#everyone does all their lines so neatly

[icewindandboringhorror]

I love all of these goofy product photos where the water bottle is extremely obviously just photoshopped onto a stock image of someone pretending to hold something or whatever.. very convincing..

[smokesandsonatas]

I just want to see the Octavinelle trio get surprised, tongue-tied and amused because the reader is cunning.

Characters: Azul, Jade, and Floyd.

Warnings: None, just the old contract signing the Octavinelle way. First person pov. Mostly in Azul's pov. Tension (?).

Not beta read.

Shrimp Cocktail.

Apparently, it does not take a lot to amuse the Octavinelle trio. Or the story where you took a deal with Azul and it went unexpectedly.

They should learn not to underestimate Shrimpy.

Azul had always underestimated you. In his eyes, you were a mere human—a dimwitted fish floundering in the waters of Night Raven College. You lacked the cunning and intelligence of Jade, who could manipulate any situation with a few well-placed words, and you weren’t a lazy smartass like Floyd, who could memorize an entire book but discard it just as easily if he found it dull and boring. With your easy-going nature, you seemed like the perfect prey.

Well, you are the perfect prey.

Here you are, sitting in Azul’s office at the Mostro Lounge, the twins flanking you in chairs beside you. Floyd lounged with a lazy grin, manspreading on the sofa, while Jade sat, poised like a gentleman, a smirk barely concealed behind his gloved hand. Grim had been left behind at the ramshackle dorm, leaving you alone in the scammer's den. Azul could barely contain his amusement—you had just fallen into his trap, one he fully intended to exploit. You sat quietly in front of him, your face poised with a neutral expression. To Azul and the twins, you looked kind, naive—perhaps even a little stupid. They think you are an airhead. Their excitement was barely contained. They got you right where they wanted you to be. Here in Mostro Lounge, with no one but them watching over you like predators waiting to pounce and choke their prey.

"You're here for the favor of us providing Grim with food three times a day, seven days a week, for the duration of your absence with Professor Trein as the school's official photographer at an event outside Night Raven College," Azul began, his voice dripping with the saccharine politeness he used to mask his true intentions. "In exchange, you agreed that you will work for fourteen days, regular shifts, without any compensation for Mostro Lounge. I expect you to fully commit to your duties."

You nodded, hands neatly placed on your lap, a small smile on your lips. "Yes, that’s exactly it."

Jade’s grin widened slightly. You were so naive, so predictable. Pathetic, really—but there was something endearing about your earnestness. Everyone in Octavinelle liked this about you—how you walked into traps with your eyes wide open, never realizing until it was too late. You really are a shrimp, through and through. No sense of survival, no sense of fear.

Jade could feel his twin looking earnestly in you, their expression one of amusement.

You will never survive in the ocean.

"Very well then, Prefect," Azul continued, practically trembling with excitement as he handed you a golden scroll, a quill magically appearing in his gloved hand. "Sign this contract, and the favor you ask shall be yours."

You took the pen, hovering it just above the dotted line. Azul’s eyes gleamed with anticipation—just a few more minutes—seconds, and you’d be bound by his terms, forced into two weeks of unpaid labor. The satisfaction was almost too much to bear. You would be working without compensation, and Azul could even charge you for any drinks or food you will consume during your shifts!

Azul had also noticed that whenever you work, customers come flocking in! Is it because you're the famed Ramshackle dormleader? He can only suspect so. He might also have you gather more customers—all for free, technically, you are working free to him anyway.

Azul raised an eyebrow when he saw you set the pen down and lean back, that small smile on your lips widening into something sharper, more calculating.

Azul frowned.

"Azul," you began, your voice light and casual, but with an edge that made the room’s atmosphere shift. The twins noticed it too. Jade’s eyes narrowed slightly yet the smirk remains in his lips, and Floyd’s grin widened a little more as they both watched you closely—their eyes glued to you as a clear sign of their newfound interest.

Azul blinked, thrown off by your sudden change in demeanor. "Is something wrong, Prefect?"

"Not at all," you replied smoothly. "I’ve just been thinking about our arrangement. Fourteen days of unpaid work for three meals a day for Grim. It sounds like a fair trade, but then I realized something interesting."

Azul’s hand twitched slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. The contract is perfect in his eyes, all will favour him, how could it not be perfect? "And what might that be?"

You leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Well, the contract is almost perfect. Almost. But there’s one tiny detail that caught my attention—the meals for Grim. You’ve agreed to provide them three times a day, seven days a week, but the contract doesn’t specify the quality of those meals, does it?"

Azul’s smirk faltered, it is common sense that Grim will be given tuna in cans, isn't it? "The meals will be adequate, and his favourite tuna—"

"Ah, ‘adequate,’" you interrupted, your tone almost playful. "That could mean anything, really. Some stale bread, leftover scraps—technically, that would fulfill the contract, wouldn’t it?" You giggle, a sound so sweet it almost had the twins—in their fascination, to stand up and hover behind you. You heard a thud, no doubt it was the twins. Jade’s eyes narrowed, yet his smirk remains, replaced by a look of intrigued and amusement. Floyd sat up straight, fully intending to be by your side yet his uniform was immediately yanked down by Jade, stopping him from interfering. Floyd almost let out a hiss at his twin, though eventually he relents.

"But here’s where things get interesting," you continued, voice dropping to a near sweet tone that Azul use. "If Grim receives such ‘adequate’ meals, he might not be satisfied. A can of tuna alone won't cut it, he needs meat. A properly cooked, healthy meat seeing as he is a carnivore. He could get hungry, irritated—perhaps even cause trouble." You pout—a gesture which distracted Azul for a second as his eyes fell on your lips—appearing as meek as possible, "And as his caretaker, his henchman, I’d be worried. Distracted. And a distracted worker is an inefficient worker."

You locked your eyes against Azul's blue ones.

Azul’s eyes widened as he began to see where you were leading him. He blinked in intrigued and a mix of irritation and amusement.

"And," you pressed on, now leaning on the table, merely inches away from Azul's face. "if Grim were to get sick or cause problems because of poor nutrition, it wouldn’t just be a problem for me." You roll the scroll and use it to poke Azul's chest. "It would be a problem for Mostro Lounge. After all, you’re responsible for providing his meals, for almost a week at that. Any disruption he causes would reflect poorly on your business, wouldn’t it?"

Azul’s mind raced as he tried to find a loophole, but you had him cornered. Refusing your amendment meant sticking to a contract that could end up causing more trouble than it was worth. Agreeing to it, however, would mean committing to a higher standard of care for Grim, cutting into his profits. Twenty-one cans of tuna is not a big expense for him, but if you're to insist on nutritious meals... Well, that would cost him much more than what he intended to provide for your gremlin of a cat.

A simple overlooked in his part really, perhaps it is his fault for thinking you're one of those anemones that will blindly agree to anything without reading the fine print.

Finally, Azul forced a smile. "What do you propose, Prefect?"

You smiled sweetly, as if this were all a friendly discussion. "I propose that the meals provided for Grim meet a specific standard. Balanced, nutritious, and satisfying. A mix of tuna and properly cooked meat. A steak even. That way, Grim stays in good condition, I stay focused on my task outside of Night Raven College, and Mostro Lounge continues to run smoothly." You smiled at Azul as you lean at the table—mere inches away from his face, the octomerman can practically inhale your scent, have you always smelled this good?

"I also propose that I won't do overtime during my shifts for fourteen days, though I will not get paid, I would love it if my meals and drinks are free of charge—all within the time of my shift, of course."

You smiled sweetly at Azul—the way you don't break eye contact. It's exhilarating. It's making him sweat under his dorm uniform. "It’s in everyone’s best interest, don’t you think?"

Azul hesitated. This was not the agreement he had envisioned. His meticulously designed scheme had been dismantled by your shrewd maneuvering. We're you secretly a trickster? Appearing naive and helpless yet you are the one who catches people in your trap of being a false prey.

With a begrudging sigh, he conceded, "Very well, I’ll agree to the contract your propose. The meals provided for Grim will meet the specified standards, and you shall have the favours you asked during the course of your shift at Mostro Lounge."

You picked up the pen again, a triumphant glint in your eyes as you prepared to finalize the deal. A sweet, sweet, smile on your lips. "Thank you, Azul. I’m so glad we could come to an agreement."

As you signed the contract, Azul's sense of triumph morphed into a tumult of frustration and begrudging admiration. It's disgusting, your body language appeals to him—he knows it appeals to the twins too, given how Floyd is laughing right now, with Jade snickering beside him. You're one of the first—if not the first who had successfully turned the tables on him. It is not even a heavy contract, just an agreement for food and yet, Azul concedes to your demands. Though he suppose it is not bad, since he will see you everyday for almost two weeks. What had seemed like a one-sided victory for him had morphed into a more balanced exchange. You had come into his office alone, seemingly naive, and yet you had outmaneuvered him with words that unsettled him deeply, yet amused him greatly—jellyfishes swimming on his stomach. Perhaps during that time for your compensation he will invite you to his office so he can give you a proper assessment.

Heh, not bad at all.

Jade and Floyd had their mismatched eyes glued on your form, as you stand. Admiring the sway of your hips as you walk outside the room where nobody ever comes out as victorious as you are. You, a small shrimp, had greatly amused the twins. Unfortunately for you, Floyd hates being bored and Jade loves unpredictability—both qualities you tickled the moment you succesfully negotiated a deal with none-other-than Azul Ashengrotto.

As you left the room, Floyd let out a low, almost purring chuckle—how dare you Shrimpy? His blood is now pumping in excitement because of you. "Hehe, Shrimpy’s got some real bite, huh? This is gonna be interesting."

Jade’s gaze followed you with a newfound intensity. "Indeed. The prefect is far more dangerous than they appear. Heh, perhaps they relish the game, much like we do."

Azul was left staring at the contract, his frustration intertwined with a growing, unsettling admiration. You weren’t the dimwitted fish he had thought you were. No, you were a tempest—a captivating, unpredictable force in the waters of Octavinelle. The way you had twisted the terms of the agreement had left him both disturbed and intrigued. Your brilliance was both unsettling and exhilarating, making him realize that you were a much more dangerous fish than he had ever anticipated.

A shiver of something dark and obsessive crept into his thoughts. You had managed to turn a simple negotiation into a display of strategic dominance, leaving him with a dangerous mix of respect and a growing, unsettling fascination. The twins are no better, Jade glues you into his memory, the way you answer casually—it is attractive. Floyd is well, Floyd. He might visit you later and compliment you for outsmarting Azul!

Hehe, who would've thought you are a predator in your own right? Perhaps the shrimp cocktail is a dish best served cold after all.

[creamflix]

character insert x female reader; 18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship, modern au. dom!reader. lots of teasing. (addicted to the) weird girl pussy ! #needthat. — masterlist here ☆

people never quite understood you.

a "weird girl," they called you — quiet, withdrawn, someone who didn’t fit into their neatly packaged little worlds. but what baffled them more than your oddities was the fact that he was with you. the most sought-after man, someone who could have anyone he wanted, yet he trailed behind you like a lost puppy. the whispers, the stares, the judgment — you could feel them everywhere, gnawing at your back as you walked hand-in-hand with him, like you didn’t belong.

“what does she have on him?” “he’s probably dating her for a dare.” “god, she’s so strange, why would he be with her?”

you heard it all. and so did he. but while you brushed it off, your presence sent him spiraling into need. it wasn't what they thought — you had the upper hand here. and he knew it too well.

you caught him staring again, his eyes glued to you, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but didn’t. just the sight of you standing there, minding your own business, was enough to make him lose his composure. his reputation as the confident, cocky guy who could charm anyone disappeared the moment he was alone with you. because when it came to you, he was nothing more than a whiney, needy mess.

he tugged on your sleeve, his voice already trembling. “c-can we go? please?”

you shot him a lazy glance, raising an eyebrow as if you didn’t already know what he wanted. “go where?” you teased, feigning ignorance.

his lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers twitching as they brushed your arm, but he didn’t meet your eyes. “you know where,” he mumbled, voice low, practically choking on his own need.

you smiled, but it wasn’t the soft kind. no, it was the kind that made him squirm. he was the one with the power, the money, the looks — but when it came to you? it was like he couldn’t even think straight.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, voice soft but teasing. you took a step closer, and his breath hitched, his eyes darting to the ground as if that could hide the pink dusting his cheeks.

you heard the whispers behind you again — the mocking laughter, the mean-spirited comments. they thought you were a nobody. to them, you were the odd one out. but they didn’t see how his entire demeanor crumbled in your presence, how the proud, arrogant man they knew became this — a whining, desperate mess, practically begging for your attention.

“can’t we just go home?” his voice cracked, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

“why?” you asked, feigning innocence again. your fingers trailed up his arm, watching as he sucked in a shaky breath, his lips parting just slightly. “don’t you like these gatherings?”

his gaze finally met yours, eyes wide, pupils blown, desperation written all over his face. “it’s… i… you know i can’t focus when you’re around like this,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a whine that made you want to laugh. how could someone like him get so worked up over someone like you?

but you knew why. it was because he was pussy drunk — so drunk off you, off the way you held his attention without even trying. the neediness in his voice, the way he fidgeted under your gaze, it was all because he couldn’t control himself around you.

“is that my problem?” you asked, your voice dripping with amusement, as you leaned in closer, brushing your lips lightly against his ear. “or yours?”

he let out a shaky breath, his hand gripping your wrist like he couldn’t stand it anymore. “please… please, i need you.” his voice was barely a whisper now, just a shaky breath against your skin. the confidence he showed everyone else was gone, replaced by this vulnerable, desperate version of himself that only you ever saw. and god, you loved it.

you could hear the wet sound of his lips parting as he kissed your neck, his hands shaking as they gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between you. “can’t we just leave? i need… i can’t think straight,” he begged, his breath hot against your skin.

and you knew why. it wasn’t because he was embarrassed of you, like people assumed — no, it was because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. he couldn’t stop picturing your sweet, slick pussy, couldn’t stop imagining how you tasted, how you felt. he needed you, and he needed you now. but you weren’t going to make it easy for him. not when he was like this — so damn whiney, so desperate, so willing to give in to whatever you wanted.

“you’re such a mess,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair as he buried his face in your neck, groaning at the contact.

he let out a soft whimper, one that made your stomach flip with satisfaction. “please,” he begged, his voice so small, so needy. “just let me —”

you could feel the way his fingers tightened around you, the way his breath became ragged as his mouth brushed your collarbone, leaving hot, wet kisses in its wake. “can’t… can’t control myself,” he mumbled between kisses, his voice strained. “you’re driving me insane.”

the sound of his desperation was music to your ears, the way his lips made those soft, wet noises as he pressed them against your skin, the little whimpers and groans escaping him as he lost himself in the moment. he was barely holding it together, practically trembling with need, and you loved watching him like this — knowing that you were the reason he was falling apart.

