, I hope you are doing well and are not causing to much trouble for the commission during my absence. (Please try to not stress Fu Xian too much, I don't need further distractions from her blowing up my phone because of your shenanigans.) Maybe if you are on your best behavior, I might even give you a reward. Perhaps even something of your choosing if you are especially well behaved~.

Before I sign off and leave you to return to my work, I have sealed a gift for you. Consider it...my own unique "parting gift" to you until I return to you. Which I know in our vast lifespans will be over before you know it my beloved.

-Sincerely, your sleepy vixen

(Enclosed in a small red and gold box, is a simple blue collar with golden accents and filigree with a note that says "wear it until I come back ;)" )

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Jing Yuan, no gendered terms for reader, Jing Yuan calls you "my tranquility", unhealthy obsessive relationship from Jing Yuan, lightly implied drugging, mentions of reader topping and edging Jing Yuan, quick mention of biting and blood, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You have quite the roster of guards at the door of your hotel room huh? Looks like nothing's going to slip past them if they were chosen by Jing Yuan himself! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

As you return to your temporary quarters after sitting through a particularly arduous trade meeting, you’re alerted by your guards assigned to you (by none other than Jing Yuan) about a suspicious delivery left for you while you were away.

Inspecting the box, a laugh escapes you when you catch the ink paw prints of a lion stamped haphazardly on both sides of it. After explaining that this was a personal delivery from the Xianzhou Luofu’s Dozing General, it seemed to dissolve any remaining apprehension your guards had and they handed the box over to you. Thanking them for dutifully carrying out their work, you step into your room.

Your room is spacious, ridiculously so. Why would one person need such a massive room for themselves? It’s the kind that only a general could manage to procure. The open sliding window leads to a balcony that showcases the bustling lively environment of the streets below and a cool evening breeze fills the room. Settling down on the edge of the bed, you set the box in your lap.

Upon opening up your delivery, it seems that Jing Yuan had prepared a pair of gifts in return for you. The first of two is an intricate small glass spray bottle set within a satin-lined box. The small tag tied around it says, “Some of the fragrance that I often use. For you to spray on your pillows when you sleep. :3”

Spritzing a fine mist onto your wrist, the scent of your lover wafts from the area; not too strong such that it’s unpleasant for your keen sense of smell, nor too faint that it’s hard for you to pick up. The fragrance is soothing and familiar, a thoughtful gift that will no doubt improve the quality of your sleep, as evident from the yawn it draws out from you.

The second gift you retrieve from the box is a soft sleep mask in your favourite colour. Sliding it over your eyes, you find that the fabric is smooth against your skin and the mask manages to completely block out all light, fully blacking out everything. The elastic strap isn’t overly tight but secure enough that it ensures that the mask doesn’t slip off too easily. Perfect for tossing and turning. 

Finally, laid at the bottom of the box, is the reply from Jing Yuan, concealed in an elegant envelope. The quality is top-notch and flawless, and it’s sealed securely. Running your hand over the envelope, you feel the crest of the Cloud Knights embossed lightly on the surface. You break the seal and remove the letter contained within. 

His handwriting is steady and dignified, each and every brushstroke on the page graceful. At the end of his letter, is his own name seal, stamped in red ink. Jing Yuan’s reply reads:

“For my dreamlike haven,

My apologies, it seems that Mimi got its paws on the box while I was out of my office and left a couple of paw prints on the sides. Sigh, you should’ve seen how much ink I had to clean off the surfaces, truly troublesome. Perhaps it knew that the box was meant for you and wished to leave something for you as well, haha!

I have to admit, Mimi is not the only one missing you, my tranquility. I find myself looking over to my side to ask for your wise input on things, only to realise that you’re away. Fu Xuan laughs at me whenever I do this. :( 

It's just not the same to take afternoon naps without you by my side. Nothing is as comforting as your warmth in my arms, or for me to jokingly complain about the tips of your furry ears tickling my nose when we cuddle together. My slumbers are no longer restful when I can’t spend them with you, my tranquility.

