#props apprentice

[behindthescreamz]

amanda young’s mugshots and case file from “saw iii” (2006)

[daily-whistlepaw]

daily whistlepaw until ha becomes PoV day 1246

did some thinking for a little summer thing

[random-art-stufffff]

[gffa]

One thing I did appreciate is that The Acolyte did not hold back on that Osha went full dark side, that Sol's kyber crystal was crushed by her anger and hate to the point that it bled into a red saber. She straight up murdered someone who was not fighting back. She killed him because she was hurt and angry, not because he was a threat. Osha's feelings of betrayal and rage were valid, her actions were not. She murdered an unarmed man who was not fighting back, who had no intention of fighting back, who literally forgave her as she choked the life out of him, and nothing of her actions were justified. She wasn't even regretful about it. The dark side can be humanized to a degree, it always has been in Star Wars, that's nothing new. Anakin's everything ever, Maul's pain and desperation for a connection through an apprentice, Dooku's clinging to his care for people like Yaddle or Asajj, the dark side has never been about detached or unsympathetic anger. It's always come from a very human place, that's why the Jedi constantly caution that no one is beyond it. But Osha embraced it here, she stepped over the line and murdered a defenseless man because of her rage, not because it was in any way justified as a killing, and the kyber crystal screamed and bled because of it. You don't get a red saber by being justified, you get it by crossing the line into an act of evil. And props to The Acolyte for not shying away from that, as human as Osha is and will continue to be, her actions were over the line of evil.

[dearest-nell]

charmed

e. munson x reader, 3k

summary: eddie comes home from a long day at work to discover wayne has a pretty surprise for him includes: established!eddie x reader, wayne being the sweetest paternal figure, mumblings of a found family, wayne manifesting a daughter in law by years end warnings: afab reader, non descript

a/n: writing from the boys perspective is always way more fun. i have so many thoughts about wayne and eddie's relationship.

Eddie had intended to be home earlier, a far cry earlier than the 9:30 that blinked hazily on his vans dashboard as he pulled in before the trailer. He was meant to be home hours ago, hoping to enjoy a Friday night the way that a young person ought to – out with the people he loved. Instead he sat in his driver's seat, covered in oil and grime and god knows what else from under the hood of some deadbeat richman from the other side of town. The apprentice had fucked the repair of a rather pricey car, one that was to be picked up first thing monday, and Eddie didn’t have it in him to let the little guy drown under the barrage of abuse from an intimidating customer. 

So he stayed back, and now he was paying the price. Dinner would have been long over by now, and it was unlikely that Wayne was still home at such an hour. He usually had the night shift on this pay cycle, but Eddie couldn’t tell one from another these days. The lights were still on, his indication that he’d gotten his weeks wrong. 

Worn leather boots beat against the gravel as he trekked towards the door, hand running through the curls that hung low on his forehead; wild, in desperate need of a trim. He was spent, body weary and limp from the extra strain. He wanted to call his friends, to call you, to ask for good company, but he knew even now he was too tired to go anywhere. 

The door was unlocked, so he slipped into the warmth of the trailer with an involuntary shiver, eyes blinking tiredly to spot the figure propped up on the couch. Wayne. Beer in hand, chin shadowed with stubble; Eddie’s hero, if anyone were to ever ask. The old man was his favourite person, whether he knew it or not. 

Wayne gave a gruff smile, tilting his chin up at his nephew. “Long day, boy?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed, voice more gravelly than he’d realised. “Got stuck back, sorry I didn’t call.” 

Wayne shrugged. “I figured, though there’s a surprise in your room f’you.” 

A surprise? Eddie couldn’t possibly guess what. “You’re joking.” 

Wayne simply smiled in response, shaking his head. “You go have a look ‘n tell me if I’m joking. Just be quiet about it.” 

Eddie gave a quizzical sort of look, boots resounding against the floorboards as he moved towards the room, a quick mumble from Wayne catching his attention again. 

“Quieter than that.” 

Eddie scoffed, his demeanour still playful despite his disbelief. He took more careful steps this time, readjusting the band wrapped clumsily around his bound tresses, trying to alleviate the steadily subsiding headache from two hours ago. Wayne had never been much of a secret keeper, nor was he one for dramatics. He was a pragmatic, realistic, nonfrivolous sort of man, which made that excitable little sparkle in his uncle’s eyes all the more amusing. Wayne didn’t play tricks, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel he was walking into one. 

With a slow turn of his door handle, Eddie eased the gap open, his eyes scanning the silent dark until his gaze settled upon the mountain of blankets upon his bed. There, buried under three blankets of comfort, was you. It might have been hard to tell under any other circumstances, but even half asleep and exhausted out of his mind, Eddie knew he could recognise your silhouette anywhere. He softened instantaneously, body slackening slightly under the slow wave of adoration that overcame him. You were here to see him. Talk about a surprise, he hadn’t expected to see you today, and now he felt his ribs pressing in tightly together, chest constricting with a glad sort of giddiness. 

He was gentle in closing the door again, his smile bemused at his now grinning uncle. “And how’d my girl end up in there, hm?” 

He toed off his boots, movements suddenly precise and careful under the presence of your company. Even through the closed door, he had no desire to rouse you just yet. Not until he was ready, clean and showered and shed of all other obligations, able to dedicate himself to your company. 

“She came by at 5,” Wayne explained, turning down the quiet shout of the television set with a well worn remote, “thought you’d be home soon, wanted to surprise you. I told her she was welcome t’wait, thinkin’ you’d be round earlier. But y’weren’t, so we had some dinner.” 

Wayne paused, nudging his chin towards the fridge, which Eddie took to mean there was leftovers waiting for him inside. He began rustling through, finding what was left of a roast and vegetables wrapped up neatly in foil. It was a little more extravagant than he had expected, and Eddie chalked that up to your aid in the kitchen. He could see the container of biscuits on the counter, too, with little hearts and flowers piped onto the tops. Pinks and blues and reds and whites, this wasn’t a house for sweets and softness, though Eddie welcomed your charms in any way he could get them. He sat at the table to feast, unbothered to even reheat the feast. 

Wayne continued on. “Thought she might go lookin’ for y’, but we got a’talking. She’s a real sweet thing, y’know, made a real effort to chat. Even offered to sit down ‘n watch a game with me, thought I didn’t have the heart t’put her through it. Ended up watchin’ some Antiques Roadshow thinkin’ she’d like it better; you ever seen me watchin’ that before? I ain’t never had much care, but we had good fun.”

“No shit!” Eddie piped up, astounded by the softened edges of his Uncle. You’d charmed him, he thought, with your curious questions and kind smiles. For Wayne to sit down and talk to anyone was a miracle, one that only an angel could perform. His Angel. 

“We got guessin’ and everythin’.” Wayne added, wiping roughly at his smile. “Seemed tired, though, so I told her to crash in your room. She’s been out maybe half an hour.” 

Astounded was an understatement. Eddie had brought girls home before he met you, though none had bothered to exchange more than polite pleasantries with his Uncle. He’d never been serious about them, so he’d never thought much of it, and then came you. Three months into this new connection, a relationship born of spring flowers and whisky nights and loud music and soft touches. Eddie had never been serious until now, until you, and now he couldn’t picture being anything else but. 

He was glowing, beaming from ear to ear. “So you like her, then?” He was so hopeful in his question, a sincerity Wayne only ever saw reserved for the most heartfelt of Eddie’s dreamings. 

“I do.” Wayne announced, washing down his contentment with another swig of his beer. “I hope y’re serious ‘bout her, she’s real soft on you, and I think she’s a good one. Seems to make you happy enough, you ain’t mopin’ nearly so much these days.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning with faux annoyance, rolling foil into a tiny ball to toss across the room, missing Wayne by a good foot of space. “I don’t mope.” 

“I don’t mope my ass, kid, you mope plenty. Just not anymore.” He was laughing now, worn lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I said she should come back f’dinner another night, we can all eat together. She was tellin’ me ‘bout this story she was readin’, and I’ll be damned if I don’t know how it ends.” 

Eddie knew how this story ended; it ended with you. It began with you, too. It was all you, he couldn’t see any other ending for him. 

“Yeah, that sounds good, old man.” He was doing his best to stomach the meal, but his words were caught around hastily eaten mouthfuls half chewed and uneasy to swallow. He’d give himself heartburn if he wasn’t careful, and it would have been worth it. 

Eddie took a moment to pause, swallowing thickly, belching unceremoniously in a way he was glad you weren't there to witness. “I am serious, y’know, about her. Real serious. I got a good feeling.” 

“Yeah?” Wayne questioned, sinking back into the sofa. 

“Yeah. She could be the one; ain’t that somethin’? I always thought it was bull when people said you just know, but…” he laughed with astonishment, “I think I just know.” 

“Well shit,” Wayne exclaimed, clearing his throat, “that’s real good, Ed’s. You just be good and treat her nice. Be a gentleman.” 

Eddie wasn’t too sure he knew how to be a gentleman, but somehow, he knew you liked him all the same. He didn’t need to be anything but himself around you, and that was a one in a billion kind of feeling,

He was quick in his cleaning, fumbling around the kitchen to pack away a still soaking plate, his mind skating over the plastic drying rack by the sink entirely. “I’m bein’ good, I swear.” 

“Bullshit.” Wayne teased, shaking his head. He braced himself on his knees, slowly rising to his feet with a groan. “I’m goin’ to bed. Tell her she’s welcome to stay whenever she likes, okay? Show her where the spare key is.” 

“I will.” Eddie nodded, barely able to fight his slow building excitement. He could feel himself getting restless, hands flexing just at the thought of holding you. “G’night, Wayne.” 

“G’night son.” He echoed back, disappearing into the quiet of his own room. 

Eddie made sure to lock up on his way, switching off the tv and lights as his own sort of wind down ritual. They’d be on all night if he wasn’t careful, and he’d spied the last bill long enough to have a mind for the electricity now. Besides, he needed to be calm when he woke you. He’d half frightened you to death last time he came barrelling in. 

Once again, he retreated towards his room, slipping into the dark like a shadow of the night, slowly shucking his way out of his overalls to kick to the side of the room. He didn’t mind staining his sheets with oil, but not you; you were something worth caring for. He knew he should have showered, but the sweat on his skin could hardly deter him from the need he had to be close to you, to ease away the troubles of his way with the balm of your skin against his, your whispers ringing in his head. 

He fumbled his way to the edge of the mattress, your sleeping body facing away from him to the back wall of the room. He peered a little closer into the darkness, a sliver of moonlight cascading across the bare curve of your shoulder, arm wrapped around something small, something fuzzy…

“Well shit, Ted, what’re you doing in here?” Eddie hadn’t thought to consider where the ragdoll cat had scampered off to. Teddy had been adopted only a few weeks after Eddie came to live with Wayne, his Uncle’s way of easing the boy into this entirely new world together. Teddy had been his childhood companion, and by the way he was burrowed into the pudge of your stomach, purring louder than a car engine, Eddie could see you’d won him over too. 

The cat barely stirred, rather giving him a grumbled sort of chirp at being disturbed, before wriggling his way further under the blankets. You, however, made the softest of whining noises that left Eddie’s heart near strangling in his chest. He lifted a ring clad hand to that moonlight shoulder, brushing callouses across the line of freckles that dusted your skin, watching as your eyes began to flutter open, head turning slightly to face him. 

“Eddie!” No one in the world had ever been so enthusiastic to see him before, not one. His name wasn’t the kind to roll off the tongue, to be begged for or shouted out or held tenderly on someone's lips. Never before, but the way your mouth wrapped around the letters seemed to change the word entirely. Nothing had ever sounded so tender, so wanting, so pleased. You were always pleased to see him, a feeling he never had to doubt when he could see it so plainly reflected in your irises. 

“Honey.” He cooed back, tugging up the corner of the bedsheets to slip beneath them, curving his body to fit the shape of your own, nudging his knee between your two just to feel your skin pressed against his own in every possible way. The hair on his body was just as wild as the hair on his head, but nothing felt like home to him more than the brush of your skin to the mess of his. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

You exhaled a lengthy yawn, muffling the sound into his pillow with a hum. Your hair, once styled, now seemed mussed and flattened under the weight of your head. His bed linens were already tattooing precious creases into sleep warmed skin. You were too beautiful for him to even comprehend. 

You turned in his arms, careful not to disrupt the grumbling cat beside you despite your eagerness. He felt arms press their way around him, your nose nuzzling at his chin. “Wayne let me in. I hope that’s okay.” 

Literally nothing else could have been more okay in his mind. It was perfect. This was perfect; coming home to you. “Come by anytime, baby. I’m just sorry I wasn’t back sooner. I made you wait.” 

You shook your head. “I didn’t mind. Wayne’s really cool. He kept me company.”

“So I heard.” His voice was edged with an air of amusement, his hand lifting to brush back the strands of hair falling across your face, leaving his palm to cup at the plush of your cheek, his eyes admiring even in the dark. “Antiques Roadshow?”

You let out a giggle. “We panicked! I was trying to make a good impression, and he suggested it so I thought why not. Honestly it was pretty fun, I could totally watch another episode.” 

“Mm.” His lips met the button of your nose dotingly, his voice slackening to a syrupy smoothness. “He’s impressed, I’m impressed; you’ve got us Munson men wrapped around your pretty little finger. Even Teddy’s on your side.” 

“I do not!” You chided, helpless against his onslaught of affection. He left you preening and giddy, a little lightheaded when he loved on you like this, and Eddie never had any intention of stopping. “Teddy just wanted a cuddle.”

“Him and me both.” Eddie asserted, snaking his other arm beneath the arch of your waist, wrapping around the small of your back to tug you in further, his smile resoundingly bright at the way you hummed happily. “We’re not too young to be asleep by 10, are we?” 

The way you eased into the very fabric of him, your bodies so close and so connected, wrapped tightly in the warmth of his room, was enough assurance to him that you were just as content here as he was. “No. I’m not leaving this spot. You just got home, and I’m all sleepy, and Ted’s gonna get mad if we move.” 

Ted chirped an affirmative sound, leaving Eddie to rasp a laugh. “Well we can’t make Teddy mad, can we. Gotta stay here all night with my girl.” 

You chuckled softly in turn, your voice quieting under the weight of exhaustion. “I was meant to keep you company, but I’m so sleepy.” Another yawn parted your plush lips, leaving Eddie with no choice but to press his own to the corner once they came back together again. 

“You are keepin’ me company. Think I’ll sleep a bunch better with you keepin’ me warm. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, hm? After a big sleep in?” 

“You’re so sexy when you talk like that.” You mumbled, your lashes fluttering shut to rest against your cheeks. “I’d kiss you stupid if I could move.” 

Besotted was not a strong enough word for what Eddie felt in that moment, but he was overwhelmed with the urge to litter a smattering of kisses from the edge of your cheekbone to the corners of your forehead, each one softer than the last, lulling you into that sweet place of slumber you were already drifting towards. 

“Kiss me stupid tomorrow. Sleep, sweetheart.” You didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, Eddie watched the light in your flicker to a dim, pale glow, your breathing evening out to something unhurried. Peaceful. It didn’t matter to him that he had only had those brief moments with you tonight. Five minutes with you was enough to chase away all the strife of a day otherwise written off in his mind. And that was what his life had been missing, after all. Someone who made going to sleep at 10pm look like the greatest moment of his life. He wanted to keep you to himself, a greedy kind of possessiveness stirring in his gut, for as long as he was able, knowing full well that less than twelve hours from now, Wayne would without a doubt be waiting to make you both breakfast on his morning off. 

Like he said, you had all the Munson boys charmed.

[arthenaa]

nocturne (interlude) — mizu x f!reader

synopsis: it seems as if you've always managed to bump into your father's regular in untimely situations. it also can't be helped that you think he's absolutely handsome.

content: reader is a daughter of a medic and an apothecary, golden retriever x black cat trope, might contain historically inaccurate terms (not that well versed in the edo period or japanese culture. forgive me), mizu will be referred with he/him pronouns, mizu being emotionally constipated ig, slight mention of violence and gore, fluff, pre-relationship, meet cute, sfw.

a/n: heyaaa :D its been awhile since ive posteddd. considering this as a break from comms and sch!! ill try to be more active in posting as my xmas break is approaching hehe <33 current hyperfixation is mizu from blue eyed samurai. (I HIGHLY SUGGEST WATCHING IT !!!) enjoyy part 2!! (my love mine all mine)

You can still remember the first time you met him.

It was quite easy to recall the memory with ease. It was after all one of the nights where there weren't many customers fluttering about to avail your father's services in medicine due to idiotic accidents and miscalculated duels. You watched your father pull out herb after herb, vial after vial, stitch after stitch as more and more swordsmen of all ranks came in and out of the shop.

You were quite well-known around town as the daughter of the medic—often smiling and huffing about. Some say you were too naive to be comfortable and accommodating to your father's customers but others also claim you were elegant and a ray of sunshine due to your approachable and easygoing nature. None of that mattered anyway, not when the field of medicine was your only focus in life.

Your father doesn't like to call you his apprentice but you knew you were his. After all, with all the knowledge he's passed down unto you, you might as well run your own apothecary but alas, you still had much to learn.

It was also a quiet agreement among men that no one pays too much attention to the daughter of the skilled medic and apothecary. You suppose it's because of your father's standing and reputation that most men would rather cut off their arms than get on the bad side of one of the only medics who can actually do a decent job in life-threatening situations.

Which brings us to the current topic at hand.

It had been a cold winter that night. Your father had been busy making fresh medicine at the behest of a high lord in one of the rich provincial states up north. It was up to you to man the front and be alert in case any wanderers might walk in asking for help.

The harsh breeze of that winter night was your first cue. The doors had swung open which left you scrambling off your seat then a second later, a man with a lean stature stumbles his way through—arm clutching the side of his stomach.

Your breath hitches as he props himself against the wooden pillar. He looks up at you, blue eyes clear and intense that it left you speechless from where you stood.

"I-I," He gasps for air, eyebrows scrunching from the pain. "Help-I need—"

You wasted no time in aiding him as you took wide strides to his injured form, arms holding out to keep him steady as he began to wobble back and forth. You scream for your father, worried that the man before you would pass out at any moment.

Thankfully aware of the situation, your father prepares the receiving area. You look back at the injured patient with worry in your eyes as you further assess all sorts of damage on his figure.

However, you can't help but find yourself entranced by his clear blue eyes. Despite being on the brink of utter exhaustion, he has managed to keep himself awake perched up on your shoulder.

He locks eyes with you, blinking slowly, and just as you begin to get lost in those blue hues of his, his body begins to fall.

"Sir, wait—!"

Then he's out like a light.

The next time you met him had been purely coincidental.

After that night, the man left quietly like the leaves falling gently along the stream. He left quite a hefty sum of money on your father's desk and kept the bed clean at his departure. It's safe to say that your father was overjoyed by the payment.

Your father had sent you on an errand to town to gather some supplies from a supplier he trusts. He had been busy attending to patients and manning the counter to be the one to get the package himself.

"You have nothing better to do anyway, might as well be useful to your old dad," Your father scrunched his nose playfully as he placed a bag of money on your palms. "And if a man approaches you, remember to use that knife I gave you and make clean perforation at the jugular vein—"

You had stopped your father right there.

It didn't bother you that much and this also was an opportunity to get some leisure time. You did as you were told and saved a bit of money for window shopping.

Stumbling upon an artisan selling hair ornaments, your eyes immediately dart toward a golden hairpin with imitations of sakura leaves. Upon reaching out to inspect it, a hand collides with your own causing you to let out a gasp.

"Apologies—" Your eyes dart up to look at the stranger but is met instead with familiar blue eyes, this time under the disguise of orange tint sunglasses. "Oh! It's you."

The man furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you Mr. Gojo's—?"

"Daughter?" You perk up with a smile. You shift from heel to heel at the intensity of his gaze. Somehow, you're feeling quite nervous with this gentleman. "Yeah. I caught you that night."

"Ah," The man nods, awkward in his stance before turning back toward the array of ornaments in front of him. "Thank you."

"I-It was no problem," You stammered, hands smoothing out the fabric of your kimono. "It's what we do after all."