“what’s the matter, baby?” you cooed, running your hand through his hair again, watching as he looked up at you with those wide, pleading eyes. “can’t handle it?”

he shook his head, his breath shaky as his fingers trailed lower, grazing the waistband of your pants. “no… can’t handle it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “need you… please.”

and god, the sound of him begging was everything. they thought he was some untouchable, cocky man, but here he was, completely undone because of you. no one would believe it if they saw — the same man who commanded rooms and left people hanging on his every word was now on his knees, hands shaking, lips wet, and voice trembling, all because he couldn’t get enough of your touch.

“you’re such a good boy,” you whispered, letting him kiss your skin, loving the way his lips trailed down your stomach, leaving a hot, wet trail. his mouth hovered over your pussy, and he whimpered again, his lips parting as if he could taste you already.

and you? you’d let him have it. because you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

#needthat

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[oreo-creampie]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, suggestive with toji, mentions of his hard dick, toji smells your panties after taking them off you, mentions of smoking with stoner!choso, cuddles with choso and sukuna, back massage with toji, confessions, jealousy towards a stuffed bear, toji calls ya mama, sukuna teases you and calls you pet, true form!sukuna, plenty of kisses, they are all soft for you how can they not be your wonderful babes, established relationship

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @akumuprincess I'm so sorry to hear that you're having a shit day😭🥺 I've recently been imagining really often about the jjk men holding you (me, us, the reader, everyone idk how to text😭) after a hard day, because I've had it pretty rough the last few weeks and just imagine them hugging you and holding you close while stroking your back or hair! I feel like Toru would drown you in little kisses all over your face while caressing your hair and cooing sweet nothings at you. Suguru would have you sit in his lap, holding you as close as possible, letting you talk about your worries and frustrations, humming and stroking your skin softly until you relax under his touch. Toji I feel like would give you a relaxing massage and then let you bury yourself in his huge chest while you lie on top of him! I think even our mean king of curses would be softer if you've had a rough day, letting you be more affectionate and clingy, he'd still bully you about it, but wouldn't let you go off his grasp, trapping you in the bed with him hoping it'll make you feel better. They'd be just so gentle and sweet aah, I really hope you feel better by the end of the day, I'm sending you hugs and kisses 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Oreo; thank you for this cute idea! I’ve been thinking about choso a little too much! Toji has a little sexual tension to it, but he does his best to behave. After writing this I realizing that sukuna in true form would give wonder massages

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨

Gently, slowly trailing kisses up the side of your face, to the middle of your forehead, down the length of your nose. Cupping your other cheek, lovingly kissing you. Slowly swiping his thumb along your cheek.

Pulling away, “Let’s cuddle on the balcony, look out at the smoke n’ watch the stars try to be as beautiful as you.” Kissing your cheek.

Squeezing Choso’s slim, sculpted waist, hard underneath your squishy thighs. “Don’t let me go.” Slipping your fingers into his soft hair, freeing it. Lightly dragging your nails along his head.

Choso half open, eyes are blood shot, full of admiration and love for you. The way he looks at you has you forgetting the rest of the room. When he smiles down at you, “Never dream of it love dove. I'm your’s forever.” there is only him.

He stands up, holding up the bong for your to carry before picking up his black rolling tray from his bedside. Kissing where his tattoo stretches into his cheek. “I can't believe I get to be your’s.” He flicks on the fairy lights strung along the balcony’s ceiling.

A soft kiss on your forehead and the last of the tension is melting from your body. “Who else could I hope to belong too but a perfect Angel.” Stepping out into the cool autumn air. Sitting down on the sofa looking out at the tree line.

You slip your hair out of his hair, kissing his forehead. Turning around in his lap, grabbing the tray from him, setting it down the bong down. “Lean back for a moment love dove let me make sure your cozy in a blanket. Don't want you to get a chill.” Resting on Choso’s warm, broad bare chest.

He grabs the neatly folded blanket next to you, spreading the blanket over your lap. “Thank you handsome, you’re wonderful I love you.” He squeezes your soft side, his gentle large hands comforting. You’ve never felt so secure in yourself or in a relationship before Choso.

“I love you too love dove. You’re my everything.” Another kiss, and you want countless more. Closing your eyes enjoying his soft lips on your temple.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

“I’ll be good but I can’t promise that my cock won’t be hard.” Sliding your underwear off, holding the messy part to his nose, taking a deep breath. “I’ll use this lace piece to jerk off when you take a nap.” Looking into your eyes, “Missed ya mama.” Tossing your underwear behind him.

Running your his hard, “I missed you too, couldn’t wait to get home when I got your text. And how is that behaving?” He stands up, leaning over you, kissing your forehead. Grabbing your hips and squeezing. Toji’s loving, gentle kiss and his warm large hands on your soft body is everything you need.

“I could’ve licked ‘em clean like I wanted.” Kissing your cheek, sliding his hands up your waist. “Lay down on ya stomach beautiful.” You stretch out on the bed, turning your head to the side. The smell of his conditioner clinging to the pillow.

After three weeks had started to fade from the large black sweater he lasted wore and from his side of the bed. It didn’t feel like home without him.

Closing your eyes. “If ya fall asleep then I’ll clean ya up n tuck ya n, I’ll be smokin’ on the balcony watchin’ tv if ya need me.” Straddling your ass, making himself comfortable. His hard dick resting on your cheeks. “If ya take a nap after we can order some take out get in the shower together whilst we are waiting.”

Toji leans over kissing both your shoulders, slowly smearing lotion up your back with his large warm hands. “I’ll wash ya up, give you one of my shirts spray ya in my cologne.” Relaxing your shoulders, not realizing how you’ve been tensing up throughout the day. He works on the tight pinch between your shoulder blades with one hand.

Lifting your head, “Will you take my make up off?” Your head hits the pillow, holding it up being too much effort. Closing your eye, smiling at Toji’s heavy sigh, picturing his pout.

Kissing the top of your head. “Lucky I love you.” Focusing on the knot between your shoulders. Gently messaging up towards your neck, letting out a soft sigh when his large fingers wrap around your neck, gently kneading.

“Thank you handsome, I love you too.” Wiggling your cheeks, he lifts his hips up. Grabbing more lotion pouring some on your back. Smearing it towards your sides, squeezing.

You are admired, beautiful and loved laying on your shared bed with pouty Toji giving you a message. “Teasin me with your beautiful ass how is that fair?” Gently messaging your lower back finding the knots there. “Now stay still, lemme take care of ya mama.”

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

“You sure you want me? That giant Teddy Bear of your’s seems to be-oh!” Sukuna intentionally stumbles forward onto you. Calculating his fall onto you to involve shoving your stuffed animal off the bed.

Caging you in between two of his large hands, grabbing your hips. Nuzzling his face into your neck, pressing you into the bed. Sukuna lightly bites making your squirm. “Didn’t look like you needed me since you picked the bear.” Leaning away, cupping your cheek, the mouth on his hand giving you a soft kiss.

His cheeks flushing pink. “Without a thought of coming to see if you could cuddle me.” He glances down at your lips when you smile for the first time since coming home. Letting go of your face, grabbing waist, lifting you off the bed.

Sukuna lays down, setting you down on his lap. He is shirtless like always, part of the population is seeing him traversing around town half naked. “The great, powerful, handsome sukuna is,” siding your hand down his bare chest enjoying the warmth of his hard pecs.

“Is what? Spit it out pet.” He gently slips his fingers underneath your chin to tilt your head up to admire your face. Sliding both his hands down your thighs, squeezing them. He’s been getting handiser, unable to keep to himself.

You love it, the softer he gets for you the more you fall for him.

All four of his hands comforting, warm, and big. One of the mouths on his hands peppering kisses along your side. “Jealous of a teddy bear blushing pink because he doesn't know how to handle the feelings he has for one measly little brat.” The mouth across his abs vanishes, you lay down, resting your head on his chest.

“You know people are scared to breathe in my presence.” His chest rumbles when he speaks. Kissing his chest, the resting your heard, the heart pounding of his vessel pounding faster.

“Back in my day, ok old man.” Sitting up, kissing his cheek, whatever happened earlier today no longer matters for the moment. All that your concerned with is the beautiful monster beneath you. “I love you.”

Sukuna smirks, “I know ya do pet. What else would explain your baffling behavior. When you first saw me and smiled I knew you were a dumbass.” He pinches your nose shut wiggling your head, gently flicking your forehead.

Grabbing his wrist and biting his finger. Letting go when his hand on your thigh bites back. “I'm your dumbass! I wonder if I'll get to hear you say it back.”

He leans in and softly whispers, “I love you.” Leaning back his expression indifferent, crimson eyes cold which his cheeks are redder than. “Now don't think about trying to hear those stupid words from anyone else.”

Oreo creampie’s m.list

part two; gojo, geto, nanami

[peachdues]

COMPASS — TEASER

Bad boy!Sanemi x Reader • Gang AU

A/N: was this supposed to be limited to a “bad boy Sanemi takes your virginity” prompt? Yes. But y’all should know by now I don’t know how to control myself. And I’m going to a show tonight so I figured I’d feed y’all before I left.

Legit hyped for this one because gang member Sanemi is 🤤

Before anyone asks, yes this will end up being a multi-part fic. I don’t wanna hear a THING.

CW: Sanemi being a huge fucking flirt • this fic will be HELLA nsfw so MDNI • like super fucking explicit lmao • Reader runs a bookstore

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated sneer he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciative whistle as he steps back and rakes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate shake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

[candycandy00]

Office Life (Shigaraki x Reader)

Just Shigaraki awkwardly fantasizing about the cute receptionist who works in the same office building as him. You guys let me know if you like this quick “imagine” format for when I don’t have a full fanfic idea.

Smut. 18+. Violence/Blood (not Reader’s). Gender neutral Reader. Dubcon.

Shigaraki, who never had much interest in sex before, when he was so busy with the League and the war. Sure he jacked off to hentai every now and then, but the thought of having real life sex with a real live person didn’t really enter his brain. 

Until now. 

Shigaraki, who is fresh out of prison and working a dumb office job as part of his “rehabilitation”. Who is ignored and avoided by most of his coworkers because of his very publicized past. 

Shigaraki, who just can’t understand why you’re nice to him, why you smile at him so sweetly, like he’s an actual human being and not a monster. Why you, the cute receptionist from down the hall, keeps coming into the office he works in with five other men, desks all lined up neatly. 

Shigaraki, who likes that you look at him and acknowledge him, but sometimes has the irrational urge to show you how terrifying and monstrous he can be, to make you fear him the way everyone else does.

Shigaraki, who sometimes has violent fantasies about you that he will never act upon. Like today when you come into the room to share cookies you baked and brought in to the office. You, having such an obvious crush on him that even a socially inept weirdo like him can tell, blush and smile shyly when he takes a cookie from the box you hold out to him. 

Shigaraki, who has no idea what you could possibly like about him, but feels a little smug that the rest of the guys in the office are clearly jealous. 

And as you move toward the back of the room handing out cookies, constantly glancing back to see if he’s eating his, as if wanting his approval, Shigaraki’s dark fantasy takes over again. 

He imagines standing up from his chair and moving through the room, decaying each man in turn, most of them still holding their dumb fucking cookies, only to reach the back, where you’re cowering in a corner, trembling with fear as blood pools around your feet. 

You turn around to look at him, terror in those big wet eyes of yours, and then the pleading starts. He imagines you begging him not to kill you, babbling promises to not tell anyone, confessing your love in some desperate attempt to win his favor. You’re still clutching your frilly pink box of homemade cookies in your shaking hands. 

In his fantasy, he has perfect control over his quirk at all times, and with no effort at all he can decay the clothes right off your body, leaving you naked and vulnerable in the room full of bloody chunks. And you drop the cookies in your shock, trying to cover yourself with your hands. 

He won’t allow that. He’s wondered what you look like under your clothes for too long. And so he roughly pulls your hands away, getting an eye full, before shoving your back onto the nearest desk, spreading you open and unbuckling his pants. 

In this fantasy, you always struggle at first. But after he starts fucking you hard, you begin moaning his name, wrapping your arms around him, looking up at him with teary eyes and blushing cheeks as he rails you. 

Shigaraki, who snaps back to reality when you walk by him, the scent of your floral perfume drawing his attention. You look at the uneaten cookie in his hand and a flash of sadness crosses your face. He hurries to take a bite, and tries to give you a smile that isn’t creepy. 

You smile back, and he knows for a fact he will never, ever act on his worst impulses with you. Because far more than his desire to show you how much of a villain he can be, he wants you to keep smiling at him. 

And someday, maybe he’ll stop being a fucking coward and ask you to go to a movie with him. 

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Fluttering [Teaser]

What will it take for him to finally get you to look his way for more than just a fleeting smile?

Tags/Warnings: kind of arrogant!Jungkook, Fboy!Jungkook turned devoted lover, Idol!Jungkook, angst, teasing, flirting, adult themes such as smut, JK being humbled

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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So that's not enough, huh?

Everyone cracks at the prospect of expensive gifts at some point, and he knows this best. They all end up in his bed at the end of the day, even if they say they're not that kind of girl. Some neatly packed Dior packages sent to their door with a sweetly written card inside the boxes, and they usually all repay his kindness with time spent in his bed, gasping for air at his demonstration of his capabilities at being a lover worth his title.

He's a singer. A songwriter too, if he wants to be- so of course he can always find the right words to create a siren song tailored to anyone he'd love to have beneath him.

And he will find the right words for your ears too, sooner or later.

They all just want him to work for it, and he's willing because of course he is. He's not some kind of dumb boy who needs to persuade his victims into something they don't want- down the line, he only plays with the girls that willingly participate in the game of chase.

They all make the first step, after all. He's never the one to initiate- he doesn't have to. Which is why you're so confusing- giving him signals at first, just to back out later, shamelessly turning him down like you changed your mind.

But he knows you didn't. He's heard you talk to Jimin, has read the text you sent him last week about him. He's your type, and you're interested, surely- but not in what he typically offers.

You want something lasting. You want him to stay.

He's walking down the way he was told with confidence, well aware of how his body is shaped and proportioned. You've once compared him to one of the marble statues you saw at the Louvre museum in paris, back when you both didn't even know each other. He'd jokes that he's packing a lot more than those statues between his legs, trying to flirt in his usual boyish tone-

But you had just laughed. Nothing else. No shyness found in your face whatsoever.

So he bought you gifts he believed you'd like- but even then, after you had told him that he couldn't buy your affection with things like that, he'd apparently missed the mark and believed you were someone you're not. So he bit the bone, like a starving dog.

What does it take to get you to crack? How long can you keep this up?