The things I would do to have you next to me again. Are the marks and scratches I left on you still visible, my tranquility? Judging by how the ones you left on me are fading, I assume my parting gifts left on you are doing the same. Would you let me mark you up again, and won’t you extend the same generosity to me too? I yearn for your searing touch, my tranquility, for your fangs to pierce my skin and bring forth the vivid red beneath. Whenever I close my eyes, the only thing I can see is you, as if you linger in my every thought and dream.

Speaking of dreams, it seems that lately, my dreams have taken quite a raunchy turn. The starring role for all of them is obviously, you, my tranquility. You’d have me pliant and satisfying your every whim. In one, you had me bent over my office desk, fucking me hard as I rocked back against you. In another, you were edging me mercilessly, over and over again, until I could do nothing but beg helplessly for my release. That look you had in your eyes still sends a shiver down my spine. I’m hoping that soon, you can help turn these dreams of mine into reality.

Additionally, thank you for the collar, my tranquility. I’ve taken the liberty of adding a charming little bell at the front of it, I think you’d find it quite endearing. (And perhaps deserving of a reward? :3)

Do take care of yourself, or else I might just have to come and do it myself, haha. I’ll try to be on my best behaviour but no promises! I miss you dearly, my tranquility, come back to me soon.

Your rascal of a general,

- Jing Yuan -

P.S. Remember to use the fragrance on your pillows and the sleep mask!”

Rising from your seat on the bed, you pack everything back into the box before stepping into the shower to… cool off after reading Jing Yuan’s letter. In the bathroom, you find yourself relaxing as the water patters on your skin. Your ears flicker slightly whenever they pick up noise from beyond the locked door. A shout from the busy streets below, a soft sigh and the tinkle of a bell, the water splashing onto the floor around you.

Whilst clothing yourself, you lift your wrist to your nose and sigh when the scent of Jing Yuan has expectedly, (begrudgingly), been washed off. However, when you return to your bed, the scent of him still lingers, one that wasn’t here before. 

Your heightened foxian senses can just about make out where it’s concentrated the most, and it points towards your pillow. It’s saturated with the smell of him, to a disconcerting degree. Lifting it up, you’re greeted with the sight of the usual red ribbon he has tied around his hair.

The world falls silent around you.

He was in your room.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[demialwrites]

Experiment of Passage

I'm happy to have finally finished this! I wrote this back when I had soft feelings for pre-Nibelheim Sephiroth. Smut with feelings (some of them uncomfortable), basically.

You're not that close. And you're just like every other fan, you do wish you were that close. You even diligently kept an ear to the ground, hoping to get an opportunity to join the Silver Elite, Sephiroth's secretive fan club. Luckily, your job has you running all over the place, up to the SOLDIER floor and down to other levels. It was a good distraction. You had earned that level of clearance and a heavy workload to match. In other words, there's no time to fawn over him.

For his part, he also appeared to be run ragged. Quite a few times you scurry past him, him with his slower gait. He's often splattered with varying levels of blood. And colours of blood (from fiends?). The way he went about casually in that state was unnerving but you scold yourself inwardly. Getting dirty was just part of his job.

One day, he stops you in the hallway. This time he is clean. The black leather of his outfit has a dull shine. His hair has been brushed. You're relieved to see it but also entranced by his unreal and unique beauty.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I have something for you.”

“Yes, Sir,” you reply in a practiced manner.

You bring up a free hand up to receive what you expect to be file folders. Instead, he places a steamed bun partially wrapped in a square of parchment paper on your palm. It’s still warm.

“It’s the pork one, which they run out of early,” he explains.

‘They’ meaning the cafeteria. You're genuinely, and pleasantly, surprised. Your shock morphs into a soft smile. He chuckles, pats your shoulder, and continues on. You take this as a sign to head back to your desk for a short break and enjoy the bun. Chewing on the warm and comforting spongy dough, you try to picture Sephiroth in the lineup at the cafeteria.

