#Like as much as you’re supposed to when a mystery is being set up

[alexis-royce]

Out of character I just need the Warm Amber like everyone else, so it’s a normal grind. But in character I think The Ex-Disgraced Academic is just plain getting high on honey and music at Buckingham before crawling off to Helicon to cry on Leoidea’s shoulder and talk about paintings.

They’re just not doing well right now.

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: After a series of graffiti attacks on your bakery, you find out Jihoon is the vandal behind it, frustrated because your shop's success has outshone his grandma's bakery. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, physical violence (reader hits jihoon with a mop, vandalism), jealousy, emotional conflict, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, semi-public sex, cock riding, overwhelming, body fluids (cum), no protection, fetish elements—being painted with grafitty during sex, claiming, mention of an enormous cock on the bakery's wall.

Your arms are crossed in a tight clutch as you stare at the front door of the bakery, the black, fresh tags sprayed across the pastel walls like an ugly bruise. It’s the same crap, just a new day. The pink and white of your shop—the delicate aesthetic that drew people in—was constantly being smeared by some low-life with a spray can. Months of this, and all the cameras ever caught was a faceless guy in a black hoodie. Useless.

With a frustrated sigh, you unlock the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary. The day needed to start, vandalism or not. You open the windows, letting the fresh morning air in. At least the floors were clean, thanks to the obsessive mopping you’d done last night. That had become a habit lately, one of the few things you could control.

You grab a bowl, dumping the ingredients for cake batter in with a bit too much force. Your arm flexes as you whip the fouet through the mix, your irritation guiding every furious stroke. It’s therapeutic, in a way—until Mingyu walks in.

“Are you... trying to murder the batter?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice as he sets his stuff in the locker. “You’re about to crack the bowl in half.”

You glance up, still scowling, but the comment catches you off guard. “Shu’up, Mingyu. You would be mixing like this too if someone graffitied your walls for the hundredth time.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he teases, walking over to grab his apron. “It’s just a little paint. You act like the world’s ending.”

“It’s not just paint! It’s every day with this. And it’s not even good graffiti. It’s just some bullshit tags that don’t mean anything.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, some people might say you’re overthinking it. Maybe the artist is just misunderstood. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning.”

“‘Eat shit’ has no deeper meaning,” you deadpan, pushing the bowl to the side. “And I’ve got a cake due at 3 p.m. Can you please help me with the fondant? I need to leave on time for class.”

“Gastronomy waits for no one,” he quips, moving to help you.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Exactly. And if I’m late, I’m fucked. So let's get this done.”

Mingyu chuckles, but he gets to work, his hands already busy with rolling out the fondant. “You ever think of just... catching the guy yourself? Stake out the place or something?”

“Yeah, because that’s a great use of my time,” you mutter. “I’ve got school, work, and now this mystery asshole. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside all night and wait to get jumped?”

“Hey, you might scare him off with your mixing technique alone.”

You snort. “At this point, I’d rather beat him over the head with the bowl.”

— // NEXT DAY // —

You’re bent over the counter, carefully arranging the pies and cupcakes in the vitrine, when the bell above the door jingles. The sound makes you straighten up automatically, pasting on your best “welcome to my bakery” smile.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” you ask, looking up to see Mrs. Yang, one of your more... particular customers. She smiles politely, her bag clutched in one hand, and takes her time approaching the counter.

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice too sweet for whatever she’s about to say next. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... the situation outside.”

Here we go.

You nod, still smiling like your life depends on it. “Yes, we’ve been dealing with some, uh... graffiti issues lately.”

Her lips purse. “It’s quite the eyesore, don’t you think? Having that sort of thing on the storefront isn’t good for business, especially with such a nice bakery like yours. People might get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want to bring my friends here if it continues.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you from the back, wide and alarmed like he’s bracing himself for whatever smartass remark is about to leave your mouth. You can almost hear him holding his breath.

But instead of snapping, you swallow it down. Barely.