You're standing with the staff next to the man with the dynamic camera, watching him, and it makes him feel some type of way he can't quite put his finger on. He's putting even me effort into this scene as he would typically- showing off not just his physique, but also his confidence in it, playing into it all with ease and full force. It's like he's dancing in the moment, with no one but time and the thought of you one day giving him the attention he so dearly craves.

His fingers tap over the piano keys so delicately that he hopes you can see the close up shot on the small screen of the camera next to you. It's with the same nature that he would touch you, for sure. He'd worship your body, treat it with hands soft and kind, if you want him to. Or he could be a little rough, and show you how it feels like to be played just like this instrument, where he taps the last key, fingers dancing.

They could do so much more to you, if you'd just let him.

And one look tells him that you're not watching the screen, but him- eye contact heated, but not from anger or shyness. No, that glimmer in your eyes tells him that he's finally caught your attention, finally you're looking at him with a similar sense of interest that he has inside his bones as well.

He's long lost interest in anyone else easily willing. He wants you.

He wants you to want him too. He wants to ruin you, wants to show you that there is no one else but him that has what it takes to be deserving to be at your side. It might've all begun with him just wanting to ruin you, hear you beg for him and fall for his pretty face like many others before-

But by now, he just wants you, seven days a week, every hour of the day if he can. Devotion to one single thing has never been easy for him, interests changing and switching all the time like channels on a TV whenever there's nothing good to watch. But you? You’re his first constant. Never changing. A craving never satisfied by anything else. A thought he can't push from his mind.

You think he can't devote himself to you, can't turn only to you, and be loyal. And of course, his past behavior does not really support his claim he made towards you that he could do just that- but he wants to at least try. he knows he can do it, if you were to just let him show you how deep his devotion can run if he was given the chance. You're just what he wants, every minute spent together no time wasted in his eyes, even if you just sit in silence.

He wants you.

He wants to have your heart fluttering just like you cause his to do the same.

[lovebugism]

hi bug!! for blurbcember, how about ❝ don’t tell anyone, but, i spiked the eggnog. ❞ where shy!reader is by herself at a work holiday party, maybe she’s new or just really shy and doesn’t talk to many people, and steve/eddie goes up to her and jokes about spiking the eggnog to break the ice and flirt with her bc he has a crush on her and wants to make her laugh 🥹 totally not based on what i wish would happen to me at my work’s holiday party lmao

ah this is so cute! :D i decided to do this one for steve so i hope you like it!! — steve harrington spends the company holiday party flirting with shy!you (friends to lovers, shy!reader, fluff, 1.9k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The quiet mouse and the personality hire walk into an office holiday party.

It’s like the start of a really bad joke.

You try to be as enthusiastic as you can about the whole thing, but spending the last half of your day socializing with coworkers who've never looked your way before now isn’t exactly thrill-inducing. Neither is having to hear “Oh, I didn’t know you actually spoke” a thousand times over.

You just don’t want the lecture about being a team player just because you have a harder time talking than most people do. Everyone knows you’d rather be at your desk, anyway. That’s what you do best — keep your head down and get your work done.

But Steve Harrington? He’s totally in his element.

He flits around the common area with a drink and a smile, making people laugh without even trying. It’s hardly fair.

You don’t know how he does it — or why he chooses to waste his charm on you. You’re hardly deserving of his dumb jokes or his pretty smile, but he’s stuck to you like glue, anyway.

He leaves your side only once. To get you another cup of eggnog because you were too scared to cut through the crowd for seconds. “Here you go,” the pretty boy croons as he hands you the plastic cup with a strong, golden hand.

You mutter a small “thanks” under your breath when you take it from him. At least, Steve thinks you do. You’re so quiet it’s hard to make the words out sometimes.

He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows — a deep evergreen with a cream stripe around the chest, lined with several little Christmas trees — and leans against the wall beside you.

He towers over you in every way imaginable. It makes it hurt not to cower when he looks your way. Most of all, when he beams at you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks suddenly, nose scrunched and honey eyes sparkling.

Your brows pinch momentarily in confusion before going lax again. “Sure?”

He leans closer to you, his warm scent engulfing you instantly — like morning coffee and woodsy cologne. It’s suffocating, in the nicest of ways, to be this close to him. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but I did actually spike the eggnog,” Steve whispers beneath the cheesy holiday music and distant chatter, quiet enough for only you to hear. 

You laugh before you mean to. 

He laughs because you are.

“I actually wouldn’t mind that,” you joke with a shy shrug.

“It’d make this whole thing a lot more tolerable, right?” he scoffs and brings his cup to his mouth. The heavy cream of the eggnog clings to his cupid’s bow before he licks it clean again.

You get quiet for a second, momentarily lost in how pretty he is. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“I think you’re the only person I know that’d rather be working than be here.”

“Well, I’m not really a—” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish until you find the words to say. That happens a lot. It’s why you find it easier not to speak sometimes. “—A social butterfly or whatever, you know?”

“I thought you were gonna say people-person.”

“That, too.”

Steve thinks for a moment, flits his eyes to the ceiling, and juts out his pretty pink lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “Well, I don’t think that’s totally true.”

Your brows furrow. Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as you thought. “No?”

“No,” he says confidently and with a shake of his neatly styled hair. He swipes his fingers through the intentionally messy strands. Then he shrugs. “Well, I mean, maybe. But I would say you are a Steve-person, you know?”

Your face screws up. His attempts to flirt with you don’t land.

He quickly tries to explain himself. “I just mean that— you know— that you don’t let everyone know you the way you let me know you.”

He gets all shy about it, but you think he might be right. 

Steve Harrington is more than just magnetic. He’s the kind of person that draws you in and opens you like a flower. An ounce of his attention feels like being basked in sunlight. He’s as handsome as life, too. Something holy, maybe. 

It’s his divinity that draws something out of you, you think.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re different from everyone else,” you shrug instead of elaborating on the dramatic religious metaphor in your head. Your gaze falls to the untouched cup between your palms. It’s easier to look at but much less interesting than the melting honey in Steve’s eyes.

He grins all sweet even though you’re not looking at him to see it.

“You mean prettier?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” you scoff and smile before you realize it. “No one’s competing with those dimples, Harrington.”

He beams. It basks you in golden sunlight. 

Something about the way he looks at you is comforting. Nostalgic. It makes you feel safe. Makes you feel brave enough to raise a trembling hand to his scruffy jaw and poke gently at the dimple in his left cheek.

“You just make it easier to talk. I guess.”

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I love hearing you talk.”

You squint playfully up at him. “Is that because you’re usually the one talking all the time?”

He nods. “That’s exactly why.”

You laugh, and it sounds like stars falling over his skin. 

“It just feels easy to me, you know? Being around you and everything,” Steve shrugs to pretend like you don’t stir something sort of poetry in his chest. “I just think you’re cool. Exactly the way you are. And, you know, when you apologize for being too quiet or too complicated or whatever— it makes me wanna kick the world’s ass for making you feel that way. ‘Cause you’re, like, one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

For a second or more, you’re not totally sure what to say. And not in the way you usually are. This is different. This feels like there’s sunshine in your throat, and you can’t speak a word through it. This feels like being so choked up you could cry.

No one’s ever been this nice to you, you think. No one’s ever been so kind to you about the thing you hate most about yourself.

You swallow through the sun rays and muster a wavering smile.

“See what I mean?” You try to laugh, but the words get caught in your throat. You cough once to clear it. “I have to talk to you because no one else will say such nice things to me.”

“And that’s just a shame. ‘Cause saying nice things to you is basically my favorite hobby.”

You laugh again, even though he’s not really joking.

“Like, if I could get paid to do it, I’d be out of this shithole in a second.”

You smile up at him, so wide it makes your eyes squint and your nose scrunch. No one else could stir such a loud emotion from the quiet you are. No one else but Steve.

[luveline]

Do you think maybe you could do a quick Miguel fic of him being supportive/comforting to spider-girl cause she’s been working too hard and stretched herself a bit thin trying to make everyone happy? I’ve read all your Miguel stories and it feels like it fits LMAO (I love love love all of your stuff btw you’re one of my fav Miguel writers)

thank you for your request! grumpy miguel comforts a tired spidergirl. 1.2k

Miguel doesn't bother looking down at the thwipping sound of a web connecting with the platform. You're the only person he knows well enough, who knows him well enough, to come up without asking. 

"Woah," you say, pulling yourself onto the platform with altogether too much force, taking a running stumble at him as you try to keep your balance. 

Miguel puts a hand out to catch you without looking away from his screen. "Careful." 

"Thanks, handsome," you croon, though it's missing its signature pep. 

Miguel does look up, then, dragging his attention from the monitors to rake it over you. You have your mask on, which is odd but not unheard of, and your posture is tight. The majority of your weight is being held on one foot, and when he follows your leg upward, your thigh is curving outward. How weird. 

You pull away from him gently and shimmy over to the desk you've stolen, a mountain of your things that topples intermittently lying in wait for your return. As soon as you approach, the flying droid you take on missions whizzes into the air and dances around your shoulders, not unlike the way you move yourself. 

"Come over here," Miguel says. 

"No," you say primly, "you're in a strange mood." 

"You've been here for two seconds," he says. If he were in a strange mood, it's not as if you could've already gathered that from so little observation. 

"Yeah, and you're not usually eager to have me near," you say. True and untrue. 

"Come here." 

You sigh and approach him as though he's dragging you, reeling you in, every footstep heavier than the last. Miguel grabs you by the shoulders when you're close and stations you neatly in front of him, thumb quick to find the seam of your mask and slide beneath. 

You squint at the sudden light of the room, unmasked, though your expression quickly relaxes. "You want to kiss me," you guess, saccharine sweet as you tilt your chin upwards. 

Miguel dodges your feigned kiss. You aren't wrong about what he wants, but you haven't identified his main priority, which is to find out why you'd been wearing the mask in the first place, and why you're walking like your converse shoes are full of cement. 

You're very, very tired, evidently. You look exhausted. Miguel has seen you run down before, you stretch yourself thin often, and you do it without complaint, but this is a new level. His heart actually hurts in his chest, he's that gutted for you. 

Miguel glares at you. "What, you're not sleeping?" 

"Oh, don't, handsome," you say, moving as though you're going to walk away. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and keeps you where you are. "Hey, answer me." 

"Of course I'm sleeping," you say. You won't meet his eyes. Liar. "You're a tyrant." 

Be that as it may, Miguel wants what's best for you. He draws a line under your dark circles with the pad of his thumb, feeling the puffy skin regretfully. Carefully, so carefully, he traces the line of a tear unshed from the corner of your eye to the corner of your lips. 

"Not enough, then." 

You look at him funny. Your bottom lip twitches, and every ounce of his cool dissipates as you frown and lean forward, pressing your face to his chest. 

"I'm busy," you confess in a murmur, your arms hanging loosely around his waist.

Miguel takes it for I'm really tired. He hesitates, looking down at you, your smaller stature, feeling the weight your letting him hold up for the trust it is. You're tired and you're telling him, even though he had to prod. 

Miguel hugs your shoulders. You sag like a popped balloon. 

"I'm busy," he says, though he amends quickly at the sudden rigidness of your back under his hands, "I'm busy, and I still sleep. You have to sleep." 

"If I want to… to make time for me, I keep staying up late, you know? I've been training, and helping Hobie Brown take down the establishment–"

"What?" 

"–and I was trying to make that cover for your wristband but I keep getting it wrong." You stop suddenly. Your hand screws tighter into his front, fingers digging ineffectual against nanotechnology. "I'm useless, even when I try." 

"Why would you say that?" he asks quietly.

"I can't get things right. I want to do everything. I want to get better at fighting so I can come with you. I want to be a good friend to Hobie. I want to make you things 'cos you deserve them. I'm sorry. I just make everything worse."

Miguel let's you wallow for a moment. He's no stranger to self-loathing. It can feel good to simmer. He rubs your back inchingly slowly, not sure why he's letting himself, not sure why he's holding back. 

Miguel takes your shoulders into his hands and eases you back, ducking his head to meet your eyes. Forcing you to listen. "You don't make anything worse. You're tired, and being tired makes everything feel worse than it is. You're not the problem." 

Your cheek lists down to your shoulder. "You're being nice." 

"You don't have as much effect on things as you think," he says, ducking his head again to look you straight in the eye. "I mean that in a good way. You aren't hurting anyone. You can say no." 

"I don't want to say no." 

"You have to." He's tipping into tenderness now, plummeting fast and hard. "You need to look after yourself if you want to look after other people," he says. He wonders if what he's about to say is fair, but he's so unhappy with your obvious rampant fatigue that he decides he can live with the bad karma. "What if I need you to come with me to the next anomaly recovery? And you're too tired to stand? You'd have me go by myself?" 

"No." 

"Exactly, so do the right thing and sleep." Miguel says it simply, pulling away, pulling back, physically and emotionally. He likes you more than he should but being vulnerable is difficult. He hides behind a facade —your problem is ridiculous, and he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. 

You see straight through him. Hear the unsaid please. "I will. I'll go to bed… Thank you, Miguel." 

The facade slips as Miguel gives your bicep a warm squeeze. He turns away from you without another word, redirecting his attention on the screens, your presence like a thrumming he has to fight to ignore. 

"Bye, handsome," you say, stepping sideways off of the platform. He relaxes at the sound of a web sticking and your footsteps as they lead away. 

He rubs the bridge of his nose. 

"Inspiring," Lyla says, appearing from nowhere, a delighted, smarmy smile flickering across her face.

"That is getting so old," Miguel complains.

"Deprogram me, then." 

"Would if I could." 

"Ah, but then who would witness your frankly embarrassing attempts at comfort?" 

Miguel tries to catch her like a moth. She scoffs and leaps between his fingers. 

[hongism]

SWEET JUICE - s.mingi (18+)

➼ genre; fantasy, smut ➼ pairing; mingi x fem!reader ➼ au; strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 10.7k

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; sex toys, unprotected sex, comeshots, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, size kink, hand kink, mention of belly bulging, dacryphilia

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Normally, you aren’t one to be so deeply entrenched in the petty gossip going around town, especially when newcomers are not exactly scarce in these parts. This one in particular — the young man who moved here by himself and immediately set up an apothecary shop in the heart of the village — has been on the lips of almost everyone you’ve bumped into for the past week. Ever since the Summer’s End Festival, it seems all your neighbors can think to talk about is this mysterious lone wolf. Unfortunately for you, that means your interest has been piqued both out of nosiness and out of a potential opportunity.

“You said he’s nice?”

“Yeah! I mean, I didn’t meet him personally. I was busy running the stall while Yunho was doing all the socializing, but Gerda came over and she said he’s a rather nice and charming young man.” 