You’re not sure what he likes about you. Maybe he likes how you scurry through the halls, you think with a mental shrug. Either way, he keeps bringing you snacks. He keeps bringing them and you keep accepting them gratefully. You dial up your response just a bit. Not enough to deceive but just to encourage. This is the best-looking delivery boy you have ever seen.

It’s late in the evening and you forgot to eat lunch. You vaguely register the headache but you don’t connect it with the self-neglect. You’re too focused. And honestly, you’ve been trying to eat less to compensate for Sephiroth’s delivered goodies. Your work clothes are getting a little tight. You’ll hand in your resignation before you turn him away, though.

“Sorry that I’m late.”

You look up from your computer screen to see a takeout container being placed on your desk. It lands politely in a free space between your files and other clutter. Steam, and the promising scent of some kind of sauced noodles, rise from the slits in the closed lid. Your empty stomach stares out of your eyes in anticipation.

“I had to ask where-”

Before Sephiroth could finish his sentence, and before your thoughts could catch up with your joy, you throw your arms around his waist and squeeze. You feel his stomach expand in a soft gasp. His belt buckle is cool against your cheek.

Oh, right. This is an office. You had better act professionally.

You let go, peeking up at him to gauge his reaction. You see eyes dancing in amusement set in a relaxed expression.

“Uhhh, thanks,” you mutter, cheeks hot.

He glances down at your mouth then back to your eyes. “You're welcome.”

He’s still busy but you can see that he makes time for you when he can. Your conversations naturally expand to include topics beyond food. You quickly discover that it’s like he’s bigger on the inside than he is on the outside. There’s so much information in there. You just have to ask and it willingly flows out. The only roadblock is your security clearance, which is disappointing but understandable.

And sometimes, he expresses an opinion so pessimistic that it gives you mental whiplash. You take it as a boundary around the current topic and try to steer the conversation elsewhere. Everyone has their issues, you assume.

You once thought you’re being too much.

“Maybe I should get you some textbooks,” he says.

“Then what would we talk about?”

You’re afraid he’s sick of explaining things to you. But then he surprises you with his answer:

“Your opinions.”

Oh.

As someone so low in the company, you’re not often asked for your opinion, especially not on the topics you two discuss. It’s then that you realize he’s interested in knowing more about you. You’re excited but also embarrassed. What if he didn’t like what he found? You’re mundane in comparison to him. He’s not bored of your company yet but that could change. Still, you vow not to let it get in the way. Not too much.

Months later, you receive an unusual email. That it comes from R&D shocks you well enough. You have never gotten an email from them. Then you see who it is from and the usual background noise in your mind stops. It’s like your unconscious is focused on reading it, too. Then you see who it is about and you get up and start pacing. The content makes you think it had to be a joke. Who has hacked into the company email? Who wrote such a sick joke?

Your steps slow. You gently scratch your cheek thoughtfully. Then again, you’ve never heard of anyone impersonating Director Hojo in a fake email. Sadness douses your agitation. The emotion clashes with Sephiroth’s image in your mind. But no matter what he looks like and is capable of, he’s human.

This could be a huge mistake but you agree to the Director’s invitation. You have so little information about the experiment he invited you to participate in that the alarm bells don't go off in your mind. That in itself should have been a warning to steer clear. But it’s too late now; you’ve already agreed to go. You want to help Sephiroth.

It’s the day of the ‘experiment.’ You head up to R&D. Who you assume is an assistant directs you to a small, windowless room to get ready. You change into the robe provided to you and emerge into the hallway.

“Yes. Perfect,” says the professor, examining you with eyes distorted by his glasses.

If it wasn’t for the hierarchical culture strictly maintained in the company, you would have loudly demanded what the fuck he thought he was saying. When he ignores your quiet rage, it dies pathetically. He leads you down the hallway. Besides what just happened, there are other reasons you’re incredibly uncomfortable in his presence. You can’t put your finger on it. The way he talks is also strange, in a bad way. Like he’s on another planet and only projecting his image onto this one. If he’s on another planet, he should stay there. You survive this encounter knowing you'll see Sephiroth on the other side. It’s small and truthfully, he hasn’t done anything but it’s a little heroic to you.