There's a hum of response coming from the man before silence ensues between the two of you. He had gotten back to analyzing other items that the vendor was offering and you could only stand there, discreetly watching his every move.

You didn't have the opportunity to take a good look at him besides his eyes that night. Your father seemed like he had recognized the man before you and ushered you out of the room before you could have the chance to offer help. Though, now, you could see that he had a proportionate height—a few inches taller than you but still tall nonetheless. His shoulders evoke confidence with every move of his body but his face talks of the mystery hidden under the guise of his kasa. He was pretty, yet... handsome. You've never come across a man who could embody both sides of the spectrum.

"Do you need something?" His voice had startled you out of your daydream causing your cheeks to flush. He raises his eyebrow with his ever-perpetual glare. You give him a sheepish smile.

"I've never gotten your name, sir." You purse your lips, tilting your head as he squints his eyes at your request.

"My name? Why?"

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water at his response. Why? What does he mean why? This man was truly cynical, you think.

"Well, I saved you, didn't I?"

"Correction. Your father did." The man deadpans. You giggle at his tone, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Alright, no need to get so philosophical with me," You jest, trying to get him to lighten up to you. You take a step closer, trying to gauge his expressions as you give him a lighthearted smile. "Is getting to know people a crime now?"

The man sighs before looking at the array of hair ornaments to your right. He then grabs the hairpin you were looking at and tosses a bag of coins toward the vendor. He places it within your palms before adjusting his cloak. You flinch at the sudden gesture, unaware of his intentions.

"It's Mizu." He says before turning and leaving without further explanation. You stand, agape as the man further blends in with crowd with each step he takes away from you.

This man—No, Mizu, surely is interesting.

This next meeting was one you were thankful of.

Now, it wasn't as if your meetings were solely limited by chance. He became a regular after your father's incredible work on him. You watch him arrive usually at the end of every week, either looking to restock the medicine that your father gave him or get himself treated for an unwanted injury.

You tried interacting with him during his visits but Mizu always either cut the conversation short or grunted in annoyance. He never tried to entertain much of your whims and only left you grasping at straws for whatever possible chance of interaction he might give you.

Although, despite being cold towards you, he still has the heart to help you in mundane tasks whenever he encounters the chance. For instance, upon seeing you struggling with the basin, he immediately walked over and carried to where your father is with ease. He also grabbed your freshly bought basket of fruits and guarded you on your way back home. He even thumped the back of your head lightly with his hand on his way out while you were fixing up the front.

He was an enigma. A puzzle you desperately tried to solve but always failed.

The thought of his gentlemanly actions had always left your heart thumping faster and louder within the confines of your chest. Wanting to know him, get closer to him, see the corners of his lips upturned—anything to see a version of him only you can keep.

It also seems that your father is familiar with his master. You hear talks between them, asking about the well-being of a man named 'Master Eiji', the one whom Mizu calls his swordfather. You ought to know better than to eavesdrop but somehow your attention has always been led towards his very existence.

Your father had always been strict about you ever since you were but a wee girl. He had expressed the importance of having a fruitful marriage with someone who is of your deserving. He, after all, was in a true love marriage with your mother and was together for at least 25 years before your mother succumbed to her illness at the age of 45.

It also didn't help that you were deemed the sunlight of the town, often getting several interested looks from promising men. But all your suitors couldn't take the intensity of your father's expectations. It's safe to say that you won't be getting married for awhile.

"Just stay here, my daughter," Your father sighs as he serves you seconds of your favorite food. "Who the hell cares about marriage anyway."

You laugh, reaching out to pat your old man's hand. "It's going to look bad for you if you don't marry off your one and only daughter, y'know?"

"That's precisely why I don't want to do any of that," Your father grumbles, taking a sip of his soup. "Work here, eat, sleep, go have fun. That's what your mother would've wanted anyway."

You were grateful for your circumstances, yes, but you've always wanted to help out as much as you can for your dad. His reputation as a skilled medic can only take so much before others will come to expect more. So as long as you're in his care, you try to help out around his shop as much as you can.

Although you wonder if your father would allow him to—

Ah, forget it. Convincing your father was a lost cause.

Back to the current task at hand, your father had tasked you to gather some herbs from the forest near your humble abode as it is less taxing for your finances when you have easy access to one nearby. Gearing up for the coldness of winter, you stepped out of your house in pursuit of such herbs. With a hop on your step, you wish to finish your task sooner than later to prepare for a certain gentleman possibly visiting later at night.

The only you thing you didn't account for was the possible danger you'd be encountering.

"Listen, I-I don't want any trouble," You slowly backed away as a group of men began surrounding you. It was uncommon to encounter bandits around this area as this was situated near the town. You're not so sure as to what prompted this criminals to stage a robbery in broad daylight.

"Oh, c'mon little miss," One of the bandits chuckled. He twirled a knife in his hand as he approached you menacingly. "We just wanna know what you're up to."

Your breath speeds up as one of his companions playfully advanced with a jump in his step. You flinched back, heartbeat thumping as the crunch of leaves around you signified their slow advance towards your figure. You clutched the knife your father gave you within your hands, ready to use it in case one of them tries something.

Jugular vein. Neck. Neck. Vein. Keep it fast. Right side.

"Perhaps we could do something fun, darling? I'm sure you'd love it." Wide grins and loud laughter erupted from their lips.

Vein. Lethal point. Could head straight through the liver. Artery. Perforation.

Your head had begun to ramble, your father's words echoing within the depths of your mind. Just as you adjusted your grip on your knife and one of the bandits had began to finally get whatever they aimed for in the first place, a breeze of wind suddenly alerted you of a new presence.

You shut your eyes in fear as one of the men at the far back screamed.

"What the fuck?!" The leader bellowed as he watched his man crumple to the ground, holding what was left of his dismembered arm. The other bandits begin turning towards the new opponent, swords ready as they watched him step over their comrade.

You open your teary eyes, locking gazes with the familiar hues of blue hidden under orange tint. There's some sort of hardened glare as Mizu looked at you up and down, assessing your well-being within a matter of seconds.

"This is Takayama's jurisdiction," Mizu's deep voice bellowed as he placed his hand on the scabbard of his sword. "I suggest you leave."

The leader lets out a scoff as he widens his shoulders to appear more menacing to him. Mizu only looks at him under the guise of his kasa.

"You are outnumbered, samurai," The man smirks. It might've been intimidating with the number of men that surrounded Mizu but you were well aware of his prowess as a swordsman and completely had faith in his abilities. "Your talks of dominance do not affect me."

Mizu chuckles, one hand reaching up to push back his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"We'll see about that."

"Thank you," You smile widely, eyes crinkling as you grab his extended hand.

The bandits groaned in pain as they crumbled to the ground. Some have even passed out from the harsh hits that Mizu had inflicted. You watched him twirl and move with elegance, slicing and hitting with precise angles that left you in awe at his performance.

It took at most 15 minutes for him to finish all of them and another 3 minutes for you to pick your jaw off the floor and fix yourself up.

"It's no problem," Mizu nods at your gratitude. He holds your hand firm as you wobble back and forth to stay back in balance. "Although, I advise that you venture towards areas within the town vicinity. This area is bordering outside of Takayama, thus the bandits."

"Ah," You let out a soft laugh. "There were more herbs here. I thought it was safe."

Mizu doesn't reply back as he gazes at you from the comforts of his glasses. You flush at his stare, still not being able to handle its intensity. You look down to busy yourself with, staring at your conjoined hands before finally taking notice of a scratch on the side of his hand to his wrist.

"You're injured," You whispered as you pulled his hand close to yours. You hear Mizu's breath hitch as he stumbles slightly at the pull of your hand. You look up at him as he furrows his eyebrows.

"I-It's fine, it doesn't hurt." He tries to reason with you but your grip on his hand remains steady.

"You saved me so I'll repay you by treating this. Alright?" You give him your best smile and suddenly the samurai doesn't have the heart in him to say no. At the sound of his reluctant silence, you enthusiastically pull out your satchel filled with medicinal tools. It was handy that you always kept your tools with you no matter where you went.

You applied antiseptic, brushing it with a clean cloth along the wound. Whether Mizu felt the pain or not, he only remained as still as a rock while you worked.

"You're early today," You try to make conversation as you clean his wound up. Mizu stays silent for a few seconds before replying.

"I had free time," He says. "I... was also out of medicine so..."

You hum, nodding along his words as you make gentle strokes to ease the pain (if he ever felt it).

"If you ever need to go out like this again," He picks up the conversation making your heart skip a beat. There's a pause of silence before he continues. "Let me—If I'm there, let me know. You don't need to endanger yourself like this."

You let out a quiet laugh as you finally wrapped his wound with a white strip of cloth. You look at him with softened eyes, reveling in his slightly flushed cheeks and gaze dulled by sincerity. There's a pause of comfortable silence between the two of you, only lost in each other's gazes.

You slowly reach out, hands pausing as you communicate a request for consent. Mizu only gives you a small nod before you reach out to pull off his glasses. Those same beautiful blue orbs stare back at you as you revel in their gaze.

"You're more handsome like this," You whisper as you take a step closer to him. Snow gently falls around you, cascading in gentle flow as you breathe out puffs of air. Mizu tilts his head with an upturn of the corner of his lips.

There it is.

You flush in his gaze as he reaches up to brush a stray hair away from your face. "You're jesting," He says with a quiet tone.

Your gaze at him doesn't waver. "I'd say yes if you asked me to marry you."

Mizu let's out a chuckle, eyebrow raised at your bold response. "You are one dangerous lady, Y/N. Does your father know that?"

You roll your eyes at him. "How could he know when all he does is keep men away from me," You tilt your head playfully, "Although, I do wonder why he often keeps you close. Perhaps, he's found you to be worthy of a man."

Mizu laughs at your praises, shoulders shaking as the two of you stand close to one another, basking in the soft breeze of the winter sky. He lifts his hand up and flicks your forehead. You flinch back, holding your forehead in pain as you give him a glare.

"Ow?!" You frown as he looks at you with a smirk on his lips. "What a way to turn off a lady!"

"You're too adorable to be a lady," Mizu teases as he crosses his arms over his chest. He tilts his head as he looks at you with squinted eyes in thought. "Kind of like a.... puppy."

Your jaw drops at his comparison causing him to release a few chuckles. It wasn't fair that he was out here causing poor things to your heart and raised by a father who was direct and determined to achieve the things he wanted in life, you didn't allow yourself to back down.

With wide strides, you easily reach where he stands before standing on your toes and grabbing his face as you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Wha-?!" His face flushes a deep red as he moves back holding his cheek. You flash him a cheeky grin as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"I'll be waiting for your proposal, Mizu," You giggle, swaying back and forth with your hands tucked behind you. You put on his glasses before leaning slightly forward with eyes squinted playfully. "Or shall I be the one to propose, hm? Seeing as your blushing from just a kiss on the cheek."

Mizu takes a few seconds before collecting himself. There's an unreadable look on his face before makes careful steps towards you. You watch him, curious as he stops in front of you—hand reaching out to pull his glasses off from your face. You expect him to start berating you for invading his space but what you received after was certainly something you never took into account.

He leans down and gingerly places a kiss on your lips. Your breath hitches as he presses himself close before pulling away all to fast. Your lips tingle as you watch him put on his glasses back with a smile.

"I'm no coward, Y/N," He adjusts your cloak as you remain speechless in front of him. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

And just as he enters, he walks off with quiet footsteps, leaving you grasping at whatever was left of your brain after what he just did. Your face flushes a deep red as your fingertips touches your lips with shaky movements.

Did this man just—

"Are you coming?!" He calls over from the dirt path back to your house. You stumble in your footing as you rush over to him.

"I-I'm coming!" You stammer as you gather your things and rushed towards him. He greets you with a smile and this time with his glasses tucked away. Blue hues greet your flushed form and suddenly an overwhelming realization washes over you.

Oh, I'm definitely not going to let this man go.

a/n: MY WIFE MIZU MY WIFEEE,,,,, planning to make a pt2 idk lemme guys know if u want one. will also fix my archive, tumblr's getting messy. NOT PROOFREAD but will fix if ever i do go back on this after my finals. HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS!

[inhuman-obey-me]

⚡️Solomon and mc please if you are still doing these.

"What good is this "great power" of mine? Absolutely everything slips through my fingers." - Solomon/MC

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to be safe here in the human realm. Safe with him. 

“Solomon,” your voice is weak as you call out his name, lying in the middle of the room. Blood is seeping through the bandages tightly wrapped around your wounds. Your eyes flicker as you seem to fade in and out of consciousness. 

Shit. That potion didn’t work either. 

“Don’t speak. Don’t move. I’ll get you fixed up.” He does his best to keep his voice calm, swallowing the panic that threatens to take over. No, he needs to focus. He needs to find the right ingredients, he needs to measure precisely, he needs to find the damn spell or potion or whatever it is that will undo the damage that’s laid claim to your body. 

Books go flying off the shelves, circling in a dizzying array around the sorcerer as pages flip rapidly. He had taken you to one of his secret abodes spread throughout the human realm, all stocked with various magical items and artifacts along with numerous grimoires and journals he had collected over centuries. A treasure trove for any occult enthusiast – but currently, an archive of desperation. 

“There has to be something here. It’s a complex curse, but it still seems to be human-made, though with some demonic assistance, so,” he speaks his thoughts aloud, talking more to himself than to you, “I just need to find what can neutralize it.” 

Surely he can find it. Solomon has never met a curse that he couldn’t eventually break, faced a foe he couldn’t manipulate, discovered a spell he couldn’t replicate. The air fills with the noise of a sorcerer gone mad – the clinks and clanks of vials and bottles, the continuous flutter of pages turning, the hiss and bubbling of items being thrown together, the scrape of metal against glass, of chalk against wood and the crackle of fire.  

“This one should work.” 

It didn’t.

“Okay, maybe this one.”

Another failure. 

“This one has to be it.”

No.

“Please.” 

Solomon slumps beside you after his latest attempt, his face in his hands and his deep breath turns into an exasperated yet muffled yell. His hands travel up his head, fingers tightly gripping at his hair as a hiss leaves his lips. 

Solomon the Wise. Solomon the Witty Sorcerer. These names and more had plagued him for so long, were ones he at times embraced and gloated over. He had been the most powerful human in existence, continuing to obtain more and more power so that he could show the angels and demons that they couldn’t control him, control humans. It wasn’t without sacrifices, without pain and hardship. He still lost so much.

And now, he was afraid of losing you. 

There was no other choice. He was going to have to call upon the demons for help.

“What good is this great power of mine?” His voice nearly breaks, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “Absolutely everything slips through my fingers.” 

“Not everything, old man.” 

Solomon jolts up, eyes wide as he looks to you after hearing your shaky voice. 

You let out a low groan, shifting in place before slightly propping yourself up on your elbows. “Come on, you didn’t think I would go down that easily, did you?” You wince. “Have some faith in your apprentice. I’m basically as strong as you.” 

Your name leaves him in a near-sob as he scrambles up and throws his arms around you. “Oh thank the stars, you’re okay.” 

“Ow,” you respond, but sink into his embrace. “I’m not touching a strange statue again for a good while after this.”  

“I’m sorry,” Solomon releases you, checking over your wounds to ensure that you are now healing. “I should have known, I should have stopped you, I should have –” 

“Solomon.” You stop him, brushing some of his wispy locks from his face. “It was an accident. You can’t always be there watching over me. And if it wasn’t for you, I would be in a lot worse shape.” Placing a hand on his cheek, you gaze affectionately into his eyes. “Thank you.”

He swallowed his protests. It was true that you were on a path to quickly overtake him as the most powerful human sorcerer the world had ever known. He was going to have to get used to you getting into dangerous situations, used to you wielding such power and the responsibility that came with it. He was no longer alone in carrying that burden.

With a sigh, Solomon rests his forehead against yours. “Looks like I’m going to have to make a lot more protection charms.” 

[beansprean]

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One day in January I thought, "wouldn't it be hilarious if there was an episode where the camera crew changes places with a crew filming a documentary on werewolves in california. and everyone is playing a werewolf counterpart version of their character?" And it all devolved from there. Ty to @vampireshmampire and @memosminifridge for riffing with me and coming up with hilarious ideas <3

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Title card, close up on a full moon glowing blue, surrounded by swirls of fog and bands of purple, blue, and green light. Overlaid is tht title "What We Do Under The Moon" in the What We Do In The Shadows font, letters dark blue with a brighter blue to purple gradient at the bottom, backlit in white.

2. Wide shot of the werewolf character played by Kayvan Novak doing a talking head. He is wearing medium wash jeans, a grey tee shirt over a millennial pink vest, a small gold medallion around his neck with a matching crescent moon earring, and has his long wavy hair half up in a messy bun. He is sitting on a light cream L-shaped couch adjacent to a glass patio door letting in the sunlight and below a wall hanging that says 'live, laugh, lick'. The lower third identifies him as "Navid - beta werewolf". Navid leans back casually against the cushions and props one elbow up on the back of the couch, leaning his head into that hand, and says, "If I am to establish myself as the Alpha of the pack over Lionel and Niki, I must find a mate. Someone strong, powerful, and...nearby. In the same house even, if possible." As he speaks, he glances meaningfully to his left, where the character played by Harvey Guillen is standing behind the couch, his back to Navid as he fusses with a vacuum. He is wearing square retro glasses, airpods in both ears, brown chinos, and a short sleeved green button up unbuttoned to the sternum with a dog silhouette pattern and sleeves rolled up his biceps. His beard is well-kept stubble and hair is buzzed short on the sides, curls pushed to the side in artful disarray and sun-bleached a lighter brown.

3a. Close up on Harvey's character as he walks down the hall away from Navid's talking head. In the background, Navid whips around to lean over the back of the couch with an expectant grin, howling, "Gerardo!! Eavesdropping again? Do you have anything to add to this topic?" Gerardo barely pays him mind, tossing his reply over his shoulder: "No, sir. Seems like a werewolf-only interview. I'm going to go vacuum the alpha den, they've been shedding." 3b. Waist-up of Gerardo standing with his arms crossed, doing a talking head. The lower third reads "Gerardo Cordero de Luna, werewolf familiar (familiar is crossed out) apprentice." Gerardo says haughtily, "I am not a familiar! Only witches and vampires pull that nonsense. I'm an apprentice, and I'm part of the pack." 3c. Repeat. Offscreen, one of the crew asks, "And what does a werewolf apprentice do?" Gerardo goes a bit red, embarrassed, and glares off to the side, hesitating to answer.

The following are all cropped close ups on a mottled orange and yellow background from a colored doodle dump. 4. Waist up of Gerardo and Navid as Navid begs, hands laced together, "Gerardo, won't you let me bite you?" Gerardo avoids his gaze with a nervous grin, flapping his hand dismissively, and replies, "Ehh...not yet! There's still plenty for me to learn about being a werewolf! I've only been apprenticed what, 3 years?" "Almost 15!" Navid shoots back.

5a. Knees up of Navid and Natasia Demetriou's werewolf character, Niki. She is wearing dark red gradient high waisted leggings, a dark red low cut bralette with crossed straps in front, a fluffy cropped brown fur coat, a gold medallion matching Navid's, and multiple golden piercings in her ears with two large oval discs dangling from the lobes. Her lipstick and square cut nails are dark red, and her long hair is permed in tight fluffy curls half up in twin buns. Navid grabs his left wrist with his right hand and thrusts it at Niki's face with an anxious expression, asking, "I smell like I love him, right??" Niki curls her lip and cringes away from him, hands up to swat his arm away as she spits back, "Ugh, yes!! You stink up the whole house with your pining! There's no way he can't smell it." 5b. Knees up of Gerardo sitting on a light cream couch, reading from a book titled "Care for the Lonely Werewolf" help up in his right hand. Navid is laying across the couch, sans vest and hair loose, with his head resting on Gerardo's left thigh. His right hand is trapped beneath him, fingers hooked at the back of Gerardo's knee, and his left rests on top beneath his cheek. Gerardo's left hand his idly petting his hair. Navid stares intently into the middle distance, thinking, 'Perhaps I should be less aloof with him...'