You appraise the man across the counter with a far less enthused grin. It doesn’t deter Seonghwa from his egregious nods of encouragement, however. So, you continue to pack away the little bundles of herbs that you’ve been preparing all morning into the man’s satchel.

“She says that about everyone under the age of fifty. I think it’s her duty as an old woman to say that. What did Yunho say about him?” 

“Hm, what did Yunho say about him…” Seonghwa brings a neatly manicured nail to his chin as he mulls over your question. You snap the buckle of his bag into its proper place now that you’ve given him all you need to and set your hands down on the counter. “He was fairly charmed too, I believe. I mean, in terms of the guy’s personality. You know his gaze goes in one single direction for all other aspects of things.” He flattens his palm against his cheek and doesn’t even bother to hide the smugness that creeps over his expression.

“Don’t get cocky now,” you cut in before Seonghwa can redirect the conversation towards himself. 

“Is it being cocky if I’m just repeating what he says all the time though? Oh my Seonghwa, you’re so pretty, the only man I could ever look at, I never grow weary of seeing your darling face. It’s truly romance at its finest.”

“Back to the new guy, Hwa.”

“Hmph. You’re more interested in him than you were in me when I first moved here!”

“You didn’t run a shop when you first got here. Otherwise, I would’ve been just as eager, promise.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you, lips drawing into what must be an attempt at a frown but it’s so half-hearted and soft around the edges that you can’t be sure. “I’m trying to establish a financially beneficial supply line with this guy. Thus, I need to know what he’s like so that I know how much bargaining I ought to prepare for before going to speak with him.”

“He’s nice, not much of a talker from what I could tell watching him from a distance, and he mostly stuck near the bonfire. Though it was still damp from the rain earlier that day, and autumn was already sending in her cooler breezes. Anyone who hasn’t acclimated to our lovely finicky weather acts like that when they first arrive here. Spoke to everyone who approached him. Talks with his hands a lot. Very—” Seonghwa makes a few vague gestures consisting of him just waving his hands in the air a bit “—big. Not quite taller than Yunho, but broader and like… meatier, I suppose. I wonder if I should give Yunho bigger meal portions actually, he might need it. Really, how does he stay so skinny even doing all the heavy lifting around the house? Do you have any herbs good for muscle growth?”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you, that’s it.” Seonghwa’s protest comes immediately. “No, because last time you did this, you started asking me about concoctions to make his semen taste better, and that is not a conversation we’re going to be repeating!” He grabs his satchel off the counter as you hop up from your stool, though he still tries to appear very upset over the matter while pulling it over his head.

“Well, tell me when you’re planning on going over there at least. I can give you a meal before you go home since it’s a bit of a trek to get back here.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. There’s still some inventory left over from the summer that I need to sort out. And I need to prepare some decor for the Autumn Festival sooner rather than later. Ugh, I got so behind on my work it’s infuriating.” You’ve been slacking a little more than you usually do this past week on account of being bedridden for five days straight. You thought you were going to avoid getting sick at the end of summer for once, but your body had other plans for you and decided to push it into the start of the fall season instead. That’s the only reason you need this information about the newcomer from Seonghwa so desperately: otherwise, you would have been at that very festival and been able to witness the man for yourself.

“Oh, speaking of, everyone missed you last week! And told me to send you well wishes, which are obviously not needed anymore, but the sentiment is the same nonetheless, no?”

You send Seonghwa off with a few extra herbs pressed into his hands and wishes for safe travels. It ought to only take him fifteen minutes to walk back to town, but he came by rather late and the sun is already setting so you don’t want him to get caught alone in the dark on his way. He is kind enough to allow your nagging, only pinching your cheek when you tell him once more to quit asking about recipes and herbs to use on Yunho’s dick. 

Once you’re content seeing him reach the end of your garden path, you flick your wrist in the direction of your crops. The drizzle that suddenly starts falling from the sky is light enough to not be much of a hindrance to Seonghwa, though you’ll be certain to bring down some heavier rainfall after he disappears over the edge of the hill. Though your closest friend in the village, you still haven’t had the heart to tell him what exactly brought you to this remote place or what you were running from when you came. He only knows that you came here nearly eight years ago on your own and with nothing to your name, and by the time he and Yunho came along, you were already three years into building your business of selling herbs year-round. 

In truth, your witchcraft is not illegal by the nature of it being magick. Rather, you yourself are the problem being a witch in name instead of the formally accepted term warlock. Should anyone with any sort of agenda against you discover that you are a defector using your magick when you are no longer a practicing warlock, then you would likely lose everything you have here in this place. It took you two years just to find a town secure and remote enough for you to feel comfortable living in, and eight more to reach this point of stability. You don’t consider Seonghwa to be someone driven by monetary promise or swayed by others’ opinions, but there is just enough doubt that’s crept into your heart over the years to keep you silent.

“How depressing,” you mutter, turning back to your cottage and heading inside. You make the rain fall just a little harder to go along with your sudden decline in mood.

…

Perhaps, you think, there is some goddess out there who is keen on causing you inordinate levels of distress. Because although today was supposed to be nothing more than a calm and friendly meeting in the hopes of establishing a business partnership, you cannot push yourself to even approach the door to the new apothecary. The name of the shop is insignificant on its own — Mortar and Cauldron — and you wouldn’t think twice about getting up from this cursed bench you now find yourself on if that was all there was to it. Yet for some godforsaken reason, this man has deigned to put a symbol behind the name, one that mimics one of the crests belonging to the House of Ballads (the very one you defected from a decade ago). Some deity must surely be playing a sick prank on you.

There are a few routes you could take in this situation. You could pretend you never came and forget the idea of creating a supply line, missing out on some revenue sure but it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to make up for it in other areas. You could go in and confront the newcomer, demanding to know who he is and what he’s doing here on the off chance that he’s truly some bumbling idiot who has no clue what symbols he’s drawn into his signs. He could very well be a defector himself, you suppose, although it would be suicide to use one of the House’s official crests as one. Or you could simply play the part of the fool yourself, act none the wiser, and pretend to be the normal citizen you are. Even if this man were truly from the House, he would not recognize your face because you were never formally entered into the place. You had been merely part of a small church sect on the outskirts of the capital, far from the House of Ballads and all its operations. The name you held while there has already been burned to ash and nothingness, likely stricken from all their records as well the moment you disappeared. If they wanted you dead — well, they would have had you killed long ago. So, you seem to have your best course of action.

“I know my decor isn’t the most appealing, but I don’t think it warrants such a foul expression.” The voice resonates so close to your ear that you truly feel the vibration in your teeth, but moreso, it startles you out of your skin, and you all but launch yourself off the bench with an embarrassing yelp. Just behind the bench where you were, there stands a man you don’t recognize. Tall, with sharp features and equally piercing dark eyes, and dressed in black from head to toe complete with a scarf draped over his head to mimic the hood of a cloak. It doesn’t fully shroud his borderline psychedelic hair — an unnatural yellow shade that blends into a fiery orange-red and makes his head look more like a torch than anything else. “Hello. Sorry for surprising you like that, it wasn’t my intention to make a first impression in such a way.”

Ah. If not for your racing heart, you would have put two and two together far sooner, because obviously, this would be the mystery owner of the apothecary, considering how you recognize everyone in town.

“Would you like to come in and look around? I was simply across the street to get some bread.” He tilts his head back in the direction of none other than Seonghwa’s shop. One glance at the storefront gives you enough of a clue as to whose fault it is that you’re having this unsavory first encounter because said man is pressed up against the window and staring through it directly at you. You have to fight the urge to scowl at him until after your newcomer steps out of your line of sight. Seonghwa tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and sends you a far-too-cheery thumbs-up. You turn away with a less subtle middle finger. 

Despite the muggy weather and cooler temperatures, the inside of the apothecary is warm. It almost feels a bit humid thanks to the rain outside, but not unbearably so. And considering how long you were sitting out there getting rained on, you welcome the heat quite a bit. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be the friend Seonghwa mentioned, would you?” He catches you with the question as you’re undoing the knot holding your cloak around your shoulders. “I don’t recall seeing you at last week’s festival, though I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself to everyone then.”

“Oh, yes, that would be me. I wasn’t there because I was recovering from a nasty cold. Y/n.” You jut a hand out in his direction, pushing a smile to your lips as you look him in the eye, though thanks to his height, you feel as though you have to crane your neck just to do so. 

“Song Mingi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n.” He doesn’t take your hand the way you expect; instead, he pinches the tips of your fingers and bends at the waist, lips grazing your knuckles so softly that you almost don’t feel the contact at all. What’s more startling is how hot his touch is, especially considering how he was just out in the cold. You catch a glimpse of his hand as he’s pulling away, but he’s simply wearing gloves. Knowing Seonghwa, he probably kept the man hostage with conversation for a long time before sending him out to speak with you, and your friend always keeps the house warm because of the ovens, so that’s likely where all the excess heat is coming from. Your staring lingers too long, and Mingi clears his throat quietly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Likewise,” you spit out, placing your cloak on the coat rack by the door.

“Were you looking for something in particular, or did you just want to see what sorts of things I have?” Mingi wraps around the back of the shop’s counter, and you take it as an invitation to approach. The glass cabinet serving as the surface is filled with a variety of things both familiar and not. Potions, vials, bundles of powders, and even some gemstones that carry a glow at their centers. The presence of magick here is undeniably strong, and it is not yours alone. There must be dozens of magickal objects here, though the ordinary person wouldn’t sense a thing. You don’t let your gaze linger on any of them for long before pulling focus back up to the man’s face.

“Well, I intended to come introduce myself first since we didn’t have a chance to meet at the festival. But beyond that, I wanted to let you know I grow all sorts of herbs and ingredients in my garden. I supply many of the local shops and stalls, especially during the winter seasons. The ground is particularly fruitful thanks to all the rain we get here.”

“Oh? Yes, I noticed rather quickly that there’s near-constant rainy weather here.” As though on cue, a bout of thunder rumbles in the distance.

“You truly chose a summer lover’s nightmare moving here,” you laugh. “Charybid is always in rainy season.”

Mingi hums and grins a little, looking to the window before saying, “I’m quite alright with it really. The heat of my homeland is far more unbearable in my opinion. You can tell how little I went outside there just based on how pale I am.” He flashes the back of his hand that’s still enveloped by a glove like he wants to prove his point, only to realize his little blunder and fall into a bout of awkward laughter instead. “But you said you’re a supplier? Do you have a local shop as well or…?”

“Local, though not here in the heart of town. If you follow the west road up over the hill, you’ll see a string of cottages. Mine is the one with the big front garden! Oh, and there’s a sign as well, of course.”

“That would be immensely helpful especially since I don’t have much space here to grow my own things. It’s a bit difficult to outsource supplies in this area too, isn’t it?” Mingi glances down at the open notebook sitting on his counter and skims the contents. “Would it be alright if I came by at the end of next week? That way I can finish unpacking and taking stock of everything I have.”

“Yes, that’d work just fine. You can come by any time you need, though I always advise against coming too close to nightfall because walking in the rain at night is an easy way to get sick.” You offer a smile, perhaps a little too pleased with how smoothly your business proposal went, but your enthusiasm seems to be received well given how brightly Mingi smiles in return. The air has begun to get more stifling, and you can feel sweat clinging to the back of your neck. It’s unpleasant now, a kind of warmth you’re not used to experiencing all the time because you don’t keep your home so toasty, but it reminds you of evenings shared with Seonghwa that always end with you wanting to escape out into the rain just for some respite. “I won’t take up more of your time, though. I promised to go see Seonghwa myself once I was finished here. I bid you well.”

“Thank you, and have safe travels home yourself. I look forward to doing business with you, Miss y/n.”

…

You leave your cottage in the wee hours of the morning, intending to water your crops before the sun rises, but those plans are dashed the moment you spot the man waiting outside your fence. You’ve seen him several times since your first meeting, though not here and solely in town. He hasn’t come this far yet despite his insistence that he would come over two weeks ago. Autumn is in full swing now, four weeks since the start of the season and five since the new apothecary came to town. You had not quite lost hope that he would be true to his word, but you must admit that you are caught off-guard seeing him at this hour and at your gate.

“When I said not to come at nightfall, I didn’t mean that you needed to come at the break of dawn!”

“I wanted to come before opening hours,” Mingi replies in a far clearer voice than your own. You’re still wiping the sleep from your eyes after all, and it seems he has been up for some time considering how he doesn’t appear tired in the slightest. The lantern at the end of your walkway is lit — strange because you thought you had remembered to blow it out the night before — and the glow combined with the first few rays of sunshine over the horizon is enough to illuminate the space between you and the man. “I was also out on a morning walk, so I figured it would be smart to find out how to get here before making a fool of myself. Beyond making plans to do so several times over and not once making good on those plans.”

You did gather much from your first impression of the man. Seonghwa’s word proved correct: Mingi is quite friendly, although a tad clueless but his kindness makes up for that, and you heard as much from your fellow townsfolk after you left his apothecary a month ago. After all, newcomers will be the talk of the town for weeks after their arrival, so you got to be privy to much talk about his character just from spending five minutes milling about the streets. He’s cordial each time you happen across each other in the village on top of that, full of never-ending apologies about his delay in coming to see you (to the point where you have to demand he stop apologizing three times before he takes the hint).

“Considering how I didn’t even make it to the front door, I’m assuming I did not wake you?” he continues when you reach the edge of the fence. You shake your head, undoing the latching and pulling the gate over for him to step through. 

“No, you simply caught me coming out to check on the crops before the rain starts.” You didn’t sense any rain coming today, but a little trip down to the pond can easily be arranged once Mingi departs. “This is only the front garden. I can show you the back as well, if you’d like, I have far more plants there.”

“You take care of this all by yourself?” he inquires, voice edging on awestruck, and your chest swells with pride.

“Yep! It is my livelihood, after all. But I am very enamored with the work too, so that helps me as well. These plants need more sun, and thanks to the location of this cottage, they receive it at least eight hours a day. Same goes for the plots on the left side of the house, but the ones on the right are not as sensitive to the sunshine. I keep the least temperamental crops in the back, along with some gourds that shops have a hard time finding at this time of year. My more cold-sensitive plants are in planters indoors, I have that small little greenhouse attachment on the side of the house as well as fungi and the like in the basement.”

“It seems you truly have a bit of everything then?”

“I try to at least. Whenever traveling merchants come for market days, I make a point to collect whatever seeds I can. I also like picking up gardener’s pamphlets! There are always good tips for how to make certain plants thrive, and occasionally they’ll mention ones I’ve not heard of so I know to be on the lookout for those things. If there’s ever something you’re in need of that I don’t have, I’d be happy to collect some samples for you from some merchants and we can discuss planting them too.” When you glance up at Mingi again, his jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes still bearing into you with that same wonder and disbelief. “Oh, sorry, I’m being a terrible host. Did you want to come inside for some tea or coffee? It’s still quite early.”