The professor leads you to a door. The door is strangely nondescript and clinical considering what was supposed to happen next. He uses a keycard to open it. You hurry in just to get away from him. The room on the inside is just as sadly nondescript. It’s not the usual Shinra black but it’s close enough; it’s dark, steely grey. The lighting is dim. If this was any other setting at all, it could have been romantic. The thought gives you nausea. The door slides shut behind you.

Sephiroth rises from a bed tucked at the side of the room as soon as he sees you.

“You. What are you doing here?” His voice is cold and rough, like slabs of stone.

He’s angry. He runs his hand over his face, beginning to pace. It would be a lie if you said you weren't hoping he was angry because he didn't want you to see him like this. It would mean he cares what you think. But that made you feel awful, which wasn't why you were here. You want to help. It seems you had your work cut for you to convince him to accept it.

“He told me that if I didn't do it, he would send someone else.”

“He would do that, yes. But-”

“I came here to give you a choice. I can leave now and they'll probably delay this to find someone else.”

“He won't let go of this, though!”

“That's why I came to give you the choice.”

He shouldn't have to be making this choice at all. Not at all. He should be yelling and destroying the entire room with his superhuman strength to protest. But he doesn’t. You're not sure what stops him. Is it the professor? After getting this little peek into Sephiroth's life as a part of SOLDIER, if he stabbed that creepy professor, you'd be secretly cheering. As long as you weren’t in the room at the time, of course.

“Hurry up,” comes the professor from the ceiling, in a creepy sing-song voice. There must be speakers embedded there. The sound brings an abrupt halt to Sephiroth's pacing. “I don't have all day.”

Sephiroth stands silent and still, head bowed. His reaction to the professor's voice told you everything. Well, it told you enough. This kind of behaviour from the professor wasn't new. You think back to how your rage died so easily in the hallway. You didn't have much longer with that train of thought because Sephiroth rounds on you.

“I don't want you involved with this. It's too dangerous.”

“I agreed to this. I knew there'd be risks.”

“No. You don't. You don't know the risks.”

“I'm not letting you do this alone,” you insist.

Based on your involvement in this, the risks must be getting involved in R&D. This is another vague, bad thing you can’t put your finger on. There’s always been thick, inky clouds hanging over the department but you could never figure out why. It hits you that someone must be controlling the flow of information. You no longer had the time to unravel that realization, but it could partly explain the depressing aura that seems to follow Sephiroth wherever he goes. His surprising pessimism. Maybe it’s not surprising after all. There’s no denying his confidence and strength but maybe his personality could have been brighter if he spent less time in this department.

You try to reach out to him one more time. “Well? Would you rather it was someone else? If that’s really what you mean, I could go.”

His expression sours. You want to convince him but you don't want to push too far. You’ve said all you have to say.

“So do you want me to leave?” you ask one last time.

“No.” His reply is tight and resolute.

You're unsure what else to do so you sit on the bed. The atmosphere is tense so when the mattress creaks, you flinch.

Rather than follow you, he’s brushing the ceiling with his fingertips, meticulously searching for something. He seems to find it because he reaches up with both hands. It’s a reminder of his inhuman strength as what appears to be a speaker comes down like a tulip bulb-shaped eyeball from a socket. He twists the cord and pulls, severing it. He lets it drop to the floor. Several more holes later and the ceiling looks like Swiss cheese. There are also four cameras you wouldn’t have found yourself. It takes more effort, but he crushes them between his palms before letting them also drop to the floor like disgusting objects.