6a. Bust of Gerardo, who is holding up an iPad in his left hand with a drawing stylus poised in his right. Navid, large and hairy in werewolf form but still sporting his dangly earring and little hair bun, is hugging him from behind, clawed hands on his shoulders and wet nose nuzzling into the side of his face. Navid's eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open, tongue lolling out happily. Gerardo looks up at him with a fond, if confused, smile. 6b. Knees up of Navid raising a triumphant fist with a grin and confidently declaring, "He is playing hard to get, but he underestimates how hard I am to get rid of!"

7a. Waist up of Matt Berry's werewolf character, Lionel, who looks much the same but is casual in a light cream linen shirt unbuttoned well below his sternum tucked into matching linen pants, his only accessory the gold medallion matching the others'. He is standing in front of a countertop hosting a box of Thin Mints and cringes away with a drawn-out whine as Gerardo pops into frame to spray him with water, scolding, "No, bad Lionel!" 7b. Waist up of Mark Proksch's character, who appears to just be Colin Robinson dressed like Indiana Jones, as he walks into frame with a rolling suitcase. He smiles and waves, shouting, "Howdy, guys!!" Lionel stands in the background, hands on hips with an easy smile, and says. "Oh, look, it's our landlord Arthur Simon Santiago who lives such an interesting life in New York City and uses this condo as a vacation home!"

8. Group shot, knees up, of Lionel, Niki, Gerardo, and Navid smiling for the camera. Lionel has one hand on his hip and the other around his wife's waist, leaning into her. Niki has one arm thrown around Lionel's shoulders, flashing a peace sign, and the other held up behind Navid's head to give him bunny ears. Gerardo is standing slightly in front of her, one hand clutching a pamphlet for Tisch School of the Arts and looking a bit uncomfortable as if he had been dragged into the photo last minute. Still, he offers the camera a hesitant smile and allows his left arm to be crushed to Navid's chest as the werewolf pulls him close with an arm around his shoulders. Navid leans his entire body into Gerardo with a huge grin, flashing a peace sign with his free hand.

9. Uncropped version of the entire doodle dump, repeating images 4 through 8. /end ID

[sunboki]

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss? au (hehe), domestic/soft minho, fluff

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out, inexperienced kissing, annoying coworkers

WORD COUNT. 6.9k words

AUG'S NOTES. so glad to have finally completed this!! it’s been rotting in my drafts for weeks and i just had to write a happy ending for these two grandparents 🫶🏼

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

.

.

.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

Minho : Okay, I’m leaving, follow me in thirty minutes

Glancing up, you watch your counterpart lift his brows your way and call out his departure, sifting through the doorway, cross body bag thumping against jeans.

Hyeongmi was downstairs, which, as awful as it sounded, was great not having to endure her nosiness.

This was how you stayed unbothered. He’d leave, and thirty minutes later you would too in order to (for now) avoid Mrs. Song (and Hyeongmi’s) pestering.

It couldn’t have taken the clock longer to reach 4:30PM. So by the time the beloved minute hand struck 4:29 you practically lurched from your seat, almost tasting sweet freedom before a face showed up right before you slipped through the exit.

Hyeongmi’s face.

What she’s talking about you can’t seem to understand, mind trained on escaping and escaping alone.

“C’mon now, you two are the only two in this building without a date. It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!” Hyeongmi emphasizes, dizzying your head the longer she shakes your shoulders.

“You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right? I’m telling you, it’s a sign—“

“Sorry Hyeongmi, I really have to go-“

Fastening your bag tigher across your body, you make a mad-dash as far away as possible, pretending to ignore the “use protection!” she shouted before the crisp evening breeze nipped your nose.

Use protection my butt, you grovel, ushering the scarf further above your chin as if to secure as much warmth possible.

She doesn’t know anything, not about how you took him under your wing as your apprentice the first year he joined, not about how much Minho loves cats, or how the keychain on that crossbody bag of his is a keychain you bought for him.

Simply placing it, she’s a person lead by the assumptions of others and adopting them as her own.

It irritates you.

Veering to your right, you thank his decision to house nearby, arriving at the foot of his porch after a mere ten-minute walk.

Delivering a few knocks on the townhome’s doorway, you note the paint chipping, colorful exterior worn from the sun’s rays.

Everything from the few cracks in the sidewalk to the relatively invisible stain of coffee on his doorknob lay memorized by frequency—his property second nature to you.

“Never have I hated being single this much,” You whine, slumping onto his couch after hurling your bag atop a hook in the foyer.

And despite the lack of response, you can tell Minho heard you. The faint, breathy chuckle enough evidence of his presence.

Perched on a chair he’d likely dragged from the kitchen, a feline companion occupies his lap, both comfortably relaxing on the patio, wine glass in hand.

Accordingly arranged on the countertop is another glass (you presume as yours), that you pour the vinegar-tinged substance into.

“I mean.” Slightly struggling to haul a neighboring chair to his side and simultaneously avoid splashing wine everywhere, you eventually find an equilibrium.

“It’s not like I asked to be single, I’m just too busy to consider a relationship, y’know?”

Minho absentmindedly hums, urging you to take a much-needed sip of the orchid-colored liquid.

Finally, you sigh out the last of your evening’s thoughts.

“..Hyeongmi caught me on the way out.”

Nor does this occasion need a reply either, the man’s suppressed giggle suitable enough.

“Mm.. I’ve got an idea.”

Carefully allowing the elongated glass to clink atop a translucent table, you cross and uncross your legs, welcoming the rustle of life around you into your eardrums, easing the cluttered space of your brain.

“Shoot.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze flitting to the emerging moon overhead.

“If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.“

Making a surprised sound to yourself, you break into unadulterated laughter, about to call him hilarious before taking into account this is Minho you’re referring to, and the likelihood he’s joking on any matter is unlikely.

Sure it sounds cliché, but it’s Minho, why not?

…And perhaps that decision was made with a few glasses of wine in play.

“I’m in.” You grin, returning his outstretched hand by bumping your glasses before downing the remaining gulp, cheeks aglow, alcohol ridding your breath a distasteful stench.

Tipsy. Minho is charming normally, but especially when he’s tipsy.

He’s got this way of speaking that could get any unsuspecting girl reaching to unzip his pants in a second, sultry, half-lidded eyes drinking the person in front of him, talking like he has sugar lining his lips.

When Minho is tipsy, he’s tempting. You didn’t need four years to teach you that.

That, and the spare pajama set folded in his top drawer reserved solely for you on nights like this—too gone to go home.

Although, as you rise to your feet and head to the bathroom, pulling said silk pajama shirt over your head, Hyeongmi’s words reverberate again.

You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right?

Hm. Minho was always a recluse though. And with your history, obviously he’d have some liking for you.

It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!

Turning to stare at yourself in the mirror, you sulk, head hanging low.

What if you did something tonight? Something risky, something testing the limits this friendship borderlines. You’re both drunk, likely willing.

Then again, does Minho want this too? Did he ever intend to “let loose”?

Anxiety plagues you, hurriedly scurrying your pants over your legs and exiting to find Minho still seated in the same spot, appearing all the more tempting without having to do a thing.

You blame the alcohol.

Stamping forward as if you prepared a speech, you stop just behind his chair, mustering any ounce of liquid courage manageable.

“Minho.”

He grunts.

“You’re really pretty.”

Let loose. This is letting loose when it comes to Minho.

What, you thought you were gonna fuck? Yeah, that’s a funny one.

Winding himself around to see you, his lips wind into a sweet smile, urging you closer with a mere look before he reaches forward and taps your nose, dark eyes roaming your face.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty too.”

And perhaps, caught in a trance from his glittering stare, something did happen those four years you’ve been together after all.

You blame the alcohol.

The impulsive part about this “date at twenty-five” pact you had forgotten to consider was the fact both of you were twenty-four, meaning in less than a year whatever plan Lee Minho had stirred up after plenty glasses of wine would oil it’s gears into motion.

Thankfully Valentines comes and goes, and Summer creeps dangerously close, the longer hours of daylight and lingering sunshine enough to make every work-day feel extra laborious.

First day of summer, Minho texts you, asking if you want to join him on a walk.

Mind you, it’s 10AM in the morning, an hour you couldn’t fathom waking up at on the first day of summer.

You groan and flop back down, shutting off your phone and slamming the pillow over your head in a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep.

Only for your doorbell to ring twenty minutes later.

Over.

And over.

And over.

The urge to screech compels your barely-awake form, legs wobbling out of bed to feebly reach the doorway in a sleep-ridden haze.

Of course, lo and behold, Minho lies responsible, clad in running shoes, a pair of shorts, and a black nike zip-up.

He’s evidently pleased—whether from how disheveled you appear—or that he actually got you out of bed in the first place by the lingering smile tugging at his lips.

You hate to say it, but he’s annoyingly attractive, there’s no denying.

“Caught you at a bad time, hm?” He tips his head down to make eye-contact, peering through wild hair and lidded eyes at your half-alive self.

All you can manage out is a minuscule grunt, about to close the door before Minho jars his hand in, inviting himself inside much to your dismay.

Like instinct, he heads straight to your closet, surveying the chaos his insistent door-bell ringing caused before fetching a sweatshirt to pull over your head and a pair of socks from your drawer.

Though, as you wake up a tad bit more, you hurriedly keep him from putting your socks on for you as he bends down, shying away with an irritated whine.

“If this is what dating you is like I’m calling off the pact,” You mumble, stomping toward the door with Minho pushing you forwards without chance of escape.

He giggles, seeming to contain utmost glee witnessing your temper tantrum.

“Oh trust me sweetheart, the fun never ends.”

He’s hopeless too, apparently.

Lucky for you, your friend’s visits occurred sporadically, meaning the 10AM wake up calls weren’t a daily routine of headaches.

In contrast, summer passed by in a flash, and you were shoved head-first into a packed schedule for a second time as the autumn leaves shriveled into crisp browns and oranges.

Autumn was always welcomed. It meant the chilling cold was approaching, yes, but it also signified apple cider being added to the downstairs café menu and—on those especially chilly mornings—bundling your neck in the scarf Minho bought you last christmas.

As for him, he frequents pointed shoes and straight-legged pants, his fudge-colored hair perfectly complimented by pumpkin scented fragrances and dusky red backdrops.

Brisk mornings call for thinking. And as you walk, you come to the indefinite conclusion apple cider fits Minho. Sweet, but not saccharine. Warm to the touch, reminiscent with a charming aftertaste. A silhouette that comes and goes as it pleases, leaving soon enough for you to crave it back again.

Regarding summer, he was sort of like a beach day. A vacation in the midst of roaring deadlines, the comfortable lull of waves buzzing your mind into a hazy, salty escapade.

Although as December plucks each oak of its splendor, a call on Sunday morning truly marks the season of winter.

“..Y/n?” Minho murmurs, his voice groggy, hoarse. You make a sound of acknowledgment in response.

“I think I’m sick, can you drop off some meds at the door?”

Pressing your phone close to your ear, you debate on your desire to scold him, remind him each time he gets a winter cold he should dress warmer.

Of course, your lips stay shut (just like they always have for the past few years), and you reply with a “Be there soon, hang tight” before ending the call and gathering your belongings.

At the supermarket you check out seaweed soup, multivitamins, and allergy relief—things of which you hope will alleviate some of his symptoms.

Eternally grateful for the spare key you’d been given a while back, you enter the home, calling his name until an exasperated sign of life was heard (more like coughed) from the bedroom.

Inside lay Minho, a distressing array of tissues scattered in all directions, clustered beyond belief. His nose is soured pink from incessant stuffiness, lips cracked and dry. Dark circles sag beneath tired eyes, worn disposition evidence of his condition.

Quick on your feet, you scour the bathroom for a thermometer, the device’s loud beep signifying a blaring fever as you hover by his bedside.

Watching the bowl of instant soup spin aimless circles in the microwave, Minho’s call knocks you out of your daydream, worriedly padding to where he lays.

“Come here.”

You oblige, arriving to his right, about to ask the matter until his fingers link with your own, bringing the back of your hand to his jaw, resting there.

If you had been warm before, an entirely new definition to sweating has been reached at this point.

“You’re warm,” He whispers, rubbing his face against your hand like a needy cat wanting attention.

How unfair a human can be this round.

Practically bounding from the inside, you use the excuse of the microwave beeping to race off, hurriedly disappearing into the kitchen while remaining ignorant to the way Minho’s gaze follows you.

Returning with a soup platter meticulously carried between your tight grip, you sigh with relief upon sitting the steaming concoction down. Oh so slowly, a frown grows at your face upon noticing the expectant stare boring into your head.

“Yes?”

He juts out his bottom lip like a kicked puppy from your nonplussed tone, nudging the covers over himself till only those calculating eyes peek out.

“I’m not feeding you.”

Minho all but whimpers, and you suppress the urge to smother him with a pillow right then and there, hating how easily he sends goosebumps prickling the back of your neck, heat scalding your ears.

“No.”

“Y/n.”

You quite literally feel like the cruelest person in existence because why is he looking at you with that face, saying your name like that.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you begrudgingly collect a spoonful, bringing the utensil to his already pursed lips.

Spoonful by spoonful do you feed him as if he’s a dependent toddler, his satisfied hums earning a stern glare in return.

Only when he finishes eating do you get up, reprimanding him on taking his meds without much bite to your words.

“And don’t take too many of these, alright? If it gets really bad, call me again. Otherwise, try getting sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And of course he has to be endearing.

Such a pain.

You’ll stop by tomorrow.

If Minho was the apple cider in autumn and beach days in the summer, he’s the prettiest of snowflakes in the midst of winter.

Memorable, fleeting. Melting in your touch.

The annual Christmas party the company hosts steadily approaches, your coworkers ringing your phone insistently with noticeable anticipation.

Though just like autumns chill, December soars past idly, reigning in a new year and a new digit added to twenty when asked your age.

Your winter premise only heightened the anxiety compiling in your gut, a feeling you hadn’t recognized until the following day—the first day back to work in January—dawned.

January 1st’s introduction means you’re both officially twenty-five, and you’re not sure if it’s the fact Minho hasn’t texted you yet or the valentines pact in itself setting you on edge.

What would it be like to date Minho? Would he kiss you, the same way male leads in K-dramas did? Hold you as you sleep, wish you goodbye with a kiss to your cheek?

The mere thought sends rivets of electricity blazing your fingertips, feeling like an utter fool for imagining such scenarios.

Now you’ve haunted yourself for worse, leaving only dread in tow.

Arriving at the office the first day back, you attempt at making yourself look as collected as possible, definitely not bothered.

Worse, the root of your troubles walks in unbothered as you’ve been trying to do for the past few hours, the room working in deplorable silence before a note wedges itself behind your keyboard, Minho slipping past in its wake.

It takes all your will-power to ignore the crumpled piece of paper as best as possible, your index itching to unravel whatever lay inside.

Noon is when you finally give in, lungs failing to produce air upon reading the contents, practically choking on nothing.

Come over to my place after work.

What is this, his way of declaring your pact officially in action? What if he calls it off, saying it was only a joke glasses of wine granted?

As Hyeongmi said before, everyone has the hots for him, so why don’t you? Why does the thought of him calling it off put you on edge?

Or maybe you do. Maybe you do have feelings for—

Woah. Stop there.

Luckily, your internal chess match went unnoticed, leaving only the buzzing of your ears and the ticking of the clock loud.

A certain fondness sat between either of you from the start, since becoming acquainted you’ve instantly clicked—sly remarks and playful teasing merely one more thing keeping you alive (minus coffee).

So when something crossing the border between friends and lovers arose, a sort of nervousness bubbled in your gut.

Minho was a shoulder to cry on for you, but was it like that?

You could rely and depend on each other whenever, but could those feelings ever turn into love?

Of course they could, and they likely would’ve if it weren’t for either of you being so work-oriented—making you even more worried.

Although, you can’t simply flee. You’re an adult.

..And Minho will find you in a heartbeat if you decide to run.

Never had you been hesitant to leave office until now, and trodding one foot in front of the other causes your legs to turn into jelly.

Minho probably isn’t this nervous. He’s probably in a great mood, treating the occasion like it’s just another casual day.

Never before was it difficult, whether difficult is referred to as placing a key in a doorway or walking inside, everything seems so.. eminent.

Like when you walk through this door, an entirely new side of Minho will show face. A romantic side of Minho.

Yet, there’s no rose petals lining the hallway, nor scented candles scattered here and there.

What is there to expect with dating in your twenties anyway?

Plus, Minho’s well, Minho. If he wanted to, he likely would’ve flat-out asked already.

Something you’re surprised about, however, is the triangular string decor swooping from the ceiling, the party hats by the sink, a single birthday candle placed in the center of a cupcake. Simple, perfect.

Although, the perfect factor came with the man responsible, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bracing himself on the countertop with a particular glow in his irises—whether it be from the lit candle you aren’t sure—that sets your stomach into a garden of butterflies.

A surprise party. He threw you a surprise birthday party.

And it’s then as enter the kitchen, brain barely recognizing each advance forward, you realize it.

You really, really want to date him.

And you really, really don’t want to screw this up.

Staring at each other, you rise up on your toes to place a careful, feather-light peck on the smooth, flushed skin of his cheek.

Slowly, he turns his head, a conniving smirk revealing the outline of his teeth whilst investigating your breathlessness.

“Someone’s daring,” He mumured, cocking a brow amusedly.

You poke his side, groaning that he shouldn’t look too far into it before he nudges you, your frown returned with a subtle nod—directed at the forgotten cupcake.

“Well you already gave me a kiss, so wish for something else.”

“Choke,” You respond, but there’s still no bite to it. Some things never change.

Minho gently holds your hair back for you, allowing you to lean over and blow out the candle. No bite.

Your wish?

Let Minho and I go well. I like us.

Every bit of it was the truth.

Hopefully this wish of yours can come true.

Maybe.

Seated on the living room floor do you finally relax, your shoulders slumping down after hours of monstrous tension. Seems you’d forgotten he was your best friend before anything else.

“So.. how does this work?”

‘Work’ as in, the dating deadline’s here, what’s next?

He purses his lips—a habit of his—blinking rapidly.

“Like friends? Except we get the kissing and sex pass in between, right?”

You smack his shoulder. He smiles, childishly extending his pinky out to you.

Linking yours, you press the pad of your thumb against his. An unspoken gesture.

“Together?”

Through thick and thin. Your way, as it always was, always had been.

He has stars in his tawny-globes for eyes.

“Together.”

Minho’s hands are warm in the midst of frigid temperatures.

Spring isn’t too far off, but the bitter winds remain ceaseless and unrelenting, whipping your hair every which way, scattering a plethora of goosebumps along your skin.

Never had you held hands like this with someone before, nonetheless Minho, and yet, a connection lies inside the initial awkwardness. The silent assurance, whether it’s his thumb smoothing your palm or occasional squeezes, telling you he understands, that you’re not alone, or how he patiently waited by the door the entire time you were getting ready, claiming he didn’t want to dirty your place with his shoes.

It’s sort of revitalizing. Curious and inquisitive in his lingering touches, additional notes—reminders on your coffee cup, questions asking whether you want to stay over afterward, if he can give you a kiss on the cheek.

One in particular you recall:

I miss you. Scribbled in bleeding ink.

Your introduction as lovers had been a field day of trials and questions for the two of you, though when it came down to the public’s knowledge, you began debating on the “curiosity killed the cat” theory.

This morning, catching a glimpse of the company’s logo in the distance, you assign yourself as the cat. Too interested, now suffering the consequences.

Granted, you wouldn’t take back moving to relationship status, but it was a lot easier to brush off comments if you were Minho.

Hyeongmi being the main one responsible for said comments.

Morning passed by seamlessly, prioritizing work above all else, too busy typing away to for any interruptions.

..Until a midday conference.

Seated right next to each other, his fingers slowly thread with yours beneath the table, sending the man a perplexed (and slightly nervous) expression in response.

More so, the comforting casualness caused you to barely recognize Mrs. Song reaching below to fetch her fallen pen, a gasp of surprise stilling the conversation at her realization.

“Are you- Are you two holding—?”