“I understand, Mrs. Yang. We’re working on getting it removed as soon as possible,” you say, your voice calm and professional, even though your brain is screaming, What the hell do you want me to do? Hand-paint the walls every night?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” she replies with a thin smile, “You always do such a lovely job here. I’ll have two of the lemon tarts, please.”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing the tarts and ringing her up, every muscle in your body tense as you try not to explode. “That’ll be $8.50.”

As she leaves, Mingyu sidles up behind you. “You alright? That looked painful.”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before I throw a tart at you.”

He just laughs. “Hey, props for not biting her head off. That’s growth.”

Your day only goes downhill from there.

An order comes in last-minute, right when you're about to head out for a cake delivery, forcing you to juggle too many tasks at once. The fondant on the cake cracks just as you’re trying to finish it, and you nearly drop the entire thing when you’re loading it into the car. By the time you deliver it, you're ten minutes late, and the client is tapping her foot like you ruined her wedding or something.

As you drive away, you notice that some idiot in the parking lot nicked the side of your car with their door. The scrape is fresh, ugly, and just another thing you don’t have time to deal with.

By the time you make it to the university, you’re on edge. Every little thing is pissing you off—the late delivery, the car, Mrs. Yang’s passive-aggressive comments replaying in your head.

You stomp into the classroom, tossing your bag on the desk as you take your seat. Your friend, Jiyeon, looks up from her notes, immediately catching the “I’m about to lose it” vibe radiating from you.

“Woah, woah... Don’t talk to me,” you say, waving her off before she even opens her mouth.

She raises her hands in mock surrender, exasperated. “Okay, okay, damn. I wasn’t even gonna say anything!”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the guy sitting next to you glancing over. He’s half-smirking, like he’s amused by your bad mood. You roll your eyes as you pull your utensils from your bag.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” you snap, not really in the mood for whatever attitude he’s giving you.

He just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Nothing. Chill.”

You huff, biting your tongue. “Whatever, man.”

As class starts, you try to focus on the lecture, but it feels like everything is stacking up, one annoying thing after another. You’re counting down the hours until you can get out of here and back to the bakery, where at least you can take your frustrations out on some dough.

[...]

The bakery is finally quiet. You’ve set the doughs to rest for tomorrow, turned off the colorful lights, and now it’s just you, the mop, and the hum of the radio. There’s something peaceful about the dark bakery—like it’s resting, too, after a long, chaotic day. The floor’s slick beneath the mop as you drag it in lazy strokes, the apron around your neck, always too tight, was finally off.

It’s quiet out there too. Rush hour’s over, people are strolling by in pretty scarves, leaving their cubicles for the day. Not that you’d ever want that life. That could never be you—this was your space, your bakery. You’d rather be here, mopping your own floors than stuck in some windowless office.

Even if your apron’s been digging into your neck all damn day. You rub at the sore spot, sighing, when—

Wait.

What the fuck? You squint, eyes narrowing as some guy steps right up to your bakery window, a paint can in hand. You watch in disbelief as he starts spraying. Right on your wall. Again.

You don’t even think. You just move. The front glass door slams open so hard the bell almost flies off, the aggressive clatter echoing behind you as you stomp out, mop still in hand.

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy barely turns, but it’s too late. You’re already swinging. The wooden handle of your mop cracks across his back with a satisfying thud, and he lets out this startled grunt, almost tripping over his own feet. You swing again, harder this time, and it echoes across the empty street. Even the homeless guy across the road—the one you always give leftover tarts to—jumps in his spot, startled.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You think this is funny?!” you yell, swinging the mop at him again as he ducks, letting out an “ouch” with each hit. “You keep tagging my walls, and I’m the one paying for this shit! Do you even know how much it costs to get this cleaned? Huh?!”

“Ouch, fuck! Stop, STOP!” he stammers, arms up, trying to shield himself.

You don’t stop. You’re done with this day, done with this week, done with this punk-ass artist ruining your bakery’s vibe. “You piece of shit! You’re dead! I’m gonna shove this can so far up your—”

“What the hell?!” the guy stumbles, trying to dodge your swings, but you’re relentless.