You sag with relief, releasing tension you didn’t know you held. Perhaps you had been too focused on Sephiroth to notice. For his part, he’s no longer agitated but he's still stiff. It reminds you of his sword. Looking at him, you finally realize he's wearing a matching robe. Your eyes travel down his frame. The fabric drapes and hugs, giving his muscles a softer curve. He looks comfortable to hug, which is unexpected. When your eyes make it back up to his face, you realize he's caught you looking.

Sephiroth gives you a wry half-smile and holds his arms out to the sides. “What do you think?”

You look him up and down, face scrunching in thought. Then you say, “No different than usual.”

He frowns in confusion, looking down at himself. He smoothes the edges of the robe on his chest. It’s parted to expose his chest in the same style as his usual attire. “Oh.” He laughs lightly. “Old habits, I suppose.”

He shrugs the robe off his shoulders to reveal more of his chest and his stomach. Your eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. Holy. This is a man and a half. You swallow, hopefully subtly. You would be lying if his body, which seemed perfectly designed to be a warrior, didn't trigger a skittishness in you. Had he been designed? Is that truly possible? Based on the few strange, and sometimes terrifying, rumours you heard coming from R&D…no, those kinds of thoughts are for later.

“You look great.”

You manage a small smile because it's true. A person can be awe-inspiring and pleasing to the eyes at the same time.

He dips slightly in relief. “I suppose it's true, what they all say.”

You're shocked to hear that. “And you didn't believe it, all this time?”

“I still look different.”

His gaze hardens and your gut tells you to drop the matter. As much as you want to play therapist, now's not the time. And he's not wrong. You've never seen a man like him.

He licks his lips and an emotion flickers across his face. You're lucky to catch it.

“Are you scared?” you ask.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry. Too personal?”

“I'm fine.”

He says it so easily. Either way, you’re not scared of him anymore. But you do feel awkward so you look away.

Sephiroth asks a question and you’re just on the cusp of understanding but it’s too quiet. You look back up at him.

“Sorry, what?”

He increases the volume slightly. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What? You mean what to do next?”

That sets you off-kilter for a moment. Then you decide, he must not be asking because he doesn't know or hasn't thought about it. He must be asking because he wants you to choose the direction in which this is going. Surely, he’s masturbated, you think to yourself. You rub your hand down your face, banishing the thought before the following mental image forms too clearly. It feels intrusive.

When you look back at him, he’s looming over you. It makes no sense that he would be trying to intimidate you at this point. You’re in too deep. You stare up at him but he doesn’t budge, like a larger-than-life statue. He’s just watching you.

Oh.

“Are you feeling awkward?” you ask.

He shakes his head but his expression and slumping shoulders betray him. “Sorry,” he says sadly. “I’m sure this isn’t what you-”

“I don’t mind,” you interrupt. The question is plain on his face so you continue. “Everyone’s awkward at first. If you ask me, it humanizes you.”

He seems to accept what you say. In fact, he’s looking more comfortable. Still stiff but getting better. What’s also stiff is…the massive erection jutting awkwardly from his pelvis. It would be comical, if not for what you were supposed to be doing. Even if he’s feeling better, surely he’s a long way off from getting aroused. He sits next to you on the bed and hisses in pain.

“Are you in pain? Why would that jerk make you do this while in pain? ”

He says nothing. You stare at him, waiting for an answer. Or at least to be told to back off.

“It was an injection,” he says, way too lightly. He tried to cover it with the barest of smiles.

“Oh,” you say. Because what else could you say?

Your response sounded woefully inadequate, even to your own ears. But you’re not sure what the appropriate response is. Maybe anger. Maybe you should storm off and refuse to be any further involved. Should you hug him in an effort to give comfort? The last one should feel right but, somehow, it doesn’t. You still feel the distance between you. But you're unsure if it's the distance between yourself and the ‘hero’ Sephiroth or yourself and the man struggling awkwardly with this situation.

“How come I’m the only one naked?” he asks, breaking the heavy silence and lightly bumping your shoulder with his.

It’s his turn to lighten the mood. You force a smile and slide off your own robe. Forcing a smile doesn't feel so bad because you want to smile for him but it's still difficult, considering the situation.