Panicked, you smack his hand away, stomach plummeting.

Not expecting him to stubbornly grab your hand again, a miniature frown draws across his perfectly rose lips.

Pouting.

Lee Minho is pouting because you’re not letting him hold your hand.

Unbelievable.

If the situation could escalate further, the she-devil herself (Hyeongmi) throws her head down to spare a glimpse, allowing you to fully accept your demise. A demise that, one way or another, needed to happen.

This was simply an early death.

“You’re kidding! No way you guys are a thing?” The eccentric girl mouths the last words, eyebrows drawn to her hairline.

And just like that, your relationship with Minho ventured out of your pocket and into a brand new wilderness.

“So…what’s it like living everybody’s dream?”

Headed to the bathroom, Hyeongmi stops you, leaned over the mirror, carefully inspecting her plum-colored lipstick.

“What?” You pique, confusedly glancing between her and the empty stall you’re trying to nonchalantly slip into.

“I mean, the entire company’s talking about it. Tell me, are you guys actually official? Or is this all just for the attention? No offense, but-“

“I...”

Want to punch you in the face.

You keep it to yourself.

“I’m gonna go.”

Synonymously, both your bladder and your appetite completely disappeared.

Although, she doesn’t leave you alone.

You’re frantically searching for excuse after excuse, speed-walking and taking the stairs any chance available.

Unfortunately for you, she’s everywhere. At some point you’re certain a tracking device is hidden somewhere on your clothes.

Almost there. From silently pleading help with your eyes to legitimately hiding in your workplace, today couldn’t have been more of a joke.

Or so you thought.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Hyeongmi?”

“With Minho,” She nervously fiddles with her earrings. “You don’t have to tell me but.. how’s the bedroom?”

Apparently, it can go lower.

Before you can respond to her shamelessness, a grip fastens on your shoulders, cologne distinct enough you can tell exactly who it is.

Your beach day.

“Hyeongmi, you do realize that’s rude, yeah? Let’s not cross boundaries we shouldn’t cross, got it?”

All the while Minho smiles, this cloying, “I dare you” sort of attitude no one can argue with.

Averting her attention, she speedily raises up, humorlessly laughing off the tension while excusing herself from the room.

“You okay?” He whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, pressing a chaste kiss there.

Yeah, there’s no getting used to this.

“Yep,” You say, though there isn’t much sincerity it.

He knows.

“Wait for me here, let’s walk home together.”

Ah. You want to kiss him.

“Minho.”

He turns on his heel.

Kiss me.

You’re holding his collar now, the option on the tip of your tongue, his lips a hairbreadth from yours.

Close, closer.

No. Not yet.

Either way, what do you know about kissing? What if you screw up?

Not yet.

“..Okay.”

Your gaze flits down to his lips if only for a second. A small, cheeky grin adorning his face as he follows your movements.

It’s hard to focus when he leaves, because all you can think about is the possibilities. What if you had kissed him? Would he have kissed you back?

By the way looked at you, the logical response would be: yes. Most people don’t stare at someone like that without the intent to kiss them, right?

Though somehow, you can’t help but feel unprepared, a complete novice in this battlefield of love.

Where Minho took you afterward was a mystery, merely happy to be away from the confines of your desk—letting his eager hand guide you wherever he pleased.

Shielded beneath the shade of two trees, your destination, Yeouido Park, is a spectacle during the transition period of winter to spring. You’d oftentimes spend hours here, basking in the relief a break grants. A spectacle where you two first truly met.

“Alright, be honest with me.”

He spins you around till you’re face to face, carefully analyzing your facial expression.

“Are you really okay? After Hyeongmi said that, I couldn’t stop thinking..”

Oh. That careful crease in his eyebrows, sympathetic.

He’s breaking your heart.

You realize now why everyone falls in love with him.

“Of me?”

The words come out involuntarily, a step forward in the newness, paving light through the darkened abyss.

“Yeah..” He says, a little winded while doing so.

Minho cares, he always had, yet, it’s your first time hearing it aloud.

“Y/n.”

Blinking yourself back into reality, your face grows warm, not intending to deliberately space out right in front of him.

He leans forward, causing you to shrink back into your skin as a kiss is planted right atop your nose, the man wearing a satisfied grin.

“Hey- You can’t- It’s not Valentines yet—“

“And why would I wait until Valentine’s day?”

Another deeper red burns your cheeks, and you scorn the way he gets under your skin—a way that makes every insult dissolve like powder on your tongue.

He notices, but decides not to prod further, lightly bumping your hip with his own as a signal to follow.

“Tomorrow is the day, y’know,” You mumble, kicking rocks with the tip of your shoe.

“Are we gonna turn into those couples?” He asks, pretentiously puckering his lips, eyes squinted shut.

You burst out laughing.

“I would break up with you first, sorry Minho.” Said puckered lips transform into a playful scowl.

“What? No treat for valentines?”

Blinking babydoll eyes up at you, you wrinkle your nose, coming to recognize what “treat” he was implying.

Earlier you would’ve kissed instantly, but an inkling of stubbornness kept you from giving into him this time.

Sneaking behind you, he ducks down, voice low enough for only your ears to hear.

“Didn’t seem you were too against it earlier.”

And with that, he races off, entirely too happy with himself and not likely to live down your reaction. Because you can’t disagree.

Since when were Lee Minho’s lips so kissable?

Knock.

Knock.

Your attention strays from the mirror at the sound, wondering if it was simply a figment of your imagination only for the sound to ensue.

Knock. Knock.

Who would be at your door at this hour in the middle of the week?

There’s a name on your tongue, but you don’t contemplate any longer, tiptoeing to the doorway to peer through the peephole.

And the sight before you makes every ounce of suspicion worthwhile.

Minho, holding a bouquet of roses and things unknown behind his back, is reciting.

He’s staring at his shoes, bouncing back and forth on his heels nervously.

Lee Minho is nervous.

Wanting just to stand there and watch him rehearse, you finally give in after a third knock scares you out of your wits—hesitantly opening the door and trying to placate the most surprised expression possible.

His eyes round as saucers, you literally watch the gears in his head turn in real time, extending the flowers out to you.

“Happy valentines. These are uh, for you.”

And his ears are red.

You’re going to implode from how cute this is.

Attempting to stave down the alarming amount of happiness you’re experiencing, you hold the flowers in one hand, awaiting whatever lie behind his back.

Although, as the outline of a box of chocolates appears, so does… a shampoo bottle.

What.

Bathing in a long silence, you can’t help but wonder you’re genuinely hallucinating. Glancing from his face to the literal shampoo in hand, he mirrors you, confused for a reason you’re trying to figure out as well.

“Is that… a shampoo bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you were running low the last time I came here.”

…

You’ve never received a valentine before, but this automatically took the cake.

Is it possible to fall in love after you’re given a shampoo bottle as a gift on valentines? Apparently so.

Nonetheless, work flashed past, barely able to register a thing between the many congratulations you received and the absence of Hyeongmi (assumed to be due to the brown-haired charmer beside you).

For now, you savor the freedom of the day, finally able to escape the pains of before and wallow in a new kind of excitement. Love.

Love delivered by Minho himself in the form of mini scraps he’s folded into hearts, slipping heart after heart onto your desk at any opportunity to the point you bump his leg beneath the table in warning.

He cheekily smirks in return, stupidly innocent face scheming with malice.

He’s getting an absolute kick out of this, and you hate to admit you enjoy it just as much.

As usual, you wait behind for him to catch up on your daily commute home—an activity you did long before any romantic feelings became involved.

That’s it. Minho’s pinpoint of romance.

Shampoo bottle, walks home, extra coffee, notes.

Minho doesn’t openly express his love, not unless he feels either adventurous or obligated. Instead, he studies. Your habits, the things you enjoy, your actions, preferences. That particular coffee order you liked, how you had ran out of shampoo.

Oh how you love him.

Though, rounding the sidewalk to your place, Minho grabs ahold of your wrist. In response, as soon as you turn your head, you’re mere centimeters from his face, simply standing there, proximity willing either of you not to move.

Initial words dying out, he slightly edges to the side, cocked in a way that has your mind racing.

Nose, cheek, but never lips.

No.

Your hands act before any other part of you, blocking his lips from yours.

“We-“

The look he’s giving you, shock.

You feel a hundred degrees hotter.

“We need to go inside,” You excuse yourself fast, the man tailing behind, grip still loosely attached to your wrist.

Quickly shutting the door behind you, it’s an immediate embarrassment flooding your frame that allows you to speak, words bursting outward in an uncontrollable cacophony.

“Minho I’m so sorry I have no idea what I was doing, I shouldn’t have done that, it was a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“

“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

His tone serves as the much needed breeze fanning your face, cooling you down enough to articulate sentences properly.

“I’m sorry, we’ve just never kissed on the lips and I feel like I’m gonna be horrible and kill the mood. This is stupid, I know, just.. bear with me please?”

His eyebrows furrow, forming together the equation piece by piece.

“You’ve.. You’ve never had your first kis—?”

You hush him furiously, slumping onto the couch dejectedly.

Yet, Minho doesn’t laugh nor pick fun regardless of how hilariously idiotic the occasion is. He’s quiet, concerned almost.

You add that to your long list of things you love about him.

Inhaling gradually, your focus flits to the window, collecting yourself, easing the frantic rush-hour traffic rampaging in your skull.

If you were one of those paper hearts he made, he’s pulling apart each careful fold in this very moment. Unraveling the layers till your bare self is exposed in all its anxiousness.

“I hate it. It feels like a part of that teenage youth everyone talks about is something I’ll never get to experience. I was too busy caring about school, and now I feel like I’ve missed out.”

Soaking in a quietness, you jump when he places a hand over yours, softly tracing the skin of your knuckles, glossy as he watches, carving each perfect aspect of you into memory.

“Well you may not be seventeen, but you’re never too old to learn to kiss.”

One hand cupping your jaw to garner your attention, you’re met with a glass-like visage.

Gentle.

“And I can teach you how.”

It’s always been business, you’ve always been business. Which is why, now confronting what feels to be the highest peak in your love life, you’re left a completely blank canvas. No rules, no instructions.

It’s terrifying.

“Min- Minho, I really haven’t done this before.”

You hastily pique, scooting backward in the cushions.

Curse the shakiness of your voice.

“If you don’t want to do this, tell me. We won’t.”

You quickly shake your head.

No, you want this, you’ve wanted this too badly to back out now.

“Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

It’s horrifically awkward at first, a tiny peck, then a bit longer till your arms creep over his shoulders, his fingers once holding your jaw steady now resting on your neck.

Best word to describe it? Messy.

“Breathe through your nose.”

“Minho— I’m suffocating here—“

You sputter back, quite literally heaving for breath.

Yes, it was otherworldly kissing him, and he was an insanely good kisser, but did this really require your lungs to practically burst?

“Are you teaching me how to give a blowjob or kiss?”

His smile transforms mischievously, a sneering laugh slipping past. You already know he’ll make a sly comment.

Minho winks. “We’ll get to that later.”

“I lost my urge to date you. Bye.”

“Noooo Y/n~” He whines profusely, warm hold on your waist beckoning another kiss filled with hushed giggles and incessant jeers from either party—ensuing a halfway unbuttoned shirt and quite possibly the most greedy ten minutes known to man.

Out of breath, he pulls back from your stomach, the ticklish feather-light kisses planted there earning a stifled giggle from you while he blinks upward, seeming to be focused on something.

“Minho?” You question, ignorant to how unbelievably obsessed with you he is, more than ever in this moment.

From your damp, sweaty skin to the few hairs stuck to your forehead. Your swollen lips, the way you laugh, your stomach dipping with the action. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this.

Reaching forward as if caught in a trance, he tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, voice barely audible upon pressing his forehead against yours.

And in the seclusion of your living room, tangled up together on the sofa, it’s just the two of you existing in this world.

“I hope you know I really meant it when I said I thought you were pretty too.”

Ah. He remembers. All that time ago.

Of course he does.

Kissing you for a time you can’t remember, you begin to wonder if that birthday wish of yours had came true after all.

Your feelings for Minho had always existed somewhere inside of you. Your head, your heart. A tiny inkling into something more, a could be. Two individuals wishing, waiting to make a move.

It seems the Valentines Pact sealed the deal.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @gimmeurtmi @jisuperboard @porang-poranglinos @palindrome969 @stayceebs97 @inniescandy-01 @idklin0

[brailsthesmolgurl]

APPRENTICESHIP

Preview: Set back in the olden days of China, your attendance was much summoned by Master Li Shen, a renowned Medical Physician that is in need of an apprentice. Known for his stoic personality, your temperance was definitely tested. But, could there be an actual explanation behind his stoicity?

Warnings: Angst but does come with fluff (that does not actually last long heh), surprise side character oops, suggestive themes because i know chu dirty dirty (like me)

P.S: I am not a doctor, hence most of the 'medication methods' mentioned in here are for the sake of the plot and is not and shall not be implied to real life practice! Futhermore, I am not a historian so I am not the best at depicting traditional China perfectly, all of the basis of my descriptions are taken off of the Chinese dramas I used to binge on. This story was also highly inspired by this amazing artwork and the most recent memory of his! He is always known as Doctor Zayne in modern days, so why not give it an inspirational twist and make him a highly honoured doctor in the older days of Chinese history! Divider is sourced from here!

The night after the incident, y/n could not wipe off the way events had unfolded during the night where Li Shen was tending to her wounds. The feeling of staying afloat while she was unconscious, could it be Li Shen who was carrying her back to his abode? Did he found her in the alley that night when the attack had happened? Or right when it was about to happen? She had so many questions, but little to none answers.

Running on assumptions does not seem to be worth her time either so she decided to confront Li Shen about it. However, it took her more than a week to muster up the courage she needed to ask him such questions that had been bottled up in her. Back to the current moment, she was sat in the treatment room, next to Li Shen, jotting down notes on the bamboo sticks for patient records. "Your wounds are not as deep, provide this young man with some herbs. You can take it everyday and you shall see improvement."

She wrote down the herbs that would be issued to the man and propped the ink brush against the ink stone, awaiting for the ink to seep further into the bamboo slip. Li Shen had gotten up, muttering to her that he shall be in his chambers and had asked her to finish up the current patient. Much obliged, she put the bamboo slip onto the tea table and grabbed some bandages made out of woven cotton.

The patient that sat in front of her was quite a good looking young man, long silvery-white hair that flowed down to his waist neatly tucked behind his shoulders as he was sat in front of her, top peeled off for her to examine his wound. He calls himself Qin Che when he was asked for his name at the start of the treatment. The man had eyes the shade of rubies that glinted whenever he watched her focusing on applying the herb onto his wound. So, this is the girl that the physician had set his eyes on? Qin Che finds it amusing.

"If it hurts, you can tell me and I shall let you have a breather." She glanced up from his naked torso and beamed warmly. Qin Che looked down at her, nostrils hanging high when he barely felt the sting of the herbs laid on his wound. He sighed and tugged a side of his lips up in a smirk, ruby gaze dancing between her eyes and her lips. Studying his prey carefully, watching her basking within the glow of the moonlight. "Is everything okay?"

"Never better." His voice, grumbled through his torso as he replied. This prompted her to fix her gaze back to his wound. The patient's body was full of cicatrixes, some formed scars, some still healing and some newly acquired like the one she is currently treating. He might be that tough of a hunter to obtain such scars. Her trail of doubt was interrupted when she felt a pressure against the top of her head. Looking up, she noticed Qin Che has his palm sat on her head, the smirk still stuck on his face. "You're as pretty as a doe aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" She was ready to pull back but his hand shifted positions to grab her by the nape of her neck and he pulled her upwards, his strength so great that all it took was one arm to get her secured within his lap. Y/n gasped but was immediately shushed by the man whom had already pressed his lips against hers. Her hands came up to push against his chest but it was to no avail. The man is built like a rock, heavy and immobile. "S...Stop." She begged with squeaks but the man did not budge, tongue darting out to lap at her bottom lip as his other arm grabbed her by the waist to secure her within his embrace. "Please..no..."

Based off of her will, he eventually pulled back, still holding y/n on his lap and he watched her flustered emotions, her arms raising up to shield her face. But Qin Che stopped her, wanting to savour the expression she was holding for the past few minutes. "You had never been touched before, haven't you?" His voice littering goosebumps onto her delicate skin. "Now I know why Li Shen was willing to leave you alone in the same room as me." She sensed betrayal, as if she was pawned off to a stranger for mere entertainment. Yet, she could not believe that Li Shen would do this to her. However, she could not even put a finger on what was going on in his head most of the time so who is she to assume that he may not have bad motives towards her?

Her mind is starting to be overwhelmed, hands turning cold, head still bowed low to avoid the intense gaze of the man with scarlet orbs. "He wouldn't do that." Her lips muttered what her conscience wants to believe but Qin Che only removed her off of his lap and he stood up, his height much taller than Li Shen's, making him much more intimidating. "You're lying." She could sense his presence, that same overwhelming aura she had gotten the moment she had entered the room. Fingers gripped under her chin and her head was tilted upwards, eyeing the man with the half naked torso, and a wicked smile on his handsome face.

"A pretty flower like you do not deserve to be deserted within such barren lands." He released his grip on her chin and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. His gaze seemingly had softened under the flickers of the candlelight. "It has been my pleasure to see you my princess. I look forward to our next meeting." His hands retracted, leaving the burning sensation behind as a mark. Pulling on his top, he secured it with a knot and he grabbed the sword that he had placed leaning against the wall. When he turned, she caught sight of his waist tag.

The small and compact identification tag was carved out of jadeite jade, the sheen of green unnaturally brighter within the shine of the moonlight. In this day and age, waist tags identity one's status, family lineage and also their wealth. Jadeite tags marks as one of the most influential beings within a nation and the fact that Qin Che has one, it enshrouds her small mind even more. This man is not an ordinary hunter as what she had figured, he is a scion. Her lips could not utter anything, for she had pieced the explanation for his aura, his scars, his attitude and his sword together and now had grown to be more wary of him.

Out of respect, she kowtowed, forehead pressed tightly against the back of her hands. The man sauntered over to her and she closed her eyes, anticipating any forms of physical contact that she does not even have the strength to fight against but it did not came. Instead, the man served her a command. "Fear me not, for I will come back for you, my flower." He ran his hands smoothly down the back of her head till he reached her nape and he knelt down on one knee, whispering into her ear, his breath batting against the shell of her ear. "Next time, I'm afraid I might not hold back my desires on you."

Li Shen got up from his seated position and headed over towards the patient room that y/n was last seen in. He was wondering why she has yet to bring by the patient records for storage. Sliding the doors open with a thud as it came to a stop, he was taken aback with the sight of her on the floor, hair once in a bun now unkempt, flowing down her back with ends meeting and spreaded out on the floor. Her dress was slightly crumpled and she was caught staring into the expanse of the cold hard floors. His heart faltered yet again.

"Y/n." He leaned down to her, lightly tapping her shoulder to elicit a response. Y/n's head turned as her name was called out and he could make out that she had been crying, with streaks of moisture on her cheeks that glistened under the moonlight and her eyes that was unwilling to meet his. "Did something happened between you and the patient while I was gone? Did he do something to you?"

Her lips quivered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes when Li Shen asked her about her wellbeing. The sense of betrayal had blinded her with such rage that she pushed him off, making him stumbled back and sat onto the floor and he watched when she dashed out of the room. "Y/N!" He shouted for her name, pushing himself off of the floor with one arm and he started sprinting after her.

Qin Che's arrival was undue. It was in the middle of the night and the man had appeared at his doorstep, with a huge gash on the side of his hip, blood soaked through his top. He is a stranger, for Li Shen had never met someone who had looked so intimidating like him. Although blood was dripping down from the sides of his lips, he seemed unfazed by his wounds, only asking for herbs and he shall be on his way.

But Li Shen still took him in, because assessing the way his clothings were tainted red, he could have died if he were to be told to leave the premises. However, his crimson eyes got Li Shen wondering if he was the myth that was foretold by the villagers; a king who failed to be crowned due to betrayal, a forbidden king so great that he moves only within the mist, bearing bloodshot eyes like a beast and with a strong desire for revenge against the kingdom. No questions were put forth of course, as Li Shen has never been the one to pry for answers. Especially when this man may be a dangerous individual.