“You think you can just waltz in and spray whatever dumb shit you want? You’re gonna clean this up with your tongue, you little—”

Before you can deliver another hit, the guy turns around, and his hood falls back. Your breath catches.

“Jihoon?!”

The guy grimaces, rubbing his back where you’ve practically beat the soul out of him, but it’s definitely him. The same Jihoon you snapped at in class today, the same Jihoon you barely tolerate during group projects. The fucker who’s been defacing your bakery.

You blink, still holding the mop in a death grip. “So it was you, you fucking idiot?! You’ve been doing this the whole time?!”

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, still smirking like this is some kind of joke. “Well... I wouldn’t say the whole time.”

“You—” You jab the mop handle at him again, making him flinch. “You’re going to clean this up. I don’t care how. Hell, you can start with your tongue if you’re so attached to your damn art.”

“Woah, woah.” He holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I mean, it’s just paint.”

“Just paint?” you repeat, incredulous. “I’ve had customers complain, the city’s sent me notices, and you’re out here calling it just paint? Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, no. They’re shit. Like, the worst shit I’ve ever seen,” you bite out. 

You cross your arms, staring Jihoon down as he leans awkwardly against the wall. 

“You know what? I should call the police on you.”

His eyes go wide, his posture straightening instantly. “No, no, no! Come on, don’t do that!”

You slowly pull your phone from your back pocket, waving it in front of him as you point a finger at his chest. “I think it’s about time you get what’s coming to you.”

Panic flashes across his face, and he lunges forward, trying to grab your phone, but you thrust the mop at his chest, pressing it against him to keep him at bay. “Back off!”

He stumbles back, frowning, his lips jutting out in a sulk. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I don’t wanna sleep in the cold!” His feet stomp on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, the whole thing looking ridiculous enough that anyone watching might think this was an opening scene from The Office.

You ignore his whining and start dialing, but he won’t shut up. “Please! You can’t let me go to jail over some paint!”

“You should’ve thought about that before tagging my bakery again.” You cut him off, giving him a pointed look. “Why the hell have you been doing this? And don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous dick spray-painted on the back of my shop either.”

Jihoon stays quiet for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he shifts on his feet. His hands fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you narrow your eyes, sensing something off.

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear. 

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What?”

His face goes red, and he mutters again, “Only if... you let me try one of your tarts.”

You blink, leaning in closer. “What was that? Speak up, punk.”

Jihoon sighs, cheeks practically glowing. “I said... I want to try one of your tarts, okay?!”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

He nods, keeping his head down, looking smaller and more pathetic than you ever imagined he could.

“You’re telling me... you come here, paint my walls like a little delinquent, and now you want a fucking tart? You—”

You breathe in, trying to summon every ounce of patience you have left. The tarts are your best sellers—the buttery crust, fresh fruit, and creamy filling that made your bakery famous not just in the neighborhood but all over town. People raved about them, coming from across the city just to get their hands on one. Hell, students from your college made regular stops just to bring some back to class.

Your shoulders sag in exasperation, but you eventually gesture toward the door. “Fine. Get inside.”

Jihoon looks up, surprised but not daring to push his luck. You flip the lights back on, the bakery coming to life once more. Heading to the back, you grab a fresh tart from the display, muttering curses under your breath as you shout, “Which one do you want?”

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

You grab a pink plate and set the tart delicately in the center, placing it on the counter with one of your signature gold-colored forks and a neatly folded napkin. When you walk over to the table Jihoon picked, nestled in a corner, you notice him glancing around the bakery with a curious expression, taking in the space like he’s never seen it properly before.

He sits down, eyeing the tart suspiciously at first. You cross your arms and sit across from him, your foot bouncing impatiently under the table. You can’t help but suppress an inner smile—every customer had the same reaction to their first bite, and you’re secretly waiting for it.

Jihoon picks up the fork, hesitantly cutting into the tart. As soon as the buttery crust gives way, the scent of fresh strawberries and sweet cream fills the air. He takes a bite, and his eyes widen almost immediately. He chews slowly, like he’s processing the taste, his expression changing from sulky to... amazed.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing up at you, eyes wide. “This is... really good.”