He slowly drinks your naked body in with a slow sweep of his gaze. His gaze travels down, meeting yours when it returns to your face. Your lips part. He catches the slight movement like the alert warrior he is. You slowly meet in the middle, bangs tickling your face. It's absolutely cliché but this man deserves his cliché kiss.

You start with a couple of chaste smooches, then lead him into something more heated by grazing your teeth across his bottom lip. Sephiroth takes the hint and opens his mouth to you. It's awkward but he's trying. You suspect he's thought about it but had little opportunity to practice.

Your hand finds its way down to grasp his length, earning you a deep purr from the other man. If you try to take your hand away, he holds it there, squeezing. His eyebrows come together in an expression of what appears to be relief. Hopefully, it's from the pain he was feeling earlier.

“It barely reaches around,” you say, worried.

He hums. “I've been told that I'm above average. It looks average to me.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. There’s some kind of disconnection there that you’re not sure about since you don’t have a penis yourself. It’s not like your siblings or male friends would have talked to you about it, nor did you wish they did.

“Uhhhh, that's not average.”

“I see.”

There’s no way he will fit without foreplay. It's a little funny that now it's your turn to be the information dispenser. It's not that he doesn't know anything about women's bodies but everyone is different and you have to explain specifically about yours. He listens carefully, though with wandering eyes.

He does it all too gently. You eventually have to tell him won’t break. You guide him to touch your nipples. To touch your favourite spots but with a more firm hand. He does so but he also wants to run his palms and fingers over every inch of you: down your sides, into the curve of your waist, and back up your stomach. His touch makes your nerves sing and crackle and cry out for more all at once. He chases you down that hole. It’s full of warm water and the warm water is his embrace, his presence, his smell, and the way he finally feels comfortable kissing you. You vaguely remember he had been squeezing your thigh just a second ago but his finger is suddenly at your slit, hesitating there. You reach down to jam it in faster, closing your thighs to keep his hand there. He’s not going anywhere but that this is just a one-time thing lingers in the back of your mind. It’s a pleasurable blur. You manage to teach him to curve his finger. He’s a natural. You can’t manage the words. You have to squeeze two of his fingers together to communicate that he has to give you more. You’re both awkward at this point so he doesn’t question it. It’s not that he’s going slowly but you slide closer on the bed to meet his hand, anyway. Two of his fingers are so thick and feel so good stroking the front of your walls that this could be it for you. If Sephiroth didn't even penetrate you, just came on your stomach right now and left, you would consider this a great experience. A win for you.

You were supposed to be guiding him but you’re losing control of the situation. You sink slowly deeper, deeper, deeper. The warm water is about to slip over your mouth when you squeeze his wrist and reluctantly rip your mouth from his.

“Stop!”

You’re treated to an astonished look. It's the furthest from calm and collected you've ever seen him. You have to laugh, telling him nothing is wrong. The poor man was doing so well and you just yelled at him in the middle of it.

“I’m sorry. But if we don’t really get started right now…”

He blinks, understanding. The way his nostrils flare, you could almost mistake the fire in his eyes for anger. That would be a mistake, a mismatch to this situation. What he was feeling was a burning need. A burden.

Guilt punches you softly in the gut. You had been enjoying yourself immensely just now, with no thought about his needs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, leaning up from the bed.

He pushes your chest gently to get you to lie back down. “No.”

“You’re not going to break me.”

He avoids your eyes. “Like you said, let’s get started.”

You don't feel acquainted enough to push him about it–contrary to the situation you both find yourselves in–and you yearn to relieve him of his pain. He ends up insisting you be the one to insert him inside you. But lying down, all you can do is bend it down and tuck the head inside. But even that has you silently groaning, because it's warm, firm and thick enough to press down toward your anus, giving a taste of the fullness you're about to experience. There's still some lingering pressure from before, dully demanding why it wasn't relieved from Sephiroth's fingers minutes before.