“That’d be great. Do you happen to have a catalog of all your crops as well?”

“Of course, of course.” You motion for him to follow you up to the house just as a few drops of rain start hitting your skin. Maybe you won’t need to go down to the pond after all. “It seems you came at the perfect time. Do you have some sort of potion that lets you predict the weather?”

“If only,” he laughs, ducking his head a bit to avoid the doorframe. He shrugs his cloak off upon getting inside, and once again you’re regaled by the sight of him dressed in all black. Though, today he’s forgone gloves and simply stuck to a long-sleeved shirt that extends past his hands. 

“You’re welcome to look around as I get the water on and all!”

“I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Please, you’re a guest, that’d hardly be fair of me.”

“But I did accost you before dawn, so I’d like to think of it as a fair bargain.”

You purse your lips. “Okay, I’ll relent and allow you to do the water, but I’ll take care of everything else.” He drapes his cloak over the back of one of your chairs, very careful and meticulous about the way in which he lays it down, but you only watch him long enough to see him reach the sink. Turning your back to him, you busy yourself with finding mugs and prepping the coffee Seonghwa gave to you a few weeks back. You should’ve thought ahead and asked him for more since you were just over there, but it slipped your mind completely. Perhaps he needs some more lavender and rosemary, you could pack some and use that as an excuse to go back to see him.

When you turn around next, Mingi is already sitting at the table in the seat where he set his cloak down, and you make a small noise of surprise.

“Did you get the stove figured out already? I swear it takes me four or five tries to get it to come on right every time.”

“Hm? It came right on when I turned the knob. Is it not supposed to do that?”

You let out a huff of air while shrugging and set the mugs down on the table. “It never does that for me but that very well may be user error.” The sharp whistle of steam interrupts your thoughts. “Ah, and it’s heating up quickly too? Those remedies of yours are becoming more and more appealing by the second. You might be the town’s new miracle worker at this rate.” 

In truth, it’s making your skin itch a little. There was some odd presence of magick back in Mingi’s shop, and even now you feel something sharp prodding at your own magickal energy in your own home. It’s not a threat, not one that you can concretely act on yet at least, but it’s enough to make you wary. To let a witch into your safe haven is a dangerous and risky game to play, especially if it’s where the source of your power is. Thankfully, you were not so foolish upon moving here to do something as juvenile as that — yours is safely kept away in that pond down the opposite side of the hill and tucked into a small grove in the surrounding forest. 

“Oh, let me grab that catalog for you real quick!” You bolt up from your chair at the sudden realization, and Mingi seems to accept it as simply that. You grab the book from your shelf, also snatching up the charm you keep near it and slipping it around your wrist while you’re out of sight still. It won’t be enough to fully shroud your energy, but if Mingi is indeed poking and prodding at your aura in search of something, it ought to at least throw him off enough to sate his curiosities. You usually only use such an item when strangers come to town for those market days you mentioned to Mingi before, and it certainly is a first for you to have to use it in your home. 

He’s not budged an inch by the time you return, which is nice to see because he could either have started snooping around in places he shouldn’t or bolted without a trace. You set the book down before him, still wearing a faint smile on your lips.

“I just updated it at the start of the week too, so you have the freshest copy.”

“Wonderful, I’m starting to understand the name on your gate post more and more.”

“Ah, that.” Wonderland was simply a silly little name you came up with on a whim because that’s what this place is to you, but it stuck and everyone in town loved it so much that you could not escape the urgings to keep it as a name even if you are not a shop owner in the way that people like Seonghwa and Mingi both are. “It’s nothing terribly special,” you opt to say instead. The kettle starts whistling more egregiously, saving you from having to explain the name any further. You stand and go to grab the handle of the pot, only to scald your palm so badly that you nearly fall over backward. Mingi scrambles to get up, chair clattering against the ground as he rushes in your direction.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” you blurt through gritted teeth, clinging to your hand and trying to will the pain away to no avail. “What are you sorry for?”

“I-I should’ve — I should’ve gotten that, I mean, my hands are…” he trails off, and you glance down at the now exposed hands that he’s put between you. From the tips of his fingers down to the first knuckle on every single digit, Mingi’s skin and nails both are the color of charcoal, like they’ve been permanently stained that way. Were you anybody else, you would not know what it means. 

“I’m fine,” you say. He’s a warlock after all, it seems. Of course he is. You have been teetering on the confirmation for weeks at this point, and it was silly of you to ignore the obvious so many times over. His uncomfortably warm touch and the stifling heat inside his shop were both dead giveaways. You did not forget to extinguish your lantern last night, nor did the stove simply come on by way of Mingi being deft at using the knobs. He lit the lantern himself, lit the stove himself as well though because he was unaware of how your finicky stove works, he made the flame too big and too hot, thus leading to the quick boil and unfortunate accident of you burning your hand. The symbol on his door sign should have been enough of a clue.

“Please, at least let me make you something to treat the burn. It’s what I’m good at after all, and it’s the barest of minimums I could do.”

If you kick him out now, then it will surely be obvious that you know something about his identity. Only daft idiots or people with something to hide would turn down the help of a healer such as himself. In the past decade, you have lost all semblance of good judgment because no amount of mental gymnastics can get you to refuse his help right now. You’re dooming yourself if he already knows what you are, but if he’s got even the slightest hint and you turn him away, then you would confirm it for him. You have to take the risk.

“Okay, I would really appreciate it,” you whisper, easing yourself down into your chair once more. Mingi’s shoulders visibly relax. “All these plants and I’m afraid I’ve barely got enough knowledge to make tea on a good day with them. Everything you need ought to be on the shelves behind the counter. Those are all freshly picked too.” When he turns his back to you, you let your meek expression drop and glare at the welt that’s already formed across your palm. Mingi’s magick does not appear to be volatile, meaning that he must have had some sort of formal training in his life. It’s common for fire warlocks to bear the same charcoal-looking scars that he has, mostly from overexertion of their kind of magick. You produce more sweat than is natural for a normal human being thanks to your affinities too. 

Would the House truly send someone here for you after so long? And to go through the effort of having them set up a shop in the heart of town? If they wanted someone to watch you, then it would have been easier and smarter to have someone take one of the cottages closer to you. Besides, Mingi has not been taking every opportunity to come find you or learn about you. Nor does he wear any ring to indicate his affiliation with the House. A sanctioned mage would surely make use of such benefits. Could he be a defector like you? Or one that never made it into the House’s grasp? 

He returns to the table with a mortar and pestle filled with some sort of salve that he’s already beaten down into a mush.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“Quite a bit,” you answer truthfully, only wincing a little when he turns your palm to the ceiling. It feels as though his fingers alone could sear your skin.

“I made extra for you to use over the next several days as well. All you need to do is store it somewhere cool and apply a little to the burn twice a day until the pain stops.” The mixture is so blissfully cold on your skin that you could cry, and even with Mingi’s warm touch massaging it into the burn, it feels like a heavenly relief. “If the pain doesn’t stop by the time you run out of salve, then please come visit me. I can make more and give you something to keep it from scarring.”

“Understood.”

“And y/n…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. “You do not have to hide what you are around me.” His gaze finds yours. “You are a witch after all, are you not?” A witch. The word feels like a slap in the face.

“Are you associated with the House? Did they send you? What is it you want from me?”

“The House? Absolutely not. I left their good graces many years ago. I wouldn’t give them even an ounce of my time anyway.”

“So what? You’re a witch as well?”

“Yes, I suppose I am though I don’t make a habit of calling myself that. Simply an apothecary, much like how you are simply a farmer. Of sorts.” Mingi fidgets in his seat and looks closer at you. “I am genuinely not here to cause you harm or disrupt your life. I imagine we came here for the very same reasons in fact. I simply want to live by my own terms, not anyone else’s.”

“Get out,” you whisper. Perhaps there are hundreds of better ways to handle this, but you have never had to do such a thing in all your time here, and you cannot be faulted for acting out of panic and fear now. Your voice comes out louder now, “Get out of my home then! Get out and don’t come back d-don’t dare tell anyone.”

“The energy is permeating the entire house.” Mingi keeps his tone quiet as he continues to speak through your distress. “Your garden too, I felt it immediately. The rain — it’s in there as well. Sure, it’s always rainy season here but how much of it is because of you?”

“You know what the other name for my kind is, right?”

“You’re a water witch.” 

You retract your hand from his with a scoff.

“The House tends to call us Scyllans. Sweet temptresses of the deep, killers of foolish men.”

Mingi somehow has it in him to smile.

“Then I ought to be safe, for I am neither foolish nor a mere man.” He stands without saying another word, collecting his cloak off the back of his chair and slinging it around his shoulders. You can’t help but to stare at him, wary and on edge with every movement he makes even when he reaches the door. “My words hold true, y/n. I hope you think them over at least. And your secret is truly safe with me.”

…

You avoid going into town for so long that Seonghwa seeks you out five days after you go into self-imposed seclusion. It’s easy to keep him off your back at least, and from what you can tell, Mingi has not sought him out to expose your dirty secrets as of yet. The logical part of you understands that you ought to avoid angering the man because he does hold quite a bit of power over you right now. Fear keeps you captive instead, however. 

Two weeks and a day after that fateful encounter you had with Mingi, you dare to leave the comfort of your home. Not to go into the village — that is a step you are not prepared to face — but rather to visit your precious grove in the forest. You should have gone last week as it’s always been your habit to go once a month to rejuvenate your magick; however, you were so on edge that you couldn’t get beyond your back fence and promptly turned right back around. Tonight, you’re determined.

The skies are clear, not a single cloud marring her starry expanses, and the moon hangs high near the center of the sky. Even better yet, it’s a full moon. Ideal conditions for you to bathe in the pond and restore some much-needed energy. You set out forty minutes from midnight even though your trek will not take that long. You need only be there for the highest peak of the moon, so giving yourself this little bit of leeway should allow you all the time required to reach your destination. Despite yourself, you do glance over your shoulder several times on your way out of the house and garden. When you’re content with your loneliness, you set off down the hill.

It’s not as though you decided to dismiss Mingi’s words altogether once he left. You have put much thought and consideration into them, in fact, especially after Seonghwa came to see you and nothing had changed between the two of you. It’s no guarantee that Mingi didn’t tell anyone, but it’s something. The matter of him being a witch like you, well, that has been a contentious debate in your head. A true warlock calling themselves a witch is considered heresy to many, so you have to believe that Mingi is being truthful with you. You know enough about his magick to know for certain he is either one or the other. But at the end of the day, there is no way for him to prove as much. All he has is his word to back him up, and all you can do is either accept it as truth or deny it. 

Long ago, you had settled on the knowledge that you would likely be a rather lonely creature for the rest of your days. Finding Charybid and its people was a welcome blessing, but not a permanent one, and the friends you’ve made (especially Seonghwa and Yunho) cannot understand what it is you are or relate to you on any matter concerning witchcraft. You’ve long since accepted that loneliness as a part of you even if there are pieces of your heart craving warmth and understanding from another like you. 

If it were possible, could Mingi be that sort of person in your life? Does he crave the same thing? Is that why he confronted you to begin with?

You reach the grove with a heavier heart than anticipated. Moonlight creeps in through the canopy of branches overhead, glistening off the half-circle of rocks around milky green waters. The moon has already been charging the pond for hours, and you feel the pulse of magick resonating deep in you from the bottom of it. 

Stripping down to nothing, you drop your clothes into a pile near the rocks with your satchel and toe at the water. It’s frigid as expected, thanks to the encroaching winter that is coming closer and closer still. You sink into it fully and submerge yourself in the charged waters. Several meters down at the bottom lies your precious black pearl, glowing a deep purple shade to show exactly how much magick she’s stored since you last came. You let the waters hold you for some time until the dull thrum you feel around you turns into a hum that makes your skin feel like it’s full of electricity. 

It’s only then that you decide to emerge once more, breaking the surface of the water and letting air replace the magick in your lungs. 

Yet, you find that you are not alone.

Bent so far over the pond that he looks one slip away from tumbling down into it, none other than Mingi sits crouched at the edge. It’s far too late to pretend as though you haven’t made note of each other. Depending on which direction Mingi came from, he may not have even seen your belongings behind the rocks. You sink lower in the water until it comes up to cover your lips. 

“My apologies. I did not know you were here.” Just his gaze is enough to make your body warm. You tilt your chin up.

“Is that so?”

“I came because of the magickal energy, yes. Not because I knew you would be here.” He’s not far from you. The moon shines her pretty rays down around him, and you blame her for the insatiable tug in your gut that’s making you want to pull him into the waters with you. “I have been thinking about you though,” he admits under his breath. You imagine the words are not meant for your ears, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s spoken them out loud. It takes little movement on your part to swim closer to him, and you only stop when he is perched directly above you.

“Do I look the part of a temptress now?” you inquire, hand breaking through the surface of the water to caress his cheek. 

“Incredibly so,” he murmurs. “I see why foolish men fall. Perhaps I am no better.”

“You know nothing about me.” You trace your fingers down to his chin. 

“I know enough.”

You shush him with a laugh and a finger placed directly over his lips. “The sun gives you her power during the day, but on nights like these, the moon offers me a fair exchange. Her power for my sexual energy. That is where a water witch’s magick comes from, and it’s what has earned us all those myths and urban legends about eating men. Now that you know that of me, should I trust you in return?”

“I am what I say I am. I am a fire witch. I defected from the House of Ballads five years ago. To answer your question, though, if…” His gaze has become lidded, focus drawing down to your lips with each word he tries to speak. You feel just as overwhelmed and foggy yourself, the excess magick seeping into you from all angles as the moon inches ever closer to her peak. “…you deem it wise.”

“I think some part of me might.”

“Did you consider what I said to you last time?”

“But of course. It wasn’t so long ago that I’ve forgotten already.” A sigh escapes you as you look up to where the moon can just barely be seen through the trees. “I’d like to give you a chance, if only because of morbid curiosity and the fact that I have made it a decade without finding another like myself.”

You inch up and graze Mingi’s lips with your own. His fingertips tickle the surface of the water, and the effect is nearly instant. Warmth surrounds you and draws a gasp out of you that has you curling away from Mingi’s face. He leans back.

“I cannot restrain myself well enough tonight. Not in the presence of such potent magick.” You are equal parts pleasantly surprised and grossly disappointed by his willpower. With a smile, you push away from the edge of the pond and head further into the water. Mingi almost makes the mistake of following you, teetering at the grassy bank.

“You are welcome to visit again. So long as I am not nude or compromised.”

“I-I—” His cheeks are stained a deep red by now.