Leaving her alone with Qin Che however, was not a decision he made abruptly. It was observed throughout treatment, that Qin Che was too weak to make any advances hence he decided to leave her alone to finish cleaning up his wounds. Li Shen had retreated back to his own quarters to seek for any other viable herbs that he may prescribe to the man. Yet again, Li Shen's guilt hits when he spots her disheveled figure on the floor, failing to meet his gaze and now refuses to be within his vicinity.

The physician trudged through the bamboo forests seeking for her, lantern hung at the end of a long stick, grasped within his tight grip as he navigated through the forest. The skies being the only witness to the events that had unfolded, quietly mocking Li Shen's emotions by sending thunder crackling through the dark voids of the night. Rain would come soon and his heart grew wary, worried for her safety. A few more moments went by and he heard rustlings of leaves, followed by sniffles.

"Y/n?" He tried to call her name again, and the lantern lit the narrow paths ahead, till he spotted a figure squatted near the berry bushes. "Y/n..." He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her any further and he asked. "Are you---" But trails off when he seeks her ankle peeking out from beneath her skirt, a few cuts littered on them. There are no doubts she would not be slightly hurt as she did charged out without any guidances of any lanterns. Yet again, Li Shen was relieved at least she is in one piece.

Without even seeking for her permission, the man bent down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up onto her feet. Y/N only continued sniffling, tantrum seeking defeat when she was urged to climb onto his back and she got on, holding onto the lantern to light their way home. The journey back was a bit of a distance, and the two were entertained with the choirs of frogs, chanting to welcome the rain that was about to pour. "Why did you gave me to him, alone?" She was the one who broke the silence, itching to seek for the ugly truth, or so that was what she had in mind.

"By no means I intended to. I wanted to get him another kind of herb so I was off to my room to look through my medicinal records." Li Shen explained, eyebrows now knitted together when he tried to balance himself while carrying her up a slope. "What happened in the room when I was away?"

Her voice was hushed, indicating her fear and embarassment. "He...He kissed me." The way Li Shen's body stiffened got her stamping her face against his back. The thunder had cut through the awkward silence in between them, and rain drops started to fall. The young physician looked up at the night sky, and continued his journey, not uttering anything else to combat the ongoing silence. He directed his focus towards getting them out of the rain as soon as possible.

Conversations with Li Shen were held to a minimal threshold for the next few days as there has been a spike in patients due to a common cold. Y/n was not allowed to be anywhere out of the premises of the clinic and is only allowed to treat selected patients, only females to be precise. Ever since that night, Li Shen's benevolence had been put to the test. Rejecting all patients whom had visited him during dusk and applying new rules to enforce her safety. Some may view this to be a result for his absolution, but Li Shen was put in a tight spot. In order to protect her, certain sacrifices would have to be made. His decision is perhaps absolute.

Y/n was sat at her desk, brush in her hand as she is writing a letter for her father, to bid a greeting to him as it has been a long while since she had last went home. Homesick she does feel sometimes, but ever since the new rules are applied, she felt even more lonelier than she had ever been. Small talks with Li Shen now are deliberately rarer, and she could barely muster the courage to ask his permission to allow her to go to the market with him for groceries. A knock on her door jolted her and she turned, facing the door as it slid open, revealing the man she had thought of.

Li Shen slips himself into her room, a scroll in his hand and a bag in another. "Y/n." His call for her name has always been gentle, the only time he had ever resulted to a frantic call for her name was when she ran away from him, out of his personal space, leaving him in a state of guilt and confusion. He took a seat opposite her at her desk and places the items he was holding onto the ground carefully. "I am here to discuss with you about some matters."

Setting aside her brush, she looked up at him and awaited for him to speak. Her mind wandering towards what would be the discussion this time, part of her wishing he would care for her, maybe present a change in her daily routines or maybe finally allow her to take a breather outside of the house with a much lenient curfew. But his stoic look does not look promising. "I will be discharging you back to your home town. You are no longer needed to be my assistant."

Y/n felt her world spinning, her brain hammering against her skull when he literally just verbally dismissed her. He handed the scroll, his eyes studying her shocked features, but he remained expressionless. "Was this because of what had happened? When that patient did something humiliating?" Y/n was upset when the whites of her eyes are starting to line with red veins, tears surfacing. "Or was it because I ran away and you find me to be troublesome to your operations?" She had never been so straightforward, so outspoken about herself that Li Shen is all the more convinced that she will no longer remember her past memories with him and this is the right choice for him to make. For her good and for his own to forget about her.

Reluctantly sighing, Li Shen's eyes failed to meet hers. His sanctimonious act felt like an abrasive insult towards the young woman. "Nary of your propositions affected me when I decided upon this." His hands worked on smoothing a slight crease on the shoulder of his white hanfu. "I took you in only because of your father's wish and insistent nature." And maybe I just wanted to see you again. The last sentence of his was hushed, restrained from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. "You may pack up your necessities, your carriage will be ready by tomorrow for you."

He caught her hunched figure, candle light painting warmth onto her now pallor face. The silence in between them was cut off with the sounds of toads croaking. Her small hands had scrunched onto the piece of scroll, distorting the scroll into a crooked semi circle. She looks pissed, but had uttered naught. "There is one more thing I had in my mind." Laying down the scroll in her hand, she looked up, pupils dilated as she moved closer towards Li Shen. She was expecting him to move back, to not be so keen on her invading his personal bubble but he stayed put in his spot. "What went through your mind that day, when you found me in the patient's room?"

An imaginary spotlight was placed onto the young physician, his eyes staring straight back at hers, his forest-like irises eaten by his black pupils. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise, she cuts him off with a question that reeked of dourness. "Were you elated perhaps?" His eyebrows furrowed as she continued questioning him. "That you managed to pawn me off to that patient and allowing him to display such indecent manners upon me." Her torrents did not seemed unending, her laments expressed through every single word of hers. "My father gave me a choice, whether to be married to someone of royalty that he had picked for me, or to work for you. I chose you, Li Shen."

Li Shen although seemed indifferent, he felt like he was to be blamed for the guilt she is feeling. Or whatever negative emotions she has to hold onto at this very moment. "I figured it can't be a coincidence, but, having you to send me off now, maybe it was my father's plan afterall. Maybe he did got you to set me up with that patient and after what the man had done to me, I would be bound to him, for I no longer maintain the chastity of my lips." The tears finally shown themselves, trailing down her pale cheeks and dripping down the edge of her jaw. "I never thought---"

"I would not do that to you." Li Shen chimed in before she could continue, already annoyed at the accusations that were placed upon him. He himself did not know that Qin Che is a royalty, nor did he paid specific attention to his identification tag around his waist. Li Shen placed two fingers under her chin and brought her face up just high enough so he may see her. Eventhough she is crying, she still nevertheless looked ethereal to his eyes. "I'm sorry that I made you feel this way y/n. But I did not act according to your father's will to find you someone of royalty. For I am no matchmaker." His eyes traced down her tear streak, till it came to a halt at her plump lips. "In fact, your father sent you to me not only because of your apprenticeship," his voice had gotten hushed and it was like he had silenced the croaks of the toads outside of the room they were in. All y/n could hear was the sound of his gentle voice, cooing her. "but he seeks for us to be in matrimony too."

Gasping, she blinked her eyes rapidly, refusing to believe that Li Shen is supposedly going to be the one that she shall be holding matrimony with. She could not bring herself to say anything, but to only be lost within his gentle, eager gaze. Li Shen's eyes darted back to her lips, and he slowly leaned in, giving up the advices thrown by his mind as he let his conscience took over him. "That day, when I found you, I was beyond furious. I never thought seeing you in that state would take me such great willpower to hold me back from acting brashly. I had never wished for you to be in danger, y/n." His lips hovered over hers, and she could feel his slightly quickened breaths feathering against her upper lips. "I want you, y/n."

The collision of theirs lips was a burst of emotions, a canonical event that shall reshape the course of their relationship. Li Shen had held back long enough that he thought his desires were going to vanish if she were to leave him. But the longingness he felt, mixed with his desire for her love, was not a good mix and it showed through his fervent kiss. He pushed her back, hand placed behind her head to be a cushion for her as she laid back against the mat. His lips were soft, gentle and needy, lapping over hers like soft tides over the edge of the beaches. His kiss had set Qin Che off to another tier --- imposing a new threshold for y/n--- as it was slow, unrushed, emotional and it felt right for her.

After a moment, their passionate embrace was withdrawn and Li Shen leaned back slightly, a tinge of scarlet now apparent on his cheeks and tips of his ears. The kiss was abrupt and with her most recent trauma, he was not sure if she could have taken their kiss lightly. However, she seemed to be spacing out, eyes slightly narrowed, lips slightly parted and complexion mimicking his, with the scarlet blush splattered across her cheeks too. She did not seemed to be in any abnegation, but she does bear the look of someone who was flabbergasted, or more confused. “My apologies.” The physician blurted out and her eyes travelled to meet his. Engaged in an intense stare, Li Shen could feel his heart trying so hard to lurch out of his chest.

“Li Shen.” A hand on his got the thump of his heart to slow down. Hearing the way she had called out for him and judging by the way she had reacted to his kiss, Li Shen was convinced that perhaps, perchance, she might not have taken it negatively afterall. “I think I need some time.” And there goes the crack on his heart. But when her fingers wrapped around his hand, it got him to continue listening to her. “I like you Li Shen, but I think with what had happened recently, I think it would do me good to retreat back to my home and to recollect myself.” Her words were drawn out slowly, as she seeks for his understanding on her situation, for she is nervous too.

“I understand y/n.” Li Shen reassured her, using his other hand to cup one side of her cheeks. “I will give you all of the time you need, but do not wrong me for giving up on you y/n.” A small smile then appeared on his face when she placed some of her weight against his palm, with her eyes closed, seeking refugee within his warmth. “I do want to be in matrimony with you.”

Her eyes slowly opened, and her smile surfaced. Under the cadence of the candle light, the dim, warm light danced across her face akin to how the butterflies flopped in Li Shen’s belly too. Being emblazoned with the memory of her lips on his, he could no longer look forward to that kind of passionate interaction as he knew that just because he got to hold himself back this time, it may not work as he intended anymore next time. And if her chastity have to be maintained till after marriage then Li Shen would patiently await for her, no matter what it takes or how long it takes for him. “I should leave you to rest for the night, y/n.”

Leaving her in the room, knowing that she would be departing the next day gave Li Shen a heavy heart. It was so heavy that it weighed in for his footsteps, the wood beneath evolved into imaginary mud, dragging his steps into clomps and slowing him down insignificantly. Arriving at the doors leading to his chambers, he heard a shrill of a crow, followed with an ear piercing scream. Li Shen turned and started dashing his way back to her room. It was no doubt that the scream belonged to y/n. "Y/n!" He called out, slamming both of her sliding doors opened, any harder, they would have broke off of its hinges.

Standing by the edge of her window frame, Li Shen could make out the figure that invaded her space. The broad-shouldered, towering man adorns a menacing aura that Li Shen had never encountered before. When he turned, Li Shen managed to seize half of his features in the gloomy room. This is the same guy whom had laid hands on y/n, leaving her stunned within the treatment room, unable to croak even a word, and leading her to flight due to his revolting actions. There, in the shroud of darkness, stood Qin Che, bearing the pupils of a monstrous beast that gleamed red under the silver moonlight, with y/n hoisted up in his arms like a porcelain doll that shall be shattered tonight.

Special tags: @xvysarene @pinkblusheschuu @uyenlee

[444ngles]

Paint me like one of your French girls

synopsis: the night of your mentor's final show, things get a bit frisky content: fem reader, geto suguru! is a caligrapher, geto suguru, dirty talk, rough sex, praise, choking, p-ssy slapping, geto is packing icl, he paints on you, fingering, swearing, pet names, overstim, breeding

Wrapping up the last national tour show, your mentor took his bow, the crowd offering a standing ovation - rightly so. After all, you were the apprentice of one of the most esteemed calligraphers of your time. As always, you waited to greet Geto at the wing, a bouquet of flowers and sake in hand, over thirty shows in less than half a year was no easy feat, even for a professional. 

Taking the deepest of bows, Geto’s hair fell from his shoulders, yukata slipping slightly, the nape of his neck exposed. This was always your favourite part, it wasn’t professional by any means, but no one could deny that your master was a true adonis. From where you stood, he seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting, milky skin reflecting the subtle glow of the candle, looking almost translucent. It was also only from this angle that you could truly appreciate his profile, angular jaw and nose contrasting so magically with the soft slopes and curves of his lips and forehead. Finally, now as he looked at you with the most elegant smile, he approached, with eyes the colour of the darkest of voids, consuming you every second you held his gaze. Expression steeled, you almost forget to hand him his presents.  

“Incredible…”

“What was that?” Geto asked, eyes still on you, lips flushed such a delicate shade of pink. You knew it was inappropriate to fantasise about your mentor, but who could resist? When in the presence of a prodigy, it would almost be wrong not to worship him. 

Flustered, you laugh stiffly, handing him the bouquet of white lilies. “N-nothing…congratulations, as always, you were a pleasure to watch!” Keeping hold of the sake, you exhale a sigh of relief. Finally, with the tour over, you could relax - travelling daily was exhausting, to say the least. 

“Care to share a drink with me?” Geto nods to the bottle in your hand before peeping out to check the crowd has cleared, leaving the stage completely empty. 

“It’d be an honour.” Smiling enthusiastically, you followed him to the calligraphy table, breath caught in your throat as your giddy heart began to swell. Not only was this your first time on stage, it was your first time drinking with Geto.

“Stop being so formal with me…you’re off the clock.” Chuckling, he pushes the pillow towards you, kneeling on the floor opposite. 

“Old habits die hard.” Remembering to treat Geto as an equal was almost impossible. In your eyes, he was always the inspiration that had offered you personal tuition, a miracle in all sense of the word. Now, being able to call him your friend as well as your mentor felt like a fever dream. 

Pouring the sake into cups, he serves it to you. “Cheers!” Tapping the rims of your glasses together, you finally feel the tension break. 

The more you drank, and the longer you talked, the more you began to unwind. Noticeably, your yukata had begun to slip from your shoulders, the soft slopes and curves of your frame catching Geto’s eyes. Initially, he didn’t feel the need to address it, but when you finally dropped your hair from its formal updo he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. Taking a prolonged inhale, Geto digested the sight of such a beautiful woman before him. Probably goaded by the intimate setting and alcohol coursing through his veins, he suddenly felt the desire to touch you.  

Similarly, you had noticed the way his adams apple bobbed as he talked, and the way the sake that missed his mouth glossed his lips, his thumb swiping it away. Even the way he sat seemed to almost invite you to touch him, leant back on his arms, one leg propped up and the other splayed to the side. If not for your fear of ruining the otherwise pleasant atmosphere, you might have begged him to kiss you. 

“Kiss me…” 

Oh. It seemed you already did. 

“S-sorry?” Shocked, Geto’s eyes widened. He’d just been babbling about this book he’d read when you suddenly interrupted him. 

“I said, kiss me.” You don’t know whether it was the alcohol, but you had a newfound confidence, one that instantly excited Geto. The way your dollish eyes searched his for any kind of reciprocation almost made him coo, despite your bold words, it was evident you were just as shocked as he was. 

With no hesitation, Geto leaned across the table, his large hand wrapping around the back of your neck and pulling you into the most passionate of kisses. It was almost ravenous the way his tongue forced its way down your throat, making you yelp in surprise. He can’t help but chuckle at your cute reaction, struggling to contain his hunger as he kisses and nibbles at your lips. “I…thought…you’d…never…ask…” With each word punctuated by a kiss, your brain struggles to catch up with your body, mindlessly kissing him back with just as much desire. 

To your displeasure, Geto tears away from your lips, admiring the way your eyes had glossed over, lips swollen and sparkling with a mixture of his saliva and yours. “My gorgeous girl…” With a deep exhale, he guides you around the table, seating you infront of him as he reconnects your lips, the returning sensation comforting the growing ache between your thighs. Carefully, he lowers you, head resting on the tatami flooring as he towered above you, refusing to break the kiss. 

Geto’s hands began to tug at the fabric of your yukata, pulling it further down your shoulders, stopping at your cleavage before leaning back to admire just how angelic you looked beneath him, hair splayed beside you, arms curled up at your sides as you patiently anticipated his next move. 

“Can I touch you?” Nodding in response, he seems unsatisfied. “I need to hear you say it, my love.”

“You can touch me…” Almost sounding desperate with how breathless those words came out, Geto couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Thank you.” Only, you were shocked when you followed his movements, hand reaching for his calligraphy brush to the right of him, dabbing it in the ink and blotting away the excess.

“W-what are yo-” Before you can finish, Geto hushes you.

“Relax…you’ll enjoy it…” Gently, he leans down to press a loving kiss to your nose. Geto’s thumb soothed over your collar bones, tracing the raised skin, smoothing it out as if it were paper. Then, the bristles met your skin, cold liquid making you flinch. The air was tense as the paintbrush glided against you, each stroke and curve tingling on your skin, feeling like ghostly kisses across your chest. “Might be my best work.” Smirking, he admired how the dark ink settled, the kanji that spelt his name staining your skin.  Blowing gently, Geto instantly made space to spell his name down your neck, softly caressing where he intended to write. 

Over and over he marked your skin, leaving little space across your chest for much else. All the while, he began to shift on top of you, knee wedged temptingly between your thighs, inching closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. You hate to admit it, but the way his hair draped, grazing your hands, and that concentrated expression that contorted his pretty face spread goosebumps across your skin. Especially when so close, the scent of his sweet-woody cologne and the raw smell of skin encompassed you, warming your cheeks. “Look at that...so beautiful.” Geto exhaled, finally retiring his paintbrush, unable to turn his eyes away from your decorated decolletage. 

Reaching up, you tucked some loose strands of hair behind his ear, hearing him hum as he leant into your touch. Finally, he starts to kiss you again, this time, his knee firmly pressed against you, applying sinful pressure to your buzzing cunt. Long digits began to trace your figure, following the curves beneath the linen of your yukata before coming back up to graze past your hardening nipples. Geto could hardly contain himself, the way your body subtly demanded his touch made his already hard cock throb furiously, precum glazing his sensitive head. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming his knee with an easy-to-miss eagerness, your hips rolling gently to make the most of the sensation. 

“Suguru…” He was pleasantly surprised when he heard you call out his first name. “T-touch me.”

“Awe, my baby can't wait any more?” Suddenly, his tone seemed a lot more demeaning, almost sarcastic as he retracted his knee slightly, eliciting a peeved whimper. “Show me how bad you want it…” Whispering seductively, he watched in anticipation as your hands ran down his neck and under the neckline of his clothes, before going back up to his face. Cupping his cheeks, you brought him in for a more intimate kiss, desperately rocking against his thigh, each time feeling his painfully hard erection poking your stomach. You almost shudder, realising each time just how big he was, feeling so thick and hard against you, even through the fabric of his yukata - ‘would he fit?’ you thought.

Laughing into the kiss, he feels how you momentarily freeze, finally giving in, he simply couldn’t wait any longer - he just had to break you. 

Digits reaching between your thighs, he prods and rubs at the wet patch on your panties, sighing as your slick coated his long fingers. Pulling them aside, his fingers scissor at your entrance before pushing in, stretching out your fluttering walls. “S-so tight…can’t imagine how good this is going to feel.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he nibbled and kissed at the shell, soft groans flooding your senses. 

You can barely hold yourself together as Geto’s forefinger stroked and curled against the plush of your walls, hitting spots you’d never reached by yourself. “F-fuck…s’so good…don’t stop!” Arching into his touch, Geto almost feels like he could bust here and now, watching keenly how you writhed and squirmed on his fingers. Desperate to hear more, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing precise circles while continuing to piston into your entrance. “M-more…”

Coming out as nothing more than a whisper, Geto could’ve missed it, but he was so intent on catching every moan and whine that it was unmistakable. “Oh? Think you can handle my cock already?” Scoffing, he lands a hard slap on your cunt, watching with a senile grin as you quiver at the sharp sting. “Fine…but don’t tell me to stop.” 