It's good that you didn't. Sephiroth is still a man and as such, he wants more. He slides his hips forward slowly. The stretch is still painful and you give it your all to keep the truth off your face.

“Does it hurt?”

Lucky guess, you think to yourself.

“Yep.” As soon as you feel him retreat, even a centimetre, you wrap your legs around his hips. “Nope, don't stop. Let's get this over with.”

Sephiroth sees that you've got a small smile and he relaxes again.

You thank whatever gods exist that Sephiroth has the strength and control to make shallow, precise movements, chipping away at the tightness of your core, giving him room to thrust deeper, bit by bit.

Even though lust is clouding over Sephiroth's gaze, you guide him down for a kiss, in case he needs a distraction from any doubts. He stops his movements briefly to concentrate on how you lead the kiss to something deeper. He leans farther into you, taking more of what you're offering and resumes thrusting, but faster.

When he pulls away and opens his eyes, you ask, “How does it feel?”

“You squeeze me and it feels heavenly, but like I’m being pushed out. When you relax, I feel welcomed inside.”

Your response is a mixture of shock and embarrassment at his assessment. You can't imagine his mission reports contain such language. You reassure him again that everything is fine, though, you remembered at that very unlucky moment that this isn't a bedroom but a lab with a bed chucked inside. If you tightened up around him, he didn't notice. You encouraged him to wrap his arms tighter around you. Here he was, needing your help and your encouragement, and here you were, desiring his protective embrace. You felt a small measure of guilt, poisoning the experience. But that was only true if the professor hadn't poisoned it from the beginning. You had to wonder where the beginning even was.

But there’s no point in dwelling on the negative when the hero of Shinra is between your legs. It’s with that last though you finally come. Sephiroth watches with wonder as your orgasm takes you. As soon as your body relaxes, he pulls you close and smashes his mouth against yours. He seems intent on smothering his own cry, as it comes in the form a stuttering, strained hum. He pulls back with a low sigh that almost sounds reluctant.

Reluctance or not, this wasn’t just a fun one-night stand. The post-coitus warm fuzzies can’t change the fact that the room is still sterilized, lab grey. That Professor Hojo is still waiting somewhere for you both to be done. The truth blankets the both of you like a thin layer of ash. He gives you a soft smile but it makes you sad instead of happy.

“You’ve…made this enjoyable…”

Sephiroth struggles awkwardly to communicate his gratitude but your mind tugs you towards the door. He looks down between you and realizes he’s still keeping you there by remaining inside you. After seeing that, you’re torn. You do want to leave but you also don’t want this to be the last time you see him. Before he can move, you gently clap your hands to either side of his face, to his surprise.

“You did well.”

That reassures him well enough. He carefully retreats from your body. You sit up and close your legs. Sephiroth grabs both of your robes and hands you yours. You mutter a grateful thanks. He does some stretching, rolling his shoulders, and it has him looking more at ease in his body after. Though you wonder how much of it is real based on what you saw between him and the professor.

“There’s a bathroom. There,” he says.

You look where he’s pointing. There’s a plain door, blending in with the wall that you didn’t notice before.

“There are no cameras in there. I checked earlier.”

[yanderesmooch]

I just know Togame would catch a foreign Darling right as they're learning the language & manipulate them to keep their skills rather rudimentary.

Like every time you settle down to put your nose to the grindstone he'd go 'aaaah, why study so diligently today when we've got so much fun to have?' or pretend to teach you valuable vocabulary but it's highly specialized slang no one outside of a few local gangs would understand.

Not only would your thoughtful pace, born from being a beginner, in delivery be exactly what he wants, but you also struggle to understand fast-paced native speakers and he finds that reassuring & adorable.

Everyone under Togame learns rather quickly that offering to practice speaking with you is strictly off-limits. The only thing they come to you for is to practice your language with them. And they do so quite often, under the deliberate guidance of Togame.

The more time you're teaching a bunch of hooligans how to speak your language, the less time you're learning theirs. And the more you depend on him.