“I do not intend to put on a show for you tonight, Mingi, but I am in desperate need of the moon’s energy. If that is all, then…?” Were the circumstances any different, you would consider your wording to be crude in that you are essentially asking him to leave so that you can fuck yourself with the crystal you brought along with you in your bag. 

He clears his throat and sits completely back on his heels, gaze wandering across your face. Licking over his lips, his eyes linger on the water droplets running from your hairline to your jaw. 

“I will come to you when the first snow falls,” he says. “So that you may have time to contemplate things further. My decision is already made, and I'm sure you're aware of it. Please… please let me know then what your choice is.” You want to retort that he doesn’t have the best track record thus far, but instead leave well enough and wave him away with a grin. A bout of laughter leaves your lips as soon as he passes through the clearing and out of sight.

“Are you testing me?” you whisper to the moon, receiving nothing but her monotonous glow in response. You wade over to the rocks where you left your belongings and quickly rifle through your pack in search of the rose quartz you brought along. It’s cold to the touch, unpleasant in comparison to the warm body that you just had with you and within your grasp. While the shape isn't perfect, it gets the job done in the absence of the real deal, and it serves its purpose just fine. Not like you have any other options as it is.

Part of you entertains the idea of having Mingi still here — from a practical standpoint, consummating the ritual with another magick user would be far more effective than using a crystal charged by the moon. But from a pleasure standpoint…

You dip your fingers between your legs, letting your body fall back to rest your head on the edge of the pond as you seek your core between your folds. The magick at your fingertips pulses through you and sends a jolt into your system just from the slightest brush. A soft mewl falls from your lips. You feel Mingi’s magick still permeating all throughout the water, clinging to your skin, and on your lips, you taste fire from that minute little kiss exchanged in a fit of passion.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get your fingers deep enough inside your cunt. Instead, your thoughts are plagued by the visual of Mingi’s hands, his long fingers, the searing heat that emanates from them, and the all-consuming desire to know what it would feel like to have them inside you.

You cannot even bring yourself to waste time right now; slipping your fingers free, you plunge the toy in your other hand into yourself and sink it all the way in until the pressure in your gut is eased the slightest bit. It's blissfully cold against your walls; the coolness eases the burn that seems to be wedged beneath your skin and brings some clarity back to your mind. It does not, however, chase every thought of Mingi from your brain. In the haze of your vision, you can hallucinate him before you still, imagine him in the spot where he was not long ago watching you with those fiery intense eyes and urging you on. A louder cry of pleasure tumbles out of you as you're forced to twist and brace yourself on a rock to keep increasing the pace of the toy's thrusts inside you.

It ought to fill you with some degree of shame, you think, because who lusts so strongly after a stranger who poses something of a threat to your well-being and livelihood? But when your mind goes back to the idea of his large hands gripping your waist and hips as he splits you open on his cock, you can't be bothered in the slightest about the speed at which you're becoming invested in this man — all that matters is the speed at which you're thrusting the crystal dildo in and out of your pussy as an orgasm creeps up on you. You have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to have some semblance of sanity to cling to. And when you unravel soon after, it’s his name on your lips.

…

The first snow of the season is late.

You have been trying to avoid thinking about it solely on account of the superstition that mulling it over will only delay it further, but those attempts are futile. Because when you tell yourself to not think about it, you only end up thinking about it more, then you devolve into a sick cycle of reasoning with yourself and the moon and any deity out there who will give you the time of day. 

While you could set your pride aside for the sake of what it is you’re waiting on exactly, that is simply not in your nature. Additionally, you want to see whether Mingi will uphold his end of the bargain. He promised to come at the first snow. So you will wait for that day. 

Your gardens are thriving thanks to the lack of snow and the amplified support of your fully-charged magick, which is the only positive you can find in this situation while you essentially sit on your hands and wait. The downside is, however, that the temperatures are still steadily declining, and you always struggle in the winter to keep your home warm enough. Your specialty may be in water magick, but that does not mean you have any control or power over the temperature of said water, and everything around you tends to skew a bit cooler as it is. The thought of how cold you are and your house is and everything in between only pushes your thoughts more towards the lack of warmth and a potential source of it that will not come unless the fucking snow does first.

If you have to put up with seeing Mingi’s smiling face across the street while you’re pestering Seonghwa one more time then you may truly snap and lose all semblance of self-respect.

…

You’re knelt in a bed of rosemary when the first flakes of snow start to hit your skin. At first, you think it to be just rain but then a flurry touches one of the purple blossoms on the herb. The shout you let out is a terrifying mixture of joy and exasperation because at long last, your agonizing wait can finally come to a close. The way you scramble to pull yourself out of the dirt and rush indoors ought to be more embarrassing. It takes you all of five minutes to change out of your grimy gardening clothes and into something cozier and cleaner, though all you do is park yourself at the kitchen table with a mug of hot tea and stare out the window waiting for any sign of movement on the hill. The snow is coming down harder already, a billowing cloud of white that cloaks the dirt and grass on the ground. It doesn’t even occur to you to think that Mingi might not come at all, that he might have forgotten or worse — simply not chosen to come at all — because your patience has worn so thin over the past weeks that you feel relief just seeing the snow.

And luckily for you, Mingi is far more timely and true to his word than he was before. You neglected to keep track of the time, though you haven’t finished your tea yet by the time his lanky figure comes over the crest of the hill. You know it to be him instantly because his fiery hair is visible through the white all around him. 

You’re at the door before you can think twice, flinging it open and making your way down the path to the gate as though you aren’t in the biggest rush of your life. Behind him, there’s a trail of footsteps where the snow has melted under his feet, and the closer he gets, the better you can see how not even a single snowflake sticks to him in any way. Every flake that touches even the outside of his cloak simply melts upon contact, leaving him pristine in the sea of white falling around you.

“Did you wait long?” he asks upon reaching your gate. Somehow he manages to maintain a lilting tone that makes your brain itch. You want to kiss him so silly that all that smugness dissipates like the snow on his skin. “Y/n.” The breathy exhale of your name is all it takes for you to grab him by the collar and yank him down to your level. The warmth is so blessedly welcome. “Have you made your decision?” 

You slot your lips against his, licking at the seam of his lips without waiting for further invitation. He scrambles with the latch on the gate, though you’re of no help at all with how you’re trying to pull him over it, but once that pesky barrier is pushed open just a little bit, he slides through the gap and seals his body against yours. Even though the cold doesn’t seem to be affecting him much, his breathing still comes out in pants, like he sprinted the whole way here from town without rest. He clasps his hands around the back of your neck, thumbs caressing the underside of your jaw, and each kiss he plants on your lips is more searing than the last. It takes all you have to not trip over backward on your feet with him guiding you back towards the door of your home. The two of you don’t even make it through the door before he’s pushing you up against the doorframe and slotting a knee between your thighs. 

“Please, y/n, let me hear it from these pretty lips,” he begs. Your whole body is alight with something — either magick or lust or something in between those things that you can’t distinguish at present. The heat radiating off his body makes your head spin, and it’s such an intoxicating sensation that you reach your hands beneath the fabric of his cloak to be closer to skin.

“I trust you, I need you, I want you to have me,” you murmur back. Mingi pushes his lower lip out with the tip of his tongue. His gaze carries the same heat you’ve grown used to seeing all the time when you look at his eyes. Now, the weight of it feels heavier. Your breath hitches in your throat as he wraps an arm around your back, and his fingers dig into your side briefly. You’re pulled away from the doorframe and into the house only for him to slam the door shut and lock the snow out. What you aren’t expecting is to be flattened to the surface face first mere seconds later.

“I want to have you right here and now,” Mingi growls behind you. Every brush of his hands over your body leaves goosebumps in their wake along with the heat of his magick seeping into your skin. He takes apart your bodice carefully, pulling each string with a startling amount of care compared to his desperate rush to have you. A sort of fever takes hold of you, and with each piece of clothing he removes from your being, the more the fire in your belly roars. Glancing down, you see your clothes fallen into a heap on the floor, along with his cloak, then his coat, his shirt — each piece of fabric goes to join the pile until you feel bare skin against yours. The bliss of the contact is so immense that you let out a pitiful moan.

“Mingi.”

“Raise your arms over your head for me, y/n.” 

“Mingi,” you utter again, following the instruction without a breath of hesitation. He takes both of your wrists between just one of his hands and pins them to the flat surface of the door. Your chest trembles under your breaths. 

“I will not be rough with you unless you allow it. How I take you is up to you… whether it be me taking you apart gently or fucking you hot and raw right here and now.” You can’t take the sensation of his breathing down your neck without squirming. No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together, there’s no relief for the pulsing need for pressure there. The moment Mingi catches onto your attempts, he wedges his knee between your legs and leaves you to rock back on his muscled thigh for some sort of escape.

“Please.” It’s as though there’s cotton in your mouth keeping you from fully forming any kind of sentence because although your thoughts are running at a mile per minute, you cannot seem to get more than one word out at a time. Mingi nudges you forward into the door once again. He replaces the pressure of his thigh with his unoccupied hand, cupping your cunt and dragging his middle finger along the slit of your folds.

“You’re coming undone already, my little witch.” Mingi suddenly flicks his finger forward over your clit, and your knees buckle. Your reaction delights him so much that he repeats the action two more times, and your body truly becomes putty in his hands. He keeps you up between the hand holding your wrists to the door and the one cupped around your sex, but you aren’t sure your muscles could keep you up on their own without the help. Especially not when Mingi gets more daring and pulls a second finger into the mix to tease the ring of your entrance with small, methodical circles.

“Put them in me, put your fingers in!” you cry out only for Mingi to roll over your clit once again. His cock is twitching against your ass, firm and big, and part of you wants to forget everything else solely to have him in your mouth and down your throat. 

“Is that how good girls ask for things?” He pinches your clit between his fingers until you’re whimpering out an apology and smearing drool across the door. “Ask again. Nicely this time, sweetheart.”

“Please f-fuck me with your fingers, please open me up for you, I w-want to feel you so badly.” Nonsensical babbling is enough for him, blessedly, because you’re not confident that anything more coherent than that could make its way out of you right now. He rolls the pads of his fingers up against your clit again before going any lower. His laugh is borderline sadistic when you curl your fingers into the wood, nails clawing for some sort of grip that will help you ground yourself. “Wanna come so—!”

“That’s it, come for me, lovely. Then I’ll fuck you nice and loose on my fingers while you’re coming.” Mingi retracts his fingers right when your gut clenches, and as your walls squeeze tight around nothing, he slips two digits into your cunt. Your lips part in a silent scream, moans caught in the back of your throat. Your vision goes white behind your eyelids though it lasts so much longer than what you’re used to getting from your own hand and toys. Perhaps it’s because Mingi doesn’t let up on you even in the throes of your orgasm, or thanks to your magickal energies intertwining in the most raw and intimate way imaginable. “Let me open you up some more first, then I’ll give you what you want.”

You blink your eyes open and look at Mingi out your peripherals, mouth wide open and cheek still pressed harshly into the door even though you’re the one keeping it there. 

“Do you want it too?” you ask out of the blue. Your voice is tight and strained. His fingers curl inside you.

“So badly,” comes his quick reply, “that it’s taking everything in me not to put my dick in you right now. But I don’t want to hurt you.” As though to emphasize his feelings, Mingi rolls his hips forward, and his cock rubs hard against your ass. “Doesn’t even look like it’s gonna fit in you, fuck.”

“Mingi, I need you in me now, like right this instant now, not in five minutes now.” The first orgasm has your vision hazy and legs wobbly, but that’s far from a concern to you at the moment. Your urgency pushes the man behind you to have the same sort of franticness, hurriedly slipping his fingers free of your cunt and readjusting his hold so that he can grip the base of his dick. You hold perfectly still for him as he lines himself up with your waiting hole that’s already sopping with arousal. Your pussy takes him in like it’s greedy for it, each inch sliding in and spreading you wider to accommodate to his size. One thing’s for certain: Mingi has a stupidly big dick, so big that it makes you wonder if you’d be able to feel it through your stomach if you put a hand there. 

Whatever shreds of patience he had left in him turn to ash the second he’s fully buried balls-deep in you. He doesn’t wait even a second before he pulls out about halfway, and the only stutter in his rhythm comes from him trying to find it. You’re suddenly rather glad that he’s keeping your hands up for you because the drive of his cock inside your pussy would bring you to your knees otherwise. The sounds of pleasure fill your ears — his low baritone moans tangled alongside your more throaty ones that crack here and there, the slap of his hips hitting your ass, and the thumping of the door as he fucks you so hard against it that it trembles. 

“Y-You’re so deep, I feel you in my stomach,” you choke out between moans. It devolves into a sob as Mingi shifts his angle upwards a bit and hits a new spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

“Yeah? Your pussy is clinging to me nice and tight, lovely, I think you like it a little too much.” He has enough composure to still speak without crying, meanwhile, tears are starting to pool at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation of your senses and nerves reaches unimaginable heights. “Bet your pretty little toy isn’t even half as big as me.”

Mingi thrusts so hard into you that his grip on your wrists falters, and one of your hands falls free. He doesn’t bother correcting it, nor do you try to keep it up any longer, instead rushing to get your fingers around your clit again. You’re so hyperfocused on chasing the high of another orgasm that you don’t warn him it’s about to hit you this time. He knows well enough when your body seizes for a moment before releasing every bit of tension in your muscles. Your walls flex around his cock, working him in time with the waves of your euphoria, until he can’t take it anymore and pulls free of your hole. He rests his length atop the cleft of your ass and thrusts a few more times there, then comes his release. Hot ropes of come shoot out from his cock, painting your naked back into a messy canvas of come and sweat.

Despite the sudden quiet filling the house, your hearing is hypervigilant and clings to every slight noise that comes from your partner, from his fight to get air into his lungs to the hand he now rubs over his spent cock. 

“You…” Your throat is too dry and you end up coughing instead of getting a sentence out. Mingi’s fingers trace small, unknown patterns into your hip. “You’re welcome to stay through winter. That’s my answer.”

“Through winter?” Mingi hums. He slips his hand around your waist and flattens his large palm over your abdomen. “What about spring?”

“Then too.”

“And summer?” He’s teasing you again. Somehow he still has the energy to do that.

“And summer and autumn then winter again. But maybe by the spring after that, I’ll be sick of you!”

“You won’t be,” he says through a laugh, lips brushing against the side of your head. You’re going to need better retorts if he plans on sticking around that long.

────────────

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this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[1chaerry]

Atp I need ANYTHING with Laxus. I feel like I’m in love with him. His tattoos are so cool. Idk if you read the 100 year quest show yet, so maybe smth with him after the new members joined? If you didn’t maybe smth at the tourment? I’m happy with everything

The way I am in love with this man as well, I get you. He looks so fine and in the new season he looks scrumptious. So, I want to understand the 100 Year Quest a bit more before I write about it. I guess, I'll write a part 2 of this.