Falling back on his knees, Geto parts his yukata, and you watch eagerly as he does so. Thank god you did, the sight of his cock springing free, slapping against his abs was a sight that almost made you cum there and then, audibly moaning. Like you thought, he was huge, his hands wrapping around the tip and smearing his precum along his slit. With little effort, his other hand brought your legs up, holding them to your chest in a mating press. The view alone made Geto groan, the way your messy cunt glistened with slick only encouraging him further. With one pump of his length, his length is gliding between your folds, tip rubbing on your desperate clit, walls tensing in anticipation. 

“Pl-please…Sugu…” Whining so pathetically, Geto could hardly resist, roughly pushing his head past your entrance at your command. Fists squeezing tight, your face screws in surprise, the sudden feeling of being split apart on his length making your body stiffen. “ S’too much…too much!” Almost screaming as he continues to push his length in, with no pity he's bottoming out, tip pushing against your cervix.

“You can take it…I know you can.” Leaning against your thighs, he pushes himself almost impossibly deeper, finally being able to see the sweet expression on your face. His spare hand reaches down to your cheek, wiping a stray tear, twitching inside of you as he revelled over the way you struggled to take him. Almost impatiently, he’s pulling out again, thrusting his hips dangerously back into you, abusing your pretty cunt.

“So fucking good…you’re so f-fucking tight…” Hissing between clenched teeth, you barely make out the sly smirk painting his expression, the once delicate touch of your cheek being replaced with a tight grip on your neck, smudging the ink that he’d spent so much time decorating it with. “My precious girl…taking me so well…” 

Considering how composed and gentlemanly Geto usually was, just hearing him curse, let alone talk so filthily made you tighten around him. A flood of whines and moans pours straight from your parted lips to Geto’s cock, thrusting so ruggedly inside you, he almost felt more drunk off your pussy than the sake. Like a madman, he continued to push into you, sucked in by your walls, moulding around him like putty. 

“That’s it, such a good girl…I knew you could do it, just like that.” Rambling praises, Geto seems to make up for how rough he was being, hold on your throat pulsing as he struggled to contain his excitement. He almost felt like a teenage boy in that moment, so desperate to cum he could have released there and then. If not for his ego, he probably would’ve. But the way you squeezed and milked him was almost irresistible, something he’d never felt with anyone else. 

You, on the other hand, had never felt this full in your life. Not only was his sheer size impressive, but the way he precisely hit that sensitive spongey spot over and over again with little struggle sent you tumbling over the edge. 

“Cu-umming!” Gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he continued to pumel into you, those words were music to his ears, giving him new found stamina to continue ruining you. 

“That's it…cum for me.” Breathless, his words barely come out as grunts, hardly audible over the sound of his balls brutally slapping against your ass. Each thrust became more and more targeted, better yet when he leaned back, bringing his hand away from your neck and back to your partially neglected clit, watching in awe as you shook against him. Rolling the bundle of nerves so skillfully between his index and thumb as he continued to pummel into your pulsing core, he could hardly wait to see how you melted when you came. 

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to wait much longer, your shaking becoming more intense, arms falling slack as hot white flashes blinded your vision, shooting straight for your brain. The warm sensation that travelled up your legs almost numbed them, especially when he continued at such a violent pace. “F-fuck…what a pretty girl, cumming all over my cock…” Cursing and muttering, he bites harshly onto his lower lip. 

“Sugu…” Overstimulation washed over you when Geto continued to fuck into you even as your high passed. “S’too much…s-stop.” 

“Take it, fucking take it…I’m so close.” Feeling his cock twitch against your slick walls, sucking him in so deliciously despite your pleas. Each thrust became sloppier, still reaching just as deep as he came closer and closer to his orgasm. The volume of his groans and grunts only seemed to get louder, almost overpowering yours. 

With one final thrust, Geto was pumping you full of his hot cum, fucking it into you like he couldn’t let an ounce go to waste. “Such a good pussy…oh-oh-oh.” Struggling to even run that nasty mouth, his jaw fell slack, eyes squeezing shut as he road out his high, letting you take every minute of it. 

Coming to a stop, Geto released you from the almost painful mating press, almost cumming again when he watched his seed spill out of your cunt. “I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you…” Running his hands through his hair, he drops to the floor beside you, lying on his side. 

Planting delicate kisses to your temple, his does his best to soothe the the pain, rubbing your thighs gently. “That was…” Lost for words, and exhausted, you struggle to vocalise just how you had felt.

“Incredible?”

Scoffing, you hit his chest, realising he had heard what you said earlier that evening. “Fuck you…” Rolling your eyes, you struggle to contain the stupid smile that spread across your lips.

“Again? Didn’t know I was that good.” 

The two of you laughed, laying on the stage a little while longer. What a wonderful finale to a brutal tour.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

[Accidental Confessions]

!NSFW! Rolan/Femcis Reader Mutual Pining, Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, Dirty Talk, Vaginal Sex 5.3k