Lightning Sparks and Dew Light

summary: ever since you joined Fairy Tail, you've had a strange relationship with Laxus, at first you were best friends but then, things changed and somewhere along the line of growing up, everything waa gone.

c.w. : angst, fluff, GMG, best friends to enemies to rivals to lovers trope, hurt feelings, confessions, slight banter

w.c. 2.2k

Reader is called "Saram" meaning "Human/Person"

"Wendy, have you seen my jacket?" Saram asked as she looked around Fairy Tail Team A's room. Despite not being a member of the GMG teams, Saram had roomed with them - it was the insistence of Lucy and Wendy - and had been staying there throughout the event. Currently, she was looking for her jacket as they were all going to head out to the arena for the D-3 of the games.

"I'm not sure, maybe you left it in Team B's room?" Wendy suggested as she sat on the carpet in front of the bed, Carla helping the girl tie her hair up. Saram pondered over her words for a moment, she remembered going to Team B's room with Mira, Juvia and Cana last night after dinner to drop the girls there. She had stayed in the room for awhile longer with them, talking and laughing - Gajeel and Laxus were not supposed to return until later so she made herself comfortable - and perhaps, somewhere between her stay there she must've taken off her jacket.

"I think you're right, you guys go ahead, I'll join you all at the Arena later." Saram smiled and left, hearing Erza kick awake Natsu and Gray behind her as she closed the door, and walked towards Fairy Tail B's room. The rooms were on completely different floors so it took her a bit time to get there but eventually Saram found herself standing in front of their room.

Two knocks later, Cana opened the door, a grin blooming on the brunette's face upon seeing Saram. Immediately, the card user enveloped the girl in a hug.

"Saram!"

"Cana, we just saw each other last night." Saram pats the girls head, ruffling her hair, Cana grumbled about messing up her hair, her hands coming up to fix her hair. Saram was pretty close with Cana - well she was close with everyone. except the one person - and so she knew that Cana was just kidding when she was grumbling.

"Did you need something?" Cana asked, hands on her hips. Saram nods, "I think I left my jacket here last night."

Cana hums, thinking, "Well, I was heading out, Mira and Juvia are waiting downstairs, you can go in and check. Do you want me to wait?"

Saram shook her head, "It's fine, you go on ahead, I'll close the door behind me when I leave."

Cana nods and walks out as Saram walks in. She doesn't notice Cana stopping to say something as the door closed behind. Nor does she notice the shoes that were still by the doors of the room as she walked into the room in search of her jacket. Cana shrugged in the hallway and walked away, thinking that Saram heard her words.

The woman looks through the room, not noticing the large jacket - not her own - in a corner on a single sofa. Her bare feet brushed against the carpets as she walked over to where she sat with Mira, Cana and Juvia the night before - she knew it was Mira's bed because Juvia had pointed out the picture of the Strauss siblings beside the pillow last night - talking and spending time.

"Ah, there it is." She found her jacket neatly folded on the low, small chair that was beside Mira's bed. She bent down slightly and reached her hand towards the jacket –

— when the bathroom door swung open

"Where's Saram?" MiraJane asked as she sipped the coffee.

"Oh, Saram is in our room, she left her jacket there, said she'll join us once she finds." Cana shrugged as she chugged her beer.

"Where's the lightning bastard?" Gajeel chewed on a piece of iron.

"Ah, Laxus-san was taking a bath, he said that he will meet us later." Juvia said as she bit down on the piece of cake.

MiraJane and Cana paused, before they glanced at each other.

"Should we do something?" Cana asked.

"Let them fight, rather than Saram ignoring him constantly, that's better." MiraJane chuckles and the others shivered.

Saram froze like a deer caught in headlights - her entire figure stilled, eyes slightly widening - as the door opened and her eyes met those of Laxus'. Steam drifting pass the bathroom door as he closed it behind him – his eyes steadfast upon her, gaze heavy – his own silhouette was frozen. They stood in silence – Saram wondered what was more hurtful, the silence or the fact that she no longer held anything to tell him – eyes on each other.

As if regaining her senses, Saram swallowed her feelings and walked towards the door, silently and Laxus watched her – considering that the bathroom had to be crossed to reach the door – as she walked closer towards him. His heavy gaze, it used to be soft and gentle once, felt like a weight upon her frame. And just as she was about to cross him, he moved. His large frame blocked her passage, she cursed how tall and bigger he was than her that he so easily blocked the path, her eyes immense darted up to meet his eyes.

"Move." She said in low voice.

"Saram, talk to me."

"Move." She emphasized.

"How long will you not talk to me?" Laxus spoke, his voice firm and tense - holding a sense of wear - but Saram didn't care. She wanted to leave. She would have used her magic but considering that he was on the B Team, she didn't want him to use his magic or injure – she isn't doing this because of him, he can go to hell – and if Fairy Tail lost because of that, she would not be able to forgive herself.

"Dreyar, get out of my way."

Laxus felt a crawl in his skin at the name. He despised it. Hated the way she called him.

"Saram, I know I have done a lot of wrong things in my life and I haven't even repented half of it yet but I really am sorry. The guild, Gramps – I will apologise for as many times needed, but, you have to talk to me." His voice was almost pleading – a stark contrast from the strong and firm Laxus – and Saram hated the way her heart faltered at the tone.

"I have nothing to say to you." Her voice was cold and unrelenting.

"Then tell me. Tell me how I can ask for forgiveness. How I can make it up to you, even a little, for everything I have done? Yell at me, fight me, curse me out – but please, talk to me, Saram."

Saram clenched her jaw and proceeded to push pass him but he grabbed onto her wrist causing her to stop. If she felt goosebumps from his touch, she doesn't acknowledge it - the way his touch was firm yet gentle – and keeps her eyes down.

"Saram–"

"You were my first friend in this guild. The first person I went on a mission with." At her sudden words, his own gaze fell upon her figure, "You were my best friend. And then you changed completely. You became colder, more violent, uncaring. Until you eventually began considering everyone beneath you when you became a S-Class Wizard."

She looked up at him, "Even that, I could have forgiven. I was willing to forgive everything. Just so I could have my best friend back. And then, you started the Battle of Fairy Tail."

Laxus' mind goes back to the events of the Harvest Festival. He, to this day, regretted that day. The day he ruined everything, ruined every bond he had and yet he was welcomed back into the guild.

Saram was confused when she was suddenly not in the guild – Cardia Cathedral was recognizable immediately to her – and found herself facing Laxus. Her lips pressed into a line as she instinctively took a step back, goosebumps on her skin.

"Laxus?"

"Saram, so nice of you join me." He mocked as he sat there.

"What's the meaning of this? Stop this mess, Laxus, you can still fix this." Saram tried to reason but flinched when lightning struck right on her side.

"Fix what? This is the redemption of Fairy Tail, Saram!" Laxus laughed as he stood up, walking closer to her.

"Why don't we also fight and see who is stronger?" He sneered. Saram dodged to the side as lightning strike where she once stood. She shook her head at Laxus, a look of desperation in her eyes, "I don't want to fight you, Laxus. There has to be a more reasonable method to talk."

"I do. I've been itching to fight you!" He laughed and sent lightning towards, Saram's eyes widened as she put her arms in front of her in fear.

"Laxus!"

"I was wrong, back then, I was an idiot. I hurt Gramps, the guild members," He clenched this jaw as he stared into Sarah's eyes, "I hurt you."

"You forced me to fight you." Saram glared, "You used your damn lightning to teleport me to you just so you could fight me." She yanked her wrist out of his grip as she took a step closer to him.

"And I regret every bit of it."

"You hurt me, you didn't hesitate one bit."

Laxus clenched his fists as he couldn't move his gaze away from Saram, "How can I make it up to you, Saram?"

"I don't know, can you? I have too much anger, hurt, pain in my heart to forgive you like the others have." She truthfully concised.

"Then," This time his gesture was soft as he placed his hand on her head, her body voluntarily looking up at him, "Can I hope that there is a chance of forgiveness as well?"

She paused, there was a moment of silence before she scratched her cheek, "......I won't say for sure but I'll think about it..."

Laxus' lips twitched into a small smile, barely visible as he nods, "That's enough for me now."

"I didn't forgive you."

At her rebuttal, Laxus could not help the grin that came to his face, "I know."

"Don't smile."

"I'm not."

Saram didn't know how it happened. One moment she was beside Asuka in the Fairy Tail cheer area and the next she found herself kicked harshly in the stomach, depriving her of air. She couldn't even decipher what was happening, mind disoriented, as she found herself held up in the air by red locks of hair on her hands and legs. Gaining her steadiness, she found her eyes meeting those of Laxus'.

His eyes were furious and wide in rage. Bolts of lightning sparked around him as his eyes were dark.

"Let go of her." He glared.

"Lax- mmph!" Saram struggled as Flare wrapped hair around her mouth, muffling her words. A muffled scream left Saram as she felt her skin burn where Flare's hair was holding her, her body convulsing inwards.

"What a pretty girl." Flare gave a cold smile as she tightened the grip.

Laxus felt his blood boil as he watched Saram struggle. Ivan laughed and when a muffled shrill scream left Saram as magic hit her, hot and head on, Laxus felt his restraint snap.

Saram was barely awake, she couldn't use her magic. Something was stopping her from using it. Her body felt drained and she felt like ants were crawling up her skin as her body convulsed in pain. She was barely aware of Laxus fighting Raven Tail as she fought to keep her consciousness. Her ears were ringing, her vision felt tunnel-like.

What she did register, was that someone held her limp body in strong arms, her head against their chest as they held her close to them. She knew that scent. The scent that she was aware of her entire teenage years and adulthood. And as her eyes closed, she found herself clutching onto that person for dear life.

Laxus clenched his jaw as he held her, running to the infirmary with her body, ignoring the yells and shouts of shock and surprise when the true arena was revealed. He found Wendy ready to heal Saram as he laid her onto the infirmary bed. He didn't leave. Laxus stayed by her side, eyes trained upon her, watching how she breathes slowly, the slight stirring and the way her face frowns at times.

And when she gained consciousness, Laxus practically engulfed her as he hugged her, his large stature easily dwarfing her own. Saram stayed quiet but he felt her hands grasp onto his turtleneck as he felt his shirt dampen. He placed a hand over her hair, a softness that he never he could relay came through as he held her.

"Sorry, I dragged you into something against your wish again."

"Shut up."

"I'm quiet."

"Stop smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are." She leaned back and looked up at him, face scrunched into a frown yet it didn't hide her tear streaks. Laxus smiled, it was more of a smirk, as he cupped her face with his large, calloused, rough hands.

"I'm not."

"You drag me into weird situations."

"Sorry."

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Laxus!"

She hits his chest in annoyance as Laxus chuckled, deep and rich, it didn't hurt him, but he knew that he deserved at least this much.

"Sorry, Saram." He sighed, leaning his forehead against her own, his eyes closed. Saram grumbled but the way her hands clenched onto his turtleneck betrayed her words. The way she didn't push him away or yell, contradicted everything she knew of her own feelings.

"You're forgiven this time."

"About the harve-"

"Don't push it."

"Sorry."

[cringefailvox]

my ultimate fantasy for hazbin s2 is a reveal of something in alastor's past that he can't explain away or justify, something genuinely morally reprehensible, and he and the other residents of the hotel have to navigate around each other with the renewed sense of "right, he's actually a bad guy."

i feel like the show and the fandom both sometimes forget that alastor is actually legitimately morally corrupt because he's superficially nice and abides by certain rules and social mores. but he like, does murder people. that's a real thing that he does.

i feel like he can get woobified a little and portrayed as like, a byronic hero who's always actually in the right but judged and misunderstood. there's an element of truth to that, but he's mostly a selfish and cruel person who does awful things because he doesn't care.

it would be personally EXTREMELY satisfying to see him face real consequences for the way he treats people, especially from the hotel that he seems to have grown to care about. fuck that deer UP!!!

REAL AND TRUE. it's always interesting to me the way murder is evaluated in fandom next to like, sexual assault, as being the more redeemable crime somehow, which i think is quite evident in the way people talk about alastor vs valentino -- neither of these characters is remorseful or even particularly in a hurry to justify the horrendous things they do, and yet i've noticed a general tendency towards letting alastor off the hook for the serial killing but not budging on the line that val is irredeemable. and like, ofc with the caveat that this is fiction and neither of them are real, but it's interesting sometimes how people measure crimes with a value system predicated on distance, where serial killers are so removed from the average person that it's nearly outlandish, definitely a spectacle, but sexual assault is real and immediate in a way that hits people harder. there's also the matter that alastor is part of the main cast and val is a secondary antagonist -- but anyway this is getting off topic from what you were asking

i absolutely agree that i'm excited to see the show really begin to grapple with the ethics of the main cast, esp alastor, because it's like. we know he's a terrible person. the gang knows he's a terrible person. but it really comes back to the bit in episode five, when lucifer (rightly, in this case, but unhelpfully) points out that alastor represents all the worst things about sinners, that he epitomizes everything lucifer loathes about hell, and charlie's response pivots neatly away from that ethical problem: "he's defending this hotel. it might be a bit more sadistic than i'd hoped, but he's doing it for me." alastor can be as morally bankrupt as he wants so long as it's in the service of a cause that charlie perceives as good

this actually makes perfect sense for charlie's character and it's sooo fascinating. she doesn't actually seem to care about how horrific everyone in hell behaves all the time -- what she cares about is those people dying en masse without any value judgment from heaven, she's affronted that it's all numbers to them, she really seems like she's only spearheading this redemption program because she thinks it'll bring down overpopulation and stop heaven, not because she was genuinely bothered by the rampant sin before. "happy day in hell" is all about how much she loves hell and keeps putting an optimistic spin on all the property damage and cannibalism and public bdsm. she doesn't care about alastor being evil because he's not her redemption poster child, but she DOES care about angel getting into turf wars and doing drugs in the hotel because it reflects badly on her. girl i need to see your personal ethics and values get cracked the fuck open so bad

[bingbongsupremacy]

Closure Pt. 2

Pairing: Steve Harrington x plus size!reader

Warnings: swearing, anger, idk what else

Series Summary: You never knew Steve could be so shallow. When he leaves you to date Nancy Wheeler, you're left with a pain you thought he'd never leave with you. Maybe you should've stayed friends.

Part Summary: He wrote a letter. You don't need him. Right?

*Not Proof Read* Stranger Things Masterlist

Based off of Taylor Swift Song Closure. This was a request. I tried to make everything as general as possible. Pls let me know if missed something ty.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

*****

No one was supposed to know we were dating. Steve said he didn’t want his teammates to bug me. He didn’t want people to overreact when they found out about us and say mean shit. At the time, I agreed. I mean, Steve’s the king of Hawkins high. I wouldn’t be the first girl he’s dated who’s had rumors spread about them. 