Rolan accidentally spills a love potion on himself. When you come to visit him, he can't hold himself back.

~~~ Being an employee at Sorcerous Sundries has it's perks--getting to hang out with Loroakan's new apprentice being one of them. You often muster up the courage to chat with Rolan during work hours, and though he seems stiff and nervous at first, he quickly warms to the environment. But when the beatings start, he starts withdrawing again. You try to talk to him about it, you show concern and worry, but he bats it all down with a few curt words. It absolutely breaks your heart. And then Loroakan dies. Rolan is busier than ever--you hardly ever see him at the ground floor, but that's fine by you, because when you do see him, he's happy. Tired and overworked, sure, but so happy that your heart aches with your own happiness. You do get a chance to chat with Cal and Lia quite often, and you live off of the scraps that they nonchalantly give you about their brother. How he can be quite stubborn. How he's a picky eater. How he snores. All of these tiny little glimpses of Rolan, filling out your fantasies of what life could be like, if only you had the courage to actually confess. When Cal and Lia are out of town, though, you try to check on Rolan a few times a day, bringing him food and drink, because you know he would forget to nourish himself otherwise. Even though he's neck deep in work, he always expresses appreciation with a soft smile during these moments. You tell yourself that it's all you need.

But one of these visits goes quite differently.

You worry your hands over your dress one last time before you go through the portal, a tray of tea and cake in hand (you always try to indulge Rolan's sweet tooth when you can). Rolan doesn't appear to be on the first floor, and a quick glance at the desks on the various balconies brings up nothing. Wondering if he may have slipped out while you were busy downstairs, you carefully make your way up the nearest set of stairs to get a better look, pondering if you should call out his name.

But then you hear him-- a low, pained groan, followed by hurried breathing. Your head turns to the sound, and you spot a pair of feet from behind several stacks of books on the ground.

"Master Rolan?" You hurry over, tea sloshing. It looks that he had been removing all the books from one of the shelves, likely to sort and catalog them. Did he fall and hurt himself?

Worry clots your throat as you round the stacks and he fully comes into view at your feet. He's got his back propped against the half-empty bookshelf, his legs sprawled out in front of him, his hands clawing weakly at his robes. And his face-- well, you don't really know what to make of it. He looks to be in pain, but even with his furrowed brow and panting mouth, you know in your core that that's not entirely correct.

"R-Rolan!" You nearly throw the tray down as you fall to your knees beside him, hands fluttering over his heaving chest, not sure what's going on or what you can do to help.

Rolan's eyes flick up, as if only just noticing your presence. The rest of his body seems desperate, out of control, but his eyes...they're assured, steady, unblinking. And, you note with a chill, they're almost entirely black. His pupils have blown so wide that only the smallest sliver of gold rings around them, like an eclipse. "You," Rolan gasps, his hands stopping their incessant grabbing of his own clothes to grab at you instead, "Of course it's you..." He gives a short bark of a laugh that dwindles into a breathy sigh as his arms wrap around your back, drawing you close with a surprising strength, "It's always been you, hasn't it?" Being pulled into an impromptu hug by Rolan would have sent you into a tizzy in any other circumstance, but right now you know that you can't be distracted by your own feelings. Something is wrong, very wrong, and Rolan isn't in his right mind. What was he even talking about? Are you the cause of this, somehow?

"M-Master Rolan," You try to pull free from his grip, and as much as it pains you mentally to do such a thing, it seems to be nothing compared to the wounded sound that Rolan makes when you finally wrestle free.

"Please," Rolan begs, dark eyes never leaving yours, his hands still on your sides, "Don't leave me, I--" Rolan bares his teeth as he fights to catch his breath, "Something...something's wrong."

The absolute desperation written across his face has your own breath struggling to come and go.

"What happened?" As you say it you grab his hands, ignoring the little thrill it gives you, and hold them between the two of you. "Talk to me, Rolan. Are you hurt?"

"Hurt..." Rolan's head hangs but his eyes are still on your face, as if it's his duty to look at you, "It hurts, yes--" He groans, a mixture of pain and aggravation, and his back arches away from the bookcase as he draws your hands to his chest with a near painful grip. "Please touch me, touch me..."

You're too flabbergasted to fight back as your hands are forcibly dragged down his torso. Rolan moans at the contact, as if the touch is all that he's needed. Even through the fabric of his robes, you can feel him-- the hard ridges of his infernal ribcage, then the softness of his stomach, and then-- You yank your hands away before they get lower, heat flooding your face and cold waves of shock wracking your frame.

He's turned on. The revelation smashes into you like a hammer to the back of the head. There's no way, right? Rolan, strong, proud, perfect Rolan is currently writhing beside you with need. Your crush, your infatuation, your beautiful, unattainable daydream of a man...There's no way that he's currently drawing your hands back down, bringing them to the distinct outline that presses from under his robes, and it even gives a twitch as he catches you noticing it.

"Please?" Rolan's voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper as he stops your hands right above his erection, "Please, just...a little, I only need a little bit..." His hands squeeze your own as he pleads.

Your body is covered in goosebumps and you can feel your thundering heartbeat in your throat...and between your legs. But despite that, you know you can't take advantage of the situation. It would be too easy to give in, to touch him in all the ways you've fantasized, but you know just how wrong that would be. Because you know there’s something else at play here. Rolan isn’t like this–he would never lose his faculties in such a way.

"I-I can't."

His face goes slack, a look of completely devastated disbelief. You squeeze his hands back, trying to ignore the pang of guilt at making him look so, so heartbreakingly sad.

"Rolan, please listen." You clear your throat as his eyes look unwaveringly into yours. "You're not yourself. You don't want me. You're under the influence of something--a spell, or maybe a potion..."

Rolan shakes his head as you speak, first softly, then with more force, denying everything that you say.

"Yes, Rolan." You say firmly. "Please, I need you to think. You were clearing this shelf before I came in, weren't you? Did you open an odd book, scroll, anything?"

"No, you need to listen." The helpless desperation that Rolan's been soaked in up until this point disappears in an instant. His body stiffens as he sits up, sharp claws digging into the tender skin of your wrists as he pulls your hands to his chest. You can feel the hectic speed of his heart. "I want you," He groans and licks his lips, eyes darting down to your mouth for a brief moment before locking back onto your eyes with a fiery resolve, "I've wanted you for so long." He grimaces, eyes glossy with emotion, "Please. Please believe me."

Oh, he's making this very, very difficult. The sincerity that drips from every word threatens to swallow you into this fantasy-- but that's what this is. Some manufactured fantasy spun by some incredibly potent magic.

But even still, your resolve is wearing down, and fast.

You have to get help, but the risk of ruining Rolan's reputation puts you in a very tricky predicament. You can't go and fetch just anyone. If word gets out about this, Rolan would surely be embarrassed. Perhaps Tolna is still downstairs...she might be able to help?

You raise up on one knee, making to leave, but your foot connects with something on the floor. You snap your head to the side just in time to see a potion bottle roll unceremoniously across the carpet. It's uncorked, but the tapered neck has kept some of the contents inside-- a nearly translucent pink liquid sloshes inside of it before it connects with the handrail of the stairs with a small clink.

So it was a potion, after all. Even if you knew that Rolan was under the influence of something, there's the tiniest part of you that feels hurt. Crushed by your own naivety. Even if you know that it's a ludicrous notion--Rolan would never bother with someone like you, and even if he did, it certainly wouldn't be like this-- there was some thread of hope there, somewhere deep in your heart, that maybe he really did feel something for you.

But of course not. Ridiculous. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Did you drink that?" You turn back to Rolan and try to gesture to the bottle with your hand, but Rolan still has it in a death-grip. You nod towards it with your head instead. "Why would you do something like that?"

"What?" Rolan huffs, eyes never leaving your face, "What are you...?" He grimaces and tugs at your hands, a note of frustration furrowing his brow, "Are you teasing me?" That causes a flicker of happiness to light up his face, easing the tension from his jaw, "You're toying with me, aren't you?" And again his face shifts, taking on that serious edge of desperation he had before, his voice falling to an intimate hush, "You want me to beg for you, don't you? I can beg for you, if that's what you wish--whatever you want."

He's hardly making any sense-- you're really not sure if he's just too far gone to remember, or if he really didn't drink it. You can't think of why he would take such a potent love potion, so perhaps it fell on him while he was clearing the shelf....that makes far more sense. And with Loroakan being the bastard that he was, it doesn't surprise you in the slightest that he'd have something so nefarious on hand.

The story starts to fall into place, as well as a course of action. You need to take the potion bottle downstairs. Hopefully Tolna will still be at her counter, but if not, you can run over to the nearby apothecary. Once the potion is identified, you can get an antidote, and then everything will be okay.

But first...you have to pry yourself free from Rolan. That might be the most monumental task of all. But you have a little plan for that as well.

"Rolan," He perks up as you say his name, a small, hopeful smile shaking on his lips. "I need you to stay here, okay?"

"No." This smile disappears just as quickly as it had appeared. He shakes his head like a petulant child, sweating palms pressing your hands more firmly against his chest, "You're not leaving me."

"Just for a moment," You assure him, forcing a calm, even tone. "You said you'd do anything for me, didn't you?"

"Not this," Rolan frowns so hard that his chin dimples and his eyes shine with desperation. You realize that he's on the verge of tears. "Y-you can't leave me..." His eyes rake over your face, looking for any shred of mercy, before he hoarsley croaks out, "Please."

Oh gods. This might not just be a monumental task--it's shaping up to be an impossible one.

It's time to switch gears. Playing the calm, collected one isn't getting you a single inch, but playing his game might get you somewhere.

And it's for Rolan's sake. Completely for his sake. You aren't doing it for your own desires. Just merely...playing the game.

"Listen to me...darling." Your voice trembles at the edges and prickles of heat bloom on your face and chest, "I need you to be good and stay right here." You swallow thickly before adding, "You want to be good for me, don't you?"

The groan that leaves Rolan nearly fogs your brain completely over. He leans his head back against the shelf, his horns clacking dully against the wood and his adam's apple jerking roughly as the noise from his throat dwindles into a low, needy whine.

"Please," He pants, body rolling up in a pseudo-thrust before collapsing back to the ground in a mess of shivers, "Good boy...I'm your good boy..."

Such a simple phrase, and such a strong reaction...the excitement that wracks through your body is so potent that you actually feel numb.

No. No. You have to rein yourself in. You can't let yourself get swept up in Rolan's condition. If you took advantage of him right now, he would never forgive you. Fuck, you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself.

"Th-that's right." You hurriedly say, mouth dry, "Be good for me, and stay right here." The squeak of your voice diminishes any sort of authority you hope to convey, but it's the best you can muster.

You've still got one foot on the floor and make to stand up fully, hoping the action will finally pry your hands free of Rolan's grasp--

"No!"

The force of the word is only matched by the force of which you're pushed back, tumbling to the floor unceremoniously and landing on your bottom. A shocked exclamation leaves you, but it's jerked from your lungs as Rolan pounces you, his full weight knocking you flat on the floor and pinning you.

All at once, the dynamic has shifted into something far more dangerous. Rolan's hair is falling out of it's neatly styled coif and frames his face as he looks down at you, a predatory glaze shining in his dark eyes. With his hair obscuring the light on his face, the angles look much more severe, and the gold of his irises damn near glow with their intensity.

What do you do? Do you fight back? Cold, brittle panic rises in your throat as you realize just what sort of position you're in. His hands are on either side of you, caging you in, and your legs have been rendered useless with his knees between them.

"Don't leave me," Even if his position gives him dominance, his voice is still pleading, desperate. "I-I need you. So please..."

"Rolan," You say carefully, voice tight, "Don't do anything you'll regret." You think to put your hands on his chest to keep him at bay, but fear touching him might send him into a frenzy.

"Regret...?" Rolan searches your face, trying to glean more understanding but seeming to come up short. "I don't regret adoring you."

He truly doesn't seem to understand the situation he's put you in. And perhaps you don't either, because your heart beats faster at his words, magic-induced as they may be. The initial fear you felt is now melting away into an uncertain excitement-- Rolan is on top of you, his knees pressed against your inner thighs, his lips parted and eyes glimmering with admiration. How many times have you dreamt of just this? How easy it would be to believe his sweet words, to believe that the man above you truly does want you.

"You don't." You're not sure if you're saying it more for his sake or yours. "Rolan, you don't adore me. You've been drugged and aren't thinking clearly." The words taste bitter, but you suppose truth often can be.

Rolan growls in frustration, and you hear his tail smack against something behind him.

"Why don't you believe me?" There's tension in his face, but it loosens as he shakes his head slowly, "What do I need to say for you to believe me?"

"You don't--"

"I do." Rolan drops from his hands onto his forearms, bringing your faces mere inches apart, "Fiercely."

Feeling his hot breath mixing with your own has your mind clouding over. All you can muster is the same two words.

"You don't..."

"Every day I look forward to you bringing me tea. To the point that I've been getting less work done, just waiting to see you." Rolan exhales harshly, in something like a disbelieving laugh, "Sometimes, I'll come downstairs just to watch you work. Just to catch another glimpse of you."

There's been plenty of times when you've been in the shop and caught him on the second floor balcony, but had he really been watching you? You'd always be too flustered to do nothing more than a cursory look before awkwardly continuing your work.

You don't have time to ponder it for too long because Rolan pushes on, his eyes commanding your attention with their fiery glow.

"I spend so many days sitting at my desk thinking of your smile....gods, and your laugh." He smiles at the memory, a soft, tender look that makes your stomach tumble, "The way your nose crinkles when you're really laughing. And the way you always fuss with your hair after you set a stack of books down."

Do you really do that?

Rolan's smile eases away. "And during everything with Loroakan, you always made sure I ate. And the washbasin under the desk-- you put that there for me, didn't you? So I could clean up after his beatings." His jaw clenches and a brief storminess darkens his eyes before softening, "You cared for me during that time, even when I pushed you away… I was horrible to you."

"You weren't horrible," You whisper, afraid your emotion will break your voice if you raise it any higher than this, "You were going through a lot."

He had been talking so coherently that you had almost forgotten the current situation, but reality comes crashing back when he whines deep in his throat and his body rocks above you.

"I don't deserve you," Rolan's body trembles and his eyes shine as they glance down at your lips, "You've shown me such kindness, and in return, I do nothing but defile you in my thoughts..."

His words catch you off guard to such an extent that you gasp--a breathy, deep noise that ignites Rolan's eyes. You've made a mistake. A very, very bad one.

"That's right," Rolan is matching your whisper now, body still impatiently rocking above you, "Every night I lie in bed thinking of you. Aching for you. You, under me... just like this." A groan rumbles deep in his chest and his nostrils flare, "Imagining how you'd say my name as I touch you. Taste you--" He practically hisses the word out as his body trembles, "Fucking my hand, wishing it was your pretty cunt stretched around me..."

"Rolan--" You practically wheeze, liquid fire rushing into your stomach as your hips jerk up from the floor, like they have a mind of their own.

"Yessss, ahh-- j-just like that," Rolan's eyes roll closed and his chest brushes yours as he lowers down. When his eyes flick back open, he almost seems like a different man. Starved-- that's the word that comes to your mind, and it's an apt one, with the way the tip of his tongue dips out and curls, as if tasting the air between you two. "Again...say it again."

Don't. Don't do it. Do not stoke the fire. The warning’s buzzing through your brain, but there's a larger presence in your thoughts, chanting for him to do something. To prove that he wants you. To make good on all of his sordid fantasies. Even if it's all a lie, even if it's the potion's spell, you want it. Even if you shouldn't, you do. But somehow, you're still hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

When it's clear that you aren't going to say his name, Rolan whines deep in his throat and you can hear his claws scrape against the carpet on either side of you. It seems that he's holding onto the same thread.

"Please," Rolan leans down and brushes a heated kiss against your lips, "Fuck, please--" Another kiss, "Please, please..."

He's kissing you. It's not a daydream, even if the warmth and softness of his lips don't feel real to you. All you can do is lay there, slack, your brain rapid-firing with the sensations. The hot, hurried puffs of his breath from his mouth. The tickles of his hanging hair on the sides of your cheeks. The press of his perfect nose against the side of your own.

Even if your shock-induced limpness is both involuntary and possibly the best course of action, it backfires on you almost immediately.

As Rolan's kisses grow firmer, his lips push yours open, making the wetness of your inner lip catch on his own. That little touch of heated moisture has Rolan mewling, and all at once, his tongue is inside your mouth.

Your eyes fly open (wait, when had they closed?) and your hands come up to Rolan's chest to push him away, but his muscles are taut and he's locked in place, his hot, hungry tongue pressing past your teeth to lick along your own tongue. The muffled sound you make is a mixture of panic and surprise, but Rolan seems to take it as pleasure with the way he moans in response.

But maybe he's not too far off the mark. Even if you want to deny it, his tongue is divine. The way it tastes, the velvet feel of it, the way it pushes in deep before pulling away with a wet roll of his lips, only to enter you again. It's like your mouth is being fucked by him, and it's all you can do to not tip completely into ecstacy.

"Stop--" You try to break the kiss by turning your head, but his mouth only finds the curve of your neck, "Stop, Ro--aah!" His sharp bottom teeth drag roughly under your jaw before being soothed with a hot, desperate lick. "Stop," You gasp, though your hands ball into his robes, begging him not to, "R-Rolan, you have to--"

Your words choke off into a shameful whine as Rolan finally gives in and lowers his body to press against yours. He slots in perfectly between your legs, his hard cock pressed firm against your aching sex. The both of you stiffen and freeze, as if mesmerized by the mutual throbbing you can feel from underneath your clothes.

"O-oh," Rolan almost looks drunk with the way his head sways and his eyes glaze over, "Oh g-gods...I can't--"

It should be a comfort to hear. At the brink of ruin, Rolan has managed to regain himself. But the sigh you let out--from relief or disappointment, you're not sure which-- is cut off on a choked gasp as Rolan yanks the bottom of your dress up.

"Wait--" Your hands fall between you both, tangling in your dress as you try to pull it back down, "Wait, R-Rolan!"

It's like he can no longer hear you. His shaking hands push the front of his robe to the side and nearly snaps the lacings of his pants as he tears them open. You only get a glimpse of his cock before he thrusts his hips forward, rubbing the heated length of it against your panties. But what a glimpse it was-- thick, ridged, and damn near maroon with how blood-swollen it is.

Your mind reels as you're assaulted both physically and mentally with Rolan's body. The heavy drag of his erection against your clothed pussy. The soft scrape of teeth and wet heat of his tongue trailing down your neck to your chest. And the sounds Rolan is making-- he's groaning with such intensity that it rumbles in your ribs.

"I can't..." Rolan says again, but after another grumbling moan, he finally finds the remainder of his words, "I can't hold back anymore..." He raises his head with a lust-drunk sway to lock eyes with you once more, his brow bunched with his desperation and loose strands of his hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his forehead "I need you--fuck, I need you."

You want to get lost in those words, to savor the soft, needy delivery of them, to pretend that they were said under less dire circumstances, but you have no time for any of that. Because as soon as Rolan says it, his hand darts between you both and yanks your panties to the side and then you feel the maddening heat of his cock against the bare wetness of your pussy.

You try to cry out, but the sudden blast of fear racking through you grips your throat, only allowing a pitiful squeak to escape.

Please--" Rolan begins rutting into you, hips grinding fast and hungry, spreading your lips with his ministrations and easily gliding through the slick that's drenched your sex, "Wet, oh gods, so fucking wet--" He's babbling now, his words shifting between low groans and high, tight whimpers, "Wet for me-- you need this too, don't you? You need me...oh gods, need me to fuck you, f-fuck your pretty cunt, please--"

The head of his cock catches on your entrance, and you feel a pulse of hot liquid shoot from him, dribbling down your ass. Then all at once, he's inside you. It happens at a dizzying speed-- the deep burn of being stretched quick and full, the hot gush of semen, the snapping hips dragging you across the carpet in hiccuped jumps, the claws that grab and tear and sting your arms, all the while Rolan weeps, crumbling his body weight entirely on you.

"No," Rolan gasps in big, aching breaths as he sobs into your shoulder, "Nonono, I c-can't--" Hot tears fall on your neck, "Forgive me, p-please, forgive me--"

He raises his head and looks at you, his face twisted in equal parts despair and adoration, wet tear streaks carving shining paths down his gaunt cheeks. It's a direct contrast to the beastial breeding of his hips-- lovestruck emotion against mindless, animalistic instinct. And there's pain there, too. He came almost immediately, but his body just won't let him stop. His cock is still stiff and slamming into your cunt, the wetness of your sexes sucking and slapping lewdly under the chorus of his whimpers and cries.

A sob of your own retches from your throat. It's all too much. Even if it hurts, the churn of his desperate hips grinds against your clit with delicious abandon. And the way his hard cock curves and roughly drags inside of you, reaching so much farther than fingers ever could, stroking your walls with greedy need. It's all terrible in the most exquisite way-- the pain a sear, but the pleasure a rolling wave of heat that grows thicker and deeper with every thrust.

You're disgusted with yourself, even as you wrap your arms around Rolan's back and your heart sings with the warmth of his cheek against your own. You shouldn't be enjoying this. It was your responsibility to not let things get this far. But you wanted it. From the moment you knew what was happening, a part of you wanted exactly this. To have him cling onto you and tell you all the sweet things you've fantasized about countless times. To fuck you.

"Sorry," Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper as the heated tension in your gut begins tipping through your body-- "I-I'm so s-sorry, R-Rolan--"

And then your world shatters away as your orgasm is wrenched from you. Every synapse in your brain goes cold and your body shakes and tightens, his name cried out through numb lips as you clench hard around him, your body as desperate as your mind to keep him right where he is. Rolan. Rolan. Rolan. Every part of your being is consumed by him in that moment, and nothing else matters. Nothing else exists, other than him.

"That's it," Rolan's voice finds you in your pleasure-haze and enhances it with it's sweet tremble, "That's it, yes--fuck, ahh-- please, love you," He buries himself in you and stills, lips meeting yours as he babbles and his cock twitches and throbs deep in your cunt, "I love you, o-oh-- love you, please--"

Your climax had begun it's descent, but the feeling of those words sighed into your mouth makes another rush of rapture overtake you. You're only somewhat aware of the way you mewl, a wounded noise that dwindles and rises as your tongue finds Rolan's once more. Even with the hard edge of his desires satisfied, Rolan kisses you with no less passion, his moans of relief rattling your bones with their sheer intensity.

You could happily lay there kissing him like this for eternity, but now that the warmth of your desire is ebbing away, reality is setting back in. Disgust curdles in your stomach, sapping away any last dredges of an afterglow that remained.

You turn your head to break the kiss and Rolan pulls back, his eyes still uncharacteristically dark but more level than they had been since you found him. But with the beginning return of his facilities, you can't help but feel that he looks...lost. You can see the weight of the situation slowly creeping over him-- the distress. But even still, there's still heat behind those despairing eyes. The understanding of what's happening, but not the strength to stop himself.

"D...do you feel better?" You croak out, your throat feeling a wreck.

Rolan's lips move, but his voice fails him. For the first time, his eyes willingly leave your face, focusing instead on the carpet beside you. "It...hurts." He finally manages, his words so soft that they're almost inaudible.

That's enough to finally move you into action. Your entire body aches as you gently guide him off of you, the both of you hissing as his cock slips from you with a wet squelch. Rolan makes no effort to get up, instead rolling onto his back to look up at the high ceiling of the tower. You can't help but think that he looks gorgeous like this--chest heaving, hair in disarray, cock still twitching and stiff and slick with you. And then the disgust comes back and propels you to your feet.

"Sorry," You stammer, a fresh bout of tears threatening to spill down your face, "I'll...I'll get help."

Rolan whines deep in the back of his throat before he can stop himself. He drapes a hand over his eyes, like he wishes to shut out the world.

"Please," He gasps, voice gravelly with suppressed emotion, "Hurry."

You start to walk down the stairs you had ascended only shortly before. Each trembling step you take brings you a fraction more into reality. Regret, horror, revulsion....they build in your gut with each passing moment. By the time you make it to the other side of the portal, you're running from the tower, wishing you had never gone up to begin with.

[annes-andromeda]

Wish Rewrite

I have this tendency for rewriting material I either don’t like or think had wasted potential. At the time of writing this, Wish hasn’t come out in theaters but I did pirate it as there was an early screening. I also read the junior novelization and bought the concept art book. Needless to say, I was disappointed by what I read/saw.

I feel like Wish could’ve been better. Granted, the story and characters are not terrible, but they certainly leave much to be desired. This is literally Disney’s 100th anniversary, yet it doesn’t really feel like it. Not only that, but the movie felt incredibly rushed. Yeah I know that most Disney movies try have a run time of 90-100+ minutes, but I think a few more minutes could’ve been added to this film.

So, I decided to indulge myself and outline some changes that I think could’ve made the story slightly better. These ideas are by no means perfect, and in the end, this is all in good fun.

Spoilers ahead btw

The main story of Wish is essentially that Asha wants to get a job as Magnifico’s apprentice so that her grandfather’s wish is granted. But Asha finds out about the King’s true nature, and after questioning him, doesn’t get the job, and Magnifico vows to never grant Sabino or Sakina’s wishes.

Asha makes a wish on a star, and the star comes down, Magnifico tries to hunt down the two of them, he uses an evil spell book to create a staff, Magnifico destroys some wishes, Asha gets help from her friends, they sing a song to defeat Magnifico (I ‘wish’ i was joking), Star gives Asha a magic wand, and all is well.

Oh, and Amaya is… there.

It’s nothing complex, pretty cut and dry. And I don’t have a problem with a simple story! But this feels like it’s… missing something.

Firstly, I’d change the title. Disney already has a boat called Wish, and not every movie needs to be one word like Tangled, Frozen, and Brave (amongst others), so the story could be renamed “Asha and the Wishing Star” or “Asha and the Kingdom of Wishes”. Idk, something that evokes a classic fairytale book feel (or that does confuse people with a boat).

((Side note #1: I honestly enjoy that the story started off with a book, as a nod to classic disney movies, especially Snow White. That was cute))

Secondly, and I know I sound like a broken record at this point…

AMAYA👏🏼SHOULDVE👏🏼BEEN👏🏼A👏🏼VILLAIN👏🏼ALONGSIDE👏🏼HER👏🏼HUSBAND👏🏼

The original plan, according to the concept art book, was to have Magnifico and Amaya to be a villain couple who were partners in crime and owned a black sphinx cat named Charo. However for… reasons, the creators took the ‘safe’ route and made Amaya the good one out of the two.

But the problem is, by erasing Amaya’s evilness, the creators of Wish essentially removed any purpose or personality she may have had and thus, she was left to become a literal ‘supporting’ character. First supporting both Magnifico and Asha, then leaving Magnifico to prop up solely Asha.

Deadass, you can literally remove Amaya from the story and nothing would change. Which is probably why she was exempt from much of the promotional stuff minus the dolls. Because she literally serves no purpose but to be… there.

So, in my version of Wish, Amaya would be a co-conspirator to her husband and yes, I’m adding Charo too. Her personality would be inspired by classic female villains such as the Evil Queen from Snow White, Lady Tremaine from Cinderella, and Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty.

Vain, glamorous, cunning, and unabashedly evil, Amaya would be the Morticia to Magnifico’s Gomez, the brains to his brawn. She’s the girlboss, he’s the wife instigator. Magnifico spoils Amaya rotten with countless gifts and praises, whilst Amaya is the more calm and collected evil compared to her husband’s ever-growing temper.

While she starts the story with no magic, Magnifico just can’t leave his wife hanging and shares the power of the evil spell-book with Amaya. And yes, even Charo gets in on the fun, turning from a small house cat, to a massive shape-shifting beast who breaths blue fire similarly to a dragon (shut up i think it’d be cool)

Magnifico and Amaya essentially keep the wishes of Rosas locked in the castle as a form of obedience. By giving the citizens false hope, it makes them more dependent on the royal couple, and the two have more power over everyone.

Anyways, let’s get to the main characters: Asha and Star.

I don’t have much of an issue with Asha’s character, more so her design. I already made a post showing my redesign of her, so that’s out of the way. Tbh tho, I also have an issue with the rest of the costume design of Wish, being a big costume nerd myself. The movie’s supposed to take inspiration from the Mediterranean, primarily places such as Spain and Morocco (and the Amazigh people for Asha), but the fashion feels like generic European medieval fashion.

I feel like the whole storyline of Asha’s interview with Magnifico was pretty pointless, so I would have it that she just starts off as the kings apprentice, whilst also working as Amaya’s scullery maid.

The couple took Asha in when the girl lost her father at the age of 12 (according to the film), and she’s been working for them for five years. Asha works not only to support herself, her family, and her community, but also as a way to distract from the grief of losing her father. Which is no issue, as Amaya always bombards the girl with chores, and Magnifico only teaches Asha the most basic of magic for fear of her growing more powerful than him.

I made Asha work as a scullery maid not only as a reference to princesses such as Snow White and Cinderella starting off their respective stories as maids, but also because scullery maids acted as assistants to the kitchen maids. Dahlia works in the kitchen, Asha and Dahlia are best friends, I figured it made sense.

But anyways, on the day of Sabino’s 100th birthday, Sakina tells Asha to take a break and return home, as she hardly visits anymore due to work. Asha says she’ll try asking the king and queen to get off early, but that she can’t make any promises.

Asha meets with Magnifico and asks for the day off, but the king refuses. However, wanting to keep her loyalty, Magnifico finally shows Asha the wish chamber, and even allows her to witness the wish ceremony that night. But once Asha starts questioning the king on his methods, any goodwill between them begins to fade.

Another thing I’m disappointed in, is that originally Star was going to be a shapeshifting humanoid inspired by the Genie and Peter Pan, and may have even had a romance with Asha. But, the idea was scrapped for the more cutesy, ‘marketable’, version of Star.

In my retelling, I’d choose to do this human shapeshifter version of Star, but I’d name him something else. The star Earendel was mentioned in the concept art book, which is the farthest known star from Earth and not only means ‘morning star’ in Old English, but is also named after the Tolkien character, Eärendil.

I would call this shapeshifter Star Earen, and because Disney loves their animal/cute sidekicks, Earen can have the ‘Kirby’ Star as a companion, just like how Asha has Valentino and Magnifico and Amaya have Charo.

((Side #2: Anybody else notice that Star lowkey looks and sounds like Kirby😶))

Earen and Star journey down to Rosas once they hear Asha’s pleas for guidance. Once Asha tells of Magnifico and Amaya’s lies, Earen reveals that he actually met Magnifico decades ago. The amount of years shocks Asha, as she realizes that the King and Queen might be far older than what they are.

((Side note #3: I didn’t realize this till someone mentioned it, but if Sabino is 100 and he gave Magnifico his wish at 18, then he’s been waiting 82 years for his wish to be granted. Which means it’s likely that Magnifico might be immortal. That, or Disney didn’t think this shit through (most likely)))

Anyways, Earen actually attempted to stop Magnifico and Amaya’s ploy to keep the wishes of Rosas locked away, but he was sealed within the heavens until he and Star heard Asha make her wish.

We can have it that the king and queen spun the story so that Earen was made out to be an evil that once threatened Rosas, but Magnifico banished him and saved everyone, essentially making himself out to be the good guy and manipulating the narrative.

Asha and Earen must now work together to expose the lies of the royal couple, and along the way, the two begin to fall in love. Earen disguises himself as a peasant boy so as to remain inconspicuous, while Asha tries to go about her job as if nothing happened, evading the King and Queen’s suspicions.

Star gives Asha a stick infused with stardust once finding out she is, quite literally, the sorcerers apprentice. It is also so that she may defend herself, as Earen has his powers and a sword (similarly to Peter Pan).

Unlike Magnifico, Earen and Star teach Asha the wonders of magic and the potential she wields, showing that there is no need for her to hold back when her gift can help so many, including those she loves.

The three manage to sneak into the kings study, but only have time to retrieve Sabino’s wish and return it to him. However, Magnifico and Amaya, now strengthened by the powers of dark magic, find Asha and Earen and threaten to destroy all the wishes should Earen not surrender to them.

And as a way to ensure that Asha doesn’t foil their plans, Magnifico destroys both Asha and Sakina’s wishes, despite Asha not being eighteen yet. However, the evil magic allows him to do so. This act weakens the two women, and infuriates Earen.

Earen then willingly complies despite Asha’s opposition, and Sabino takes Asha and Sabina to the seven (well six) teens for aid, who are in hiding after Simon ratted them out and who now serves as a puppet to the king and queen.

Despite loosing her wish, Asha finds the strength to carry on through the memory of her late father, enlisting the help of her friends and Star, who managed to evade the royal couple’s grasp. The team must work together to save Earen, whose power will be drained by Magnifico and Amaya. And if such a feat were to happen, then Earen would die and Rosas would be lost.

The five teens go into the woods to distract one of the royals, with the aid of the forest fauna and Star. Amaya chases the group alongside Charo while Magnifico tortures Earen and begins stealing his power. With the help of Dahlia, Asha sneaks into the castle to confront her former mentor and save Earen before it’s too late.

At first, it seems that the heroes have the upper hand with Magnifico neutralized, but then, Amaya swoops in riding Charo, who now takes the form of a giant dragon. Earen transforms into a dragon himself and battles Charo and Amaya, while Asha continues battling Magnifico. Star even comes to help after the original plan fails.

However, the unholy trio have the upper hand, and Amaya strikes down Earen, giving Magnifico enough time to not only drain Earen’s power, but to trap Star within his staff. With their combined powers, Magnifico and Amaya gather all of the peoples wishes, even stealing the wishes of those not yet of age, which includes the teens.

With all the wishes gathered, the couple and their pet destroy all the wishes, taking their energy for themselves.

Asha falls into despair as she watched her friends, love ones, and community succumb to the grief of loosing their wishes. The king and queen force Asha to apologize to the people, mocking her and making her feel even more guilty.

However, Earen comforts Asha despite his weak state, telling her it’s alright and that she shouldn’t be ashamed of wishing on Star, as he brought the two of them together. The two kiss, the strength of their newfound love and hope shining through the darkness and inspiring the people of Rosas to rise up.

As the sky and stars become alive, Magnifico’s staff is destroyed, releasing Star in the process. All the evil magic he, Amaya, and Charo used is sucked out of them and vanquished, and Earen is restored to full vitality.

Think of this as the transformation scene from Princess and the Frog. Asha and Earen get new outfits, with Asha even gaining a crown and a new wand from Star.

((Side Note #4: The “transformation” in the finale of the film is so stupid. Asha could’ve literally gotten a new dress once she becomes a fairy godmother, but instead, Star just made her sparkly. How magical🙄))

Rosas rejoices, as they realize they don’t need the king to make their wishes come true, and they can pursue them themselves. With Magnífico and Amaya banished from Rosas, Asha and Earen become the new rulers, being names Prince and Princess respectively.

And that’s basically how I would’ve done Wish. It’s not perfect, but it’s just an idea. I’m just disappointed that Disney do something better for their 100th anniversary.

[gwhiz-138]

Black Parade Mask 

* Handmade Papier Mache Mask sourced from Mexico by Colleen Atwood and worn in the filming of My Chemical Romance’s “Welcome to the Black Parade” music video

Gerard Quote: “I got to keep some of the masks used in Sam Bayer’s music video for ‘Welcome To The Black Parade’, which was awesome. One of the things Sam was able to do was introduce me to Colleen Atwood, one of the most celebrated costume designers in Hollywood, after I expressed a great interest in working with her on the band’s Black Parade uniforms, which I had been making doodles of for a couple months. The first thing to know about Colleen is that she’s not only insanely talented, she is one of the kindest, sweetest human beings I have met in my life, and I am very grateful we became friends through working together. I also learned a ton from her, and after the shoot and the working experience, I desperately wanted to become an apprentice of hers– just to hang out and make stuff and keep learning. A little background on Colleen is that she has been working on films for many years. She has received several Academy Awards for costume design, and she is the woman responsible for dressing the characters in everything from Memoirs of A Geisha to Edward Scissorhands, creating his iconic look for the film, along with the rest of the cast and many others. Colleen had discovered a group of mask-makers in Mexico that she loved, of which she asked to make her hundreds of masks for the shoot. I remember her explaining all the reasons she was drawn to their work, what she thought was special about them in their simplicity. I thought they were great, and it was truly a sight to see the scores of extras wearing them during the shoot, making up the bulk of the ‘black parade’. Over the years I have given one or two of these away, and I brought the remaining masks to the video shoot, ‘A Summoning’ as props or set-dressing easter-eggs. The Summoning video was used to accompany the announcement for MCR’s 2020 Reunion Tour, which would have been a very different experience had it occurred. After this finds a new home, I believe I will have three left.” - G (x)

[citrinae]

avoid the crowds.

law x reader

summary; you're an aspiring biologist, hard-working on your phd. when you're coupled with your colleague law to enrich your research, you're mortified to discover that other's personal projects may be a little more ambitious than you’d anticipate. 

contents; gravedigging, only a pinch of gore, explicit at times, toxic attachments, love/hate, smoking, references to mary shelley because i’m a nerd & law is pathetic, college/academia!AU, gn!reader, wc: 2k. this is actually my very first time writing for this freak, intensely praying that i did him justice. check here for more spooktober shenanigans.

masterlist

Dirt on your shoes, on your jeans, under your nails. Pushing a lit cigarette between your lips, you realise your hands are slightly trembling. It’s slowly that you take the smoke in, a burning sensation into your lungs making you forget about the cold creeping up your cheeks, your ankles and into your bones, and you keep it there for a moment. Your eyes wander to the number of gravestones carrying the memory of someone’s friend, partner, or sibling, all cared for and regretfully gone. There’s a rustle coming from your right, boot sliding on the ground before his knee bumps into yours. With his hat he brushes the dirt off his lap. 

“This shit is bad for your health,” Law says, with a hint of superiority that has you pursing your lips around the cigarette. 

“These guys haven’t seen a pub in decades,” you manage to keep your cool. “Thought they wouldn’t mind if I brought them a piece of memory.”

He doesn’t play along. “They are dead. I doubt they care about much of anything.”

“How do you expect your students to like you if you can’t even take a joke?” you say through an exhale. 

“Honestly?” Law props his weight on the shovel he’s dug into the ground, legs spread. “The very few students I’ve had so far were actually funny.”

“Fuck you,” you huff. “Honestly.”

“Kindly reminding you that we’re in a cemetery,” he drones. “I'd restrain my libido for when we get back.”

You give him a look, still not believing he said that. His fingers—long, nimble, tattooed at the knuckles—rest atop his knees as he absently watches ahead. He’s slack in track pants and sweater, not that tonight makes him any different from the way you’ve always known him—cold, laid back. The sky is dark, only a few hours away from dawn. At your feet lingers a plastic bag he’s filled with everything needed for his fun little science project. 

Or rather, your fun little science project, now that you found out about it and agreed to let him do his magic before your eyes. The only condition was that you do it quietly—so far, you’re being terrible at it, and still he keeps you by like some sort of low-cost apprentice. Looking at the spots where dirt has been immaculately removed and battered back into place, your stomach threatens to turn. 

How have you ended up like this?

(There was someone in your research group; a guy called Trafalgar D. Water Law. A brilliant fellow, a committed academic. A little bit of an asshole, if you were to be completely honest. Law rarely ever spoke to the rest of you, let alone spend time with the group. Frequented the lab when you were about to call it a day and left early in the morning, just before you'd put on your whitecoats, fluorescent light droning overhead and steam hovering from coffee mugs. The nights were when he liked to work the most, doing whatever the fuck he was up to. Your PhD coordinator said something about reinventing surgery; but not even they were able to run into further detail. You were all too buried in your own projects to pry.

Water gathered at the tip of your nose and dripped onto your shoe. Your clothes were soaked and plastered to your skin; you hadn’t expected to rain that night. 

“Jesus fuck,” you managed under your breath. There was a dense, awful smell lingering in the air, the door to the research room locked with no spare key to use. “Law, are you in there?” 

Movement on the other side, pretending you didn’t exist. Your hair curled at your nape, wet and cold, and a feverish sensation began to climb up your temples. 

You tried again. “I left my journal in here, and, uhm,” scratching your head, “see I really needed to look up some notes tonight. May I come in and fetch it so I can leave you be?”

Still no answer; you were starting to get angry. 

You also needed a towel. 

“Listen up you freak,” through gritted teeth. “I don’t give two shits about what you’re doing or how many dicks you had to suck to be allowed to act like you own this fucking place. My day was bad enough to only care about my stupid little notes I left in that stupid little room, so please, for the love of god, open the door or else I’ll break a window or something and tab the damage on your weird ass name.”

“Who’s breaking what?” It was coming from behind; you turned, and stopped. Wiping his hands with a white washcloth, there stood Law, hoodie sleeves rolled to elbows, dark hair dishevelled, bags under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. 

The sounds you were hearing from inside the workroom didn’t cease. You felt heavy with the onset of a headache. 

“But if you’re here,” you said, incredulous. “Then who’s—” a second of thought. “What’s—”

Folding his arms, fabric thrown over his shoulder, “Yeah?”

The words felt weird leaving you, “What do you keep in there?”

“Nothing to be concerned about,” Law said, plainly. He seemed to know better than coming up with an excuse. There were steps that you heard, after all, nothing a branch against a window or a vending machine could replace. 

“You were saying you needed something?” he added, searching his pockets. “Let me get that for you, stay right there.”

But you didn’t stay put. You couldn’t. Shortly after watching him turn the key into the lock, careful not to reveal much of what awaited him inside, impulse had you setting your foot in the door. An elbow pressed on steel, a tattoo beat into floor tiles. And you could hardly hear the disturbed hiss leaving him now that you were facing a true miracle of modern medicine.)

They say the secrets of Heaven and Earth ought to stay in the palms of the one behind their making, for the man was made a crafty artist, but, alas, uncompleted. Understanding is a bottomless pit, only for the divine to fill and look after. But why are they to be frowned upon, half-made creatures, clinging to the knowledge that would make them whole?

(A strange friendship took shape that night. You agreed to keep the secret and Law allowed you to keep him company during the nights, borrowing notes, studying equipment. Little of this brought anything new to your own research, and yet, being in Law’s presence felt like a giant leap in your career. You wouldn’t be made to admit it, but you admired him, and at the same time he seemed almost content with the ease at which you were navigating the dense volume of research. As far as work was concerned, you were making a surprisingly good team—that you could both agree on despite your infuriating personalities. 

Some uneventful nights you would fiddle with his earrings as he measured the diameter of a human limb. Some other nights, his hand would flatten across your back as he showed you how man-made particles quivered and dispersed under the microscope. Your eyes ached from lack of sleep but your curiosity was a persistent fiend, always hungry for more, begging to be kept entertained. Slowly you found yourself disconnected from everything happening around you other than your undergraduate classes and lab work. Everything in your world revolved around science, and consequently, around Law. 

But spending so much time around each other would soon get the best—or worst—of you both, on a night just as rainy as the one you started working together. There was an hour left until the sky would start bleeding into a deep gradient of blues, two before the building would be animated with swarms of steps and voices. Tables had been diligently swept with no trace of your nightly work, equipment dismantled and notebooks locked away—just like Law instructed you to. Your steps echoed down the hallways of the facility, dark and empty, comfortable silence lingering between your forms as you were heading out. Exhaustion crept into your body to the point walking felt like floating. To your left, Law’s breathing seemed heavier than usual. You found yourself cagily tracing the contours of his hair, his ear, his neck and shoulder, stopping at his hand that he kept buried into a pocket. 

A beat later, too soon to tell how it happened, you were pressed against a wall, Law’s stare taking from confused to determined as he tried to keep up with his own actions. 

There was a pause. 

“You don’t have the guts,” you provoked, adrenaline pushing your mouth into a smirk. 

Law clicked his tongue. Then he kissed you, deeply, viciously, and you returned it without much thought. White hat collapsed on the floor as your fingers struggled to make their way through his hair, digging themselves into his scalp, touching and searing everything they found in their reach. Standing so close to him you were surprised to catch a faint trace of cologne lingering under all the metal and soap and formalin he worked with. Your head spun. His hand was cold as it touched you under your sweater; with his other he had to cover your mouth to keep a sound from coming out.

It didn’t stop you. He urged you somewhere more secluded.)

You flick the ashes off your cigarette. “Hey,” you say, trying to figure out the inscription chiselled on a gravestone. “Is it fair? To disturb these people’s peace like that?”

Law breathes out, heavily, a little shaken himself. He thinks about it for a moment. Then, massaging a temple, he says, “I think it’s a little too late to ask yourself this.” He’s right. 

“Maybe.” It’s faint, distracted. 

Some would say you’re giving them a second chance; you know that’s not the case here. None of you wants nothing out of this but the Promethean high of discovery. Performing miracles with a scalpel and needle, building an universe of your own. 

Wind blows in your direction, sharp like a slap in the face, and your body starts coiling within itself as it does. 

(Your research sessions carried on like this. Passing thread through layers of dead skin, sinking your teeth into Law’s skin moments later. Papers and pens and scissors scattered on the floor. Bodies feverish and drenched in sweat. Taking his chin between thumb and forefinger, you relished the faces he made after claiming that you inspire him. With his cock deep inside you, Law admitted he was glad to have found a use for that foul mouth of yours. When you use it to say his name, he added on, his voice grave and possessive, beard tickling your earshell, it makes him believe your voice was sewed for him.)

“Time to go,” Law says, already back on his feet.  

You insist that he carries the bag. And so he does, hoisting it around his shoulder without much care for its contents. You stub out your cigarette under your foot, and your eyes roll heavenwards when he demands that you pick the thing up. 

“I was meaning to,” you sneer, bending down. “Who do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Law hands you the shovel. 

“For the record,” dusting off your jeans, “When faculty reviews are up, I’m ruining your ass.”

Law’s smirk is offensive. “Double-check your spelling before sending anything in.”

No one says a word on the way back to the facility. With weight propped on your shoulders and stars hiding one by one behind the horizon, the moment feels almost serene, and you dismiss the impulse to close your eyes because you know you will be falling asleep as soon as you do. For now, you end up settling with this space between dream and reality, hoping that maybe, somewhere, awaits the truth you’ve been working so hard to earn. 

[trancylovecraft]

(AOEX) The Blood Of An Unwilling Covenant

PART ? OF 8: Lewin

(SIDE-STORY) (Yandere Platonic Demon Kings (Ba'al) x Reader)

SERIES SUMMARY:

BARISTA'S NOTE: Lil bit of a fun side-chapter <3 enjoy GENDER: Femme FANDOM: Blue Exorcist

☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★

AO3 LINK, SERIES MASTERLIST,

“Lewin, Come on. I want to take the exorcist exam. I’m skilled enough, Aren’t I?”

“Yeah, Of course you are, Munchkin. But you just can’t go for the exam just yet”

“Why not..?! My teacher, You know him- Mr Okumura? He did it at thirteen! I’m fifteen now, So why can’t I?”

It was dark.

The room was enveloped in an unending black, The faint silhouettes of furniture and other assorted garbage only being able to be vaguely seen in the shadows. The lights clicked off, Bulbs only dangling from the ceiling above.

The only source of light was the faint glow from the old flat screen, Hung up on the wall as the luminescence flickered over them. The table, The rug, The old furniture, The wrappers of snacks eaten and plastic bottles of pop strewn across the room.

Lewin laid upon the couch, Elbow propping himself up on one of the arms of the couch. He breathed out, Slowly and controlled as he took in the rotten air of his apartment that he had grown so used to.

The TV continued to blather on in the background, Bumps of noise in the form of chatter, Muffled in the background. It was some dumb action movie, The kind that rolled out in theatres once, Did fairly alright and was now regulated to the late-night slot on TV networks.

An all-too talented protagonist, A sidekick comic relief, A woman whose breasts the camera focused on. Lewin huffed, At this point in the movie he would’ve been focused on them too. It was a part of the appeal of course, Lewin had no shame in admitting what he enjoyed.

But he could barely even bring his eyes to look at the screen, No.

Instead they were focused on her, [F/N].

His apprentice, Curled up beside him on the busted up sofa of his apartment. Her legs were sprawled out on the cushions, Her head resting idly on his chest. Lewin could feel the warmth of her body heat through the thick shirt he dozed in, Gentle, Yet strong.

She was fast asleep, Her eyes gently shut as the light of the TV flickered across her face, Lips parted as drool began to stain the old white shirt Lewin wore. He watched as her chest rose up and down, Slowly, Her breathing light.

[F/N] had fallen asleep during the film. Figures, Considering she had a rather tough day at school. A bag half-full of salted butterkist was cradled in her lazing arms, Crinkling as she shifted, Almost threatening to spill on the floor.

It was such a mundane sight.. Yet for some reason-

Lewin couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

He usually hated this, People sleeping on him. Lewin hated the way their weight pushed down on him, Hated the way they kept him in place, How he had to keep himself in a specific position just so they wouldn’t slip.

When he was out on a mission and a fellow exorcist happened to doze off on him, He had absolutely no problem in shoving them off however roughly. That’s just how it was, Why should he let anyone else rely on him as support?

Lewin didn’t care, Not a single bit.

“I mean, You take me out on so many missions as it is and I can barely do anything at all! Wouldn’t it be best for both of us if I just got my licence?”

“No.. No, You don’t understand. I told you, [F/N], You just can’t take the exam just yet.”

“Come on, Lew’.. I won’t even take on an upper-class demon if you don’t want me to. I just want my licence. Is that too hard to ask?”

But as [F/N] shifted against him..

Lewin’s arm was slung around her form, Keeping her cosy against his side as he lazed on the couch. He tugged her closer towards him, Lightly, Almost without thought as his thumb began to absentmindedly draw circles on her side.

His little apprentice, Lewin had never expected.. This.

She was wearing one of his old shirts, Worn out and stained on the sleeves. It wasn’t rare for her to use his clothing as pyjamas or even just everyday wear. Lewin could almost laugh, His sloppiness seemed to have rubbed off on her.

He remembered when he first brought her to his house back in Texas, Lewin hadn’t prepared for another person to be living with him so he had just tossed her a few shirts and shorts to use as nightwear.

[F/N] had taken them without a word, Picking them up with the rest of her belongings as she wandered into the spare room, Now her bedroom.

Was it wrong to say Lewin didn’t care for her at all when they first met?

“Yeah, Well that Okumura guy’s a special case, You ain’t that.”

“Oh come on..”

“No, No. Don’t give me that attitude, Kiddo. I’m your master, Right? So you listen to me when I’m speaking to you.”

“..You sound like Osceola.”

“Ha! Do I? I didn’t notice!”

The TV continued to blather on in the background, But the soft breath’s [F/N] took was all he could hear. Lewin just pulled her closer to him as he sunk back in the couch, Remote hanging out his hand as he kept her neatly tucked under his arm.

Lewin didn’t know the kind of feeling that was brewing in his chest.

It was like a weight was tugging down on his stomach, Heavy yet there was a light fluttering in his chest to chase it. How curious, Lewin could feel his heartbeat begin to mellow out, A sense of comfort washing over him.

How strange.

Lewin’s jaw was impossibly tight, His body incapable rigid. The hand that drew circles into [F/N]’s side ceased, Pausing, If only for a minute.

[F/N] had always been independent, Always been so free-spirited. She was much like him in that way, How she took things into her own hands and followed the beat of her own drum. Lewin had always appreciated those traits in others, Always seen it as a positive quality.

But..

“Please, Lew’.. I want to be an exorcist so bad, Like- An actual exorcist. I’ve got the blessing from Azazel, I got the experience out in the field- Even Osceola said I’m good enough for Upper-Class! I’m more than qualified..!”

“[F/N]..”

“So why? Why am I not allowed to take the exorcist exam?”

[F/N] wanted to go through the exorcist exam, She wanted to become an actual exorcist.

She’d been going on about it for weeks now after finding out that her teacher had done it when he was a kid. [F/N] wanted to take the goddamn exam, And by all means she certainly did have the skills for it.

Osceola was right when he said she was good enough for Upper-Class, There was no doubt that she would be able to take on an Upper-Level demon. Her penchant was enough to pacify and she had the skills and the weaponry to exorcise without a hitch. 

She was so talented, So skilled.

His little prodigy.

Lewin didn’t want her to leave.

Lewin knew he was being selfish, Of course he did, But he couldn’t bring himself to care. If she took the exam then that would mean she would become too independent, She’d be able to do so much on her own-

As soon as she hit eighteen she’d be able to leave and find herself her own place to live with the salary she makes, She’d be able to go out on missions on her own- Hell, It was expected for an Upper-Class exorcist.

In other words, She’d be able to leave him.

Lewin didn’t want that, No- Not when she made him feel like this, Make him feel so.. Tranquil, Peaceful. Lewin didn’t know if there would ever be a word to describe how he felt, How he felt about her.

Lewin leaned down, Pushing back the strands of her hair before leaving a slow peck on the crown of her forehead. A frown still lined across his face. An eye softened from behind the parting of his hair.

The feeling was.. Fraternal.

His lips moved away from her forehead, Instead choosing to rest his chin on the top of her head. Lewin wasn’t going to let her leave him, Wasn’t going to let her go.

She could go anywhere at all, She could talk with anyone she wished, She could do whatever she wanted to do as long as she came back home to him at the end of the day in one piece.

Anything she wanted.

Anything but leaving him.

Which was why he felt no shame when he outright delayed her only way out. 

“That Okumura boy was the old Paladin’s son, Of course he got to take the exam early, Paladin pulled some strings or whatever.”

“So what? You’re an Arc Knight, Right? Why can’t you do the same?”

“Yeah, I am an Arc Knight, Not The Paladin. Listen, If I could I’d get you into that exam as quickly as that but I’m unable to do anything here.”

“Then I’ll go ask Arthur-”

“Arthur won’t let you go do it either, You know him.. He barely thinks you should be allowed on missions in the first place.”

“...”

“Hey, Come on, Kid. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I.. I just want to be able to do well and assist everyone else out on missions. I don’t want to be a burden to you, Lew’..”

“You’re not a burden, Kid.. I mean, Who else would do all my paperwork?”

“Hey! Lewin, Stop that!”

“Oh.. Using my full name? Guess I’m in trouble.”

“Ugh.. I hate you..!”

Lewin laughed, If only she knew.

“Come on. There’s a movie coming on at ten, Seen the posters in theatres but never got around to watching it. Seems interesting though, Let’s go watch it.”

“Ugh.. Knowing you? It’s gonna be trash.”

“Aw, Come on! Don’t be like that, You don’t even know what movie I’m talking about!”

“Don’t need to know, I can already tell.”

“No need to be so pessimistic, Eh?”

Of course, This was only a temporary solution. Lewin knew that one day she’d be able to take the exam and there was no excuse he could give to stop her. He knew that it would come, And Lewin would cross that bridge when he got there.

But right now? This was fine.

Everything was absolutely fine.