Hiding us was harder than we thought. A month or so after we got together Tommy found out and told the whole team. Gradually the whole school found out. Gossip spreads like wildfire, especially in a town like Hawkins. 

During the weeks after we broke up, I started to think about our secret relationship.

He wasn’t trying to protect me. He was trying to protect his reputation. Steve might not show it but deep down he’s just like everyone else. He’s got insecurities too. He obsesses over anything negative that’s said about him, analyzing everything that others think is imperfect about him until he finds a way to change it.

That’s something I noticed sophomore year when we started to get a little closer.

He was kind to me, but he wasn’t perfect. I don’t know for sure but I think he still messed with underclassmen, bullying them for praise from Tommy and Carol. He wanted to be liked by everyone, especially those two assholes.

He was always going to pick them over me. 

“ Honey, this came in for you today. “ My mom breaks me out of my thoughts. 

I look up from my stack of paperwork. “ What? From who? “ My brows furrow in confusion. Who would send mail to my parents’ house? I haven’t lived here in years. 

“ It’s from Steve. “ My moms eyes scan over the stark white envelope. 

My heart sinks. 

What the fuck does he want? 

I haven’t seen or talked to him since graduation 7 years ago. What could he want with me? Last I heard he got a job at Family Video and Nancy broke up with him. 

He knows I’m here. He has to. Fucking Hawkins. When one person knows everyone knows. Mrs. Henderson must’ve told someone when I ran into her at the gas station. 

“ What ever happened to you and Steve? Do you both still talk? “ My mom asks curiously while handing over my mail. 

Oh right. I never told her. 

“ We fell out of touch. You know, life. " I shrug, hoping that's enough for her.

" Oh, that's so sad sweetie. I'm sorry. " She sends me a small sympathetic smile. " That's always hard when you lose touch with someone you love. " She gently pats my shoulder.

Love.

Steve didn't love me.

I send her a small smile, hoping to drop the topic. " It happens, ma. "

" Well, I'll you get to it. " She dismisses herself, leaving me to the letter in my hands.

I trace the sharp corners of the envelope. Should I open it? Do I want to?

I wonder what it says.

What could he have to say to me after all of these years? It couldn't be something worth my time. Not after the shit that happened in high school. Right?

But what if it is?

Fuck it. I'm curious.

I pull open the envelope and let the torn paper fall into my lap. A neatly folded letter greens me, the bright white stationary paper matching the envelope.

This is it. Here we go.

I pull open the letter. Dark blue pen lines starkly contrast the white paper. Steve's familiar handwriting fills a good portion of the page. At the bottom his squiggly signature lies, bold and exactly the same as I remember.

Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you. I heard you're back in town. I've been meaning to do this for a long time. I've debated writing to you for years. I didn't know if I had anything good enough to send to you.

I was an asshole to you. You didn't deserve how I broke up with you. I feel horrible about how I treated you. About how I let other people change my opinion and control my actions. I should've stood stronger with what I thought.

That's something I always loved about you. You didn't let other people sway your opinions. I'm sure you still don't. You thought for yourself.

You are so much braver than I am. You didn't compromise yourself for others.

I've thought about what happened for years. About how you must have felt.

I hope you're well. I hope you've been able to move on and you've continued to be yourself. I know I don't deserve to say that, I just wish you the best.

I wanted to explain to you why I did what I did. I owe it to you. I was selfish. I got caught up in the high school popularity shit. I know it's stupid. I wanted to be Hawkins High's main guy. I wanted the Prom King title. I wanted the attention.

I really did like you. You made me feel safe and understood. You were always patient and kind. You urged me to be me, even when I felt like caving under pressure. You liked me for me, not for who I was trying to be. You deserved better than me.

People started to talk. You know. You heard the rumors.

At first, I thought I could handle it. I thought it wouldn't bug me. I thought I could push past it all. I cracked. Tommy and Carol jumped on the wagon and it pushed me over the edge. I couldn't bare the thought of losing the respect I'd worked so hard to get. I couldn't handle the teasing I'd get from the guys after games or the looks Tommy'd send my way when he saw us together.

It was wrong. I didn't think about you. About how you must've felt and how you were handling everything that was going on. It was Senior Year. I should've held on. We would've been out of this shit hole in a few months anyway, I don't know why I didn't just ignore it all. That's one of my biggest regrets.

I've been in therapy for a few years now. I've worked past all that surface-level shallow shit. I really see just how much I hurt you, and for that I'm so sorry.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know that you're the first girl I ever loved and I am so grateful for you. Our relationship sent me on a path to help myself, and for that I will always love you.

Thank you.

-Steve Harrington

P.S. The week before we broke up I was going to give this to you. I never did.

I glance down at the envelope in my lap and open it. At the bottom lays a shiny silver necklace. A small gem, my birthstone, lays in the center. It glimmers in the light. It's beautiful.

I turn the gem over and spot a small engraving on the back.

SH +Y/N

For a moment I'm torn.

Should I write him back? Should we talk?

Part of me does miss him. I miss his laugh. His playful teasing. The way he looked at me.

No.

He hurt me. A lot.

He can't just send a letter and make it better. Why didn't he talk to me in person if this really weighed on him as much as he says it did? Why didn't he call me?

I don't need him. I'm fine. I've been fine without him for years. I'm not going to let him back into my life because he feels bad about his actions and insecurities.

I left Hawkins for a reason. I needed to get away from Steve. I needed him out of my life.

I'm not going to let him back in for his sake.

I don't need him.

I stand up, taking the papers and necklace in my hand. I walk over to the trashcan near my dresser. Without a second thought, I drop everything into the can.

The necklace makes a small clunking sound as it hits the bottom of my empty can.

The rustling of papers quiets and so does my pounding heart.

I'm fine on my own.

(Do we like this ending? Or should I try to make another part? )

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @queen-apple24

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cancelled

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your plans change.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Sat on a few of these fics for ages because I'm overthinking them, but thought 'ahhh, I need to post them now in time for the event!' Having a deadline is very helpful.

Warnings: Reader experiencing some sensory issues, Jake reading smutty books, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, rail-road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 801

Your phone buzzes on the bed. The drone is muffled slightly by the pillow it’s under. You finish fixing your outfit in the mirror and sigh. 

The material was ever so slightly wrong today. Normally it was fine, but now the feel of it just irritated you. But this was the seventh outfit you’d tried on and honestly if you were going to make it to the restaurant by 8pm, even with Jake’s ingenious driving, you had to leave now. 

You pick up your phone, glancing at the screen as you unlock it. 

One message. 

From one of your friends you were meeting up with. Probably something along the lines of ‘see everyone soon’. Usually you were excited to see them. They were some of your oldest and dearest friends, and you loved their company. But today it just felt off. Getting dressed up and going out. Eating at a semi expensive (for your budget anyway) restaurant that you didn’t even like that much. Putting on your ‘social interaction face’. It all just seems far too exhausting. 

Your eyes widened as you read the messages on the group chat. 

‘Can’t make it, stupid traffic at the tunnel! Been stuck for 50 mins and haven’t moved!’

‘I can’t either, babysitter fell through!’

‘So sorry everyone, maybe it’s for the best, I’ve got a horrible headache and was gonna power through, but maybe it’s best if we reschedule?’

The last message had you at-ted. 

‘It’s that okay with you? Sorry you let you down! <3’

Relief floods your veins and you hastily type a, ‘no worries, let’s reschedule’, adding several happy face emojis out of paranoia that your message could be misread, before you wish everyone well and to have a good evening. 

Jake hears you throw your bedroom door open, but doesn’t glance up from where he’s slouched over your armchair reading. It’s one of those bodice-ripping paperbacks from the 80s with the fabulously illustrated covers. Jake’s guilty pleasure. While he knows that Marc and Steven wouldn’t care, and most likely wouldn’t be bothered at all by his reading choices, he also very much does not want them to know. A feeling he’s sure he should try to unpack at some point. 

But that was a future Jake task. 

Which is why he’d taken to either hiding them behind the cistern in Steven’s flat or keeping them at yours, tucked neatly on your bookshelf (with your permission) behind a row of your books. 

“You ready to go amor?” He asked as he turned the page. 

You bounded over to him, ripping your stupid, itchy top off in the process. “Excellent news!” You stopped in front of him, smacking your hands onto the armchair for emphasis. 

Jake didn’t even flinch, half absorbed in his book and half used to your dramatic flare.

“Oh?” He glanced up at you and paused, a small frown of interest crossing his face. “You don’t have a top on.” 

“Exceptional observation skills Lockey.” 

He smirks. 

“Guess what?” 

“You’re embracing a new life as a nudist?” 

“The meal’s cancelled.” 

“What?” 

“The meal’s cancelled. You know cancelled, as in not happening.” You grin.

He gives you a playful look and swats your upper arm softly with his book. (His middle finger pressed inside to keep his page.) “I know what cancelled means, why?”

“Traffic, no babysitter, and headache.” You list the reasons as you count them on your hand excitedly. 

He smiles. “Really weren’t feeling it today were you?”

“How could you tell?” You say playfully. 

“Well, you kicking the door open to tell me was a good give away.”

You laugh.

“Plus, you really were leaving it pretty fine to get there on time.” He slips his bookmark between the pages and puts the book down on the floor before inching forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you into his lap, giving you plenty of time to step back if you wanted to. “I know how much being late makes you anxious.” 

You snuggle up to him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. His day old stubble rubs against your skin. But this sensation is comforting. Like home. 

“So you letting it get to this time without us going, or without you telling me off for reading instead of putting my shoes on.” 

“I don’t tell you off.” You grumble, your words muffled by how your mouth is pressed against his neck. 

Jake laughs. “Playfully.”

You tut affectionately. “Alright, playfully.” You adjust your position on his lap, getting comfortable. 

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Hmm, how about… pizza and you can read some of your smutty book to me?” 

He laughs again and kisses your lips. “Sounds good.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 24: Steps Toward Tomorrow

Prompt: "You didn't do anything wrong"

Based on THIS post: What if Mulder had given Scully something other than that rag doll? Rating: T, wc: 1,026

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

Seeing Mulder's boyish smile and giddy excitement is all the gift she needs. She doesn't need the pizza or the present he keeps trying to hide, though it's clear he can't wait to give it to her.

“Sorry I’m not your regular pizza delivery guy,” he says.

“I like you better.”

“Oh, do you?” He grins at her. The scars on his face are still healing; as are his emotional wounds. She’s slipped him a pamphlet for therapy one morning without a single word. She didn’t want him to think she was pressuring him. The next day, he brought over breakfast to thank her, casually mentioning he’d made an appointment. He’s moving forward, and so are they.

“You sure you don’t want to eat?” he asks, chewing his pizza with gusto. She wants to ask him whether he’s eaten at all while she was in the hospital but bites her lip. She knows he can take care of himself. With the pregnancy, she’s feeling the need to mother everything and everyone around her. Including Mulder.

“Later,” she replies softly, as Mulder clears his throat and, with mock ceremony, retrieves the present he’s half-heartedly hidden between the couch pillows.

“I bet you forgot about that, didn’t you?” She takes the neatly wrapped gift from him with a smile.

“No, actually. I thought about it a lot while I was lying in my hospital bed, wondering what on earth you could have given me.” He’s already given her so much. Does he even realize that? Glancing at him, she isn’t sure. But right now he’s waiting for her to unwrap the small gift box.

She takes her time, knowing it drives Mulder crazy. To her greatest surprise, he waits patiently, his hands folded in his lap. She gives him another smile and that’s when she sees how nervous he is. What reason would he have to be anxious?

Under the wrapping paper, she finds a plain cardboard box. She opens the flaps on each side and peeks inside. A gasp leaves her throat as she reaches for the small baseball mitt that’s lying there.

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispers, a knot of tears forming in her throat. She takes the mitt out and lets her fingers run over the leather, worn smooth by years of use. The caramel is faded in some places, has darkened in others. Once upon a time, a small boy must have loved this mitt more than anything else. A tear falls into the center of the mitt, right next to a scratch that makes her think of long summer afternoons spent outside.

“Is it what you imagined?” Mulder asks in a quiet voice.

“Not even close,” she admits. She can’t stop touching the glove, following its lines, and feeling the weight of it in her hand. The history it brings with it. The love it holds inside.

“I don’t know what to say.” She’s crying big tears now, unable to hold her emotions at bay any longer.

“Hey,” Mulder says, putting his arm around her and holding her close. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mulder,” she assures him with a sound stuck between a hiccup and a laugh. “It’s the hormones. I love your present. I love it.” She repeats the words to let him know she means them.

She stares into his eyes, seeing him all blurry. She thinks there might be tears on his cheeks too. He wipes at her eyes and her cheeks with his thumb and there he is, the man she loves, the father of her child, smiling at her.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No.” She leans over and kisses him on the lips. What had become so normal last year, is new all over again. Being allowed to touch and kiss each other. To love. They’re moving forward in this regard, too, both learning to overcome their fear of hurting the other with their touch. Their bodies have changed in so many different ways.

“This gift it… it comes with a second gift.” Scully peers back into the box. It’s empty.

“It’s not in there,” Mulder explains. “It’s not a traditional gift. It’s- this baseball mitt meant the world to me when I was five or six. Where other kids slept with a stuffed animal, I had my mitt. No matter how dirty it was. You can imagine how much my mom hated it.” He smiles and she does, too, happy that he has these beautiful memories of his childhood locked in his heart.

“I grew out of the mitt and got a new one. Several, actually. Samantha had it for a while, but she never cared for baseball. I thought my parents had thrown it away, but I found it when we cleared out my mom’s house. I saw it and I thought… you know, I don’t remember whether my dad played catch with me or if it was someone else. I don’t remember. And I don’t want that to happen to this one.” He points at her stomach.

“I want to teach him – or her. I want it to be me.” Tears fall soundlessly from her eyes and she doesn’t make a move to wipe them away or hide them. “I want to teach our kid how to play baseball,” Mulder says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I want that, too.” She takes his hand into hers and puts their entwined hands on her stomach. She thinks their child is sleeping, but then she feels a kick, and Mulder gasps.

“I will never get tired of this,” he says in awe, staring at her belly. He lifts his eyes to meet hers. “Still like my gift?”

“I love your gift, Mulder. You’ve given me so much. This one included.” She motions at the spot where her sweater stretches over her protruding stomach.

“My pleasure.” The baby kicks again, this time more forceful. “I think Junior might be hungry. You like pizza, kiddo, don’t you?” Mulder speaks the words directly against her stomach before he kisses her there. There’s no kick, but Scully’s stomach grumbles, making her and Mulder chuckle.