You lean back, crossing your arms tighter. “Yeah. That’s what people keep saying.”

He takes another bite, and then another, clearly trying not to devour the whole thing in two seconds. His face softens, the usual smugness gone, replaced by genuine awe. He looks around the bakery again, understanding slowly sinking in. The care you put into every detail—the soft lighting, the warmth, the way the scent of fresh-baked goods fills the air. It’s no wonder other bakeries in the area couldn’t compete.

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed. 

You shift in your seat, arms still crossed, and stare at Jihoon as he wipes his mouth with the napkin, setting it down with a quiet sigh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture heavy with something unsaid.

“So… you gonna tell me why you’ve been punking my bakery?” you ask, your voice less biting than before, though the edge is still there.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing out the window for a moment like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighs again. “We had a bakery, me and my grandma. It was right across the street.”

You frown, your head tilting slightly as you turn to glance outside through the window. Yeah, you remembered that place. It had that old-school charm, the kind of bakery that felt like a cozy throwback to the 60s, with its wooden benches and rustic signage. It had been there before you moved into the neighborhood. You even remembered the old lady that used to work there, always with a smile, though her hands were slow and her voice even slower. The front of the bakery had been boarded up for months now, closed and forgotten by most.

Jihoon continues, his voice lower. “Before you opened up, we did well. My grandma’s tarts were, like, the thing around here. People came from all over to buy them.” He pauses, and you see his shoulders drop slightly. “But after your tarts took off… we started losing customers. A lot of them.”

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air thickens. You swallow, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight in your chest. You remember seeing them sitting outside their shop, the once-busy bakery now quiet as yours boomed with success.

“We tried to keep up,” Jihoon says, his voice a little shaky. “But no one came in anymore. People stopped buying our stuff. My grandma and I used to just sit there on the bench, watching people line up outside your place while we were lucky to sell a couple tarts.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, like he’s mocking the memory. “She’d pretend it didn’t bother her, but I knew. I knew it killed her inside.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, guilt creeping in even though you know it wasn’t really your fault. Still, hearing it from him, the weight of their loss, makes you look down at the table, feeling suddenly small.

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask softly, the words barely escaping your mouth. “This was my dream too.”

Jihoon nods, almost like he understands, though there’s still bitterness in his tone. “I know. And it’s not like you did anything wrong. Your bakery is… well, people love it. They loved your tarts. And I guess, after a while, I just got so… mad.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “We had to close the bakery. We couldn’t keep up. And I started working in the city, doing graffiti, whatever I could to make ends meet.” He shakes his head, laughing without humor again. “And when I saw people still lining up here, day after day, it just… pissed me off. So I started tagging your walls. Stupid, I know.”

You feel a lump in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You glance back out the window, seeing the boarded-up bakery in the distance, and it stirs something deep inside. His frustration, his anger… it all makes sense now.

“I didn’t understand,” Jihoon says, his voice softer now, almost defeated. “I couldn’t figure out how your tarts were better than my grandma’s. It didn’t make sense to me. We’d been here for years. How could people just forget about us?” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sad. “But now I get it. I guess… your tarts really are better.”

The way he says it, with that empty laugh, hits you right in the chest. There’s no joy in his voice, no real acceptance, just this sad realization that his family’s legacy had been outdone by you.

You lower your gaze, feeling awful. “Jihoon…” You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt gnawing at you, but what could you even say? You worked hard for this. It wasn’t like you meant to destroy his bakery. But it’s clear now that, in a way, you did.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you mumble, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s not like I wanted to take business away from you guys.”

He waves it off, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I know. It’s just how it worked out. You did what you had to do. I just… I didn’t know what else to do but get mad at you for it.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with unsaid things. Jihoon keeps his gaze on the table, his fingers playing with the edges of the napkin, while you try to process the weight of everything he just said.

And as much as you want to feel justified—after all, you didn’t do anything wrong—there’s a part of you that can’t shake the sadness settling deep in your chest. You glance out the window again, at the closed shop across the street, and for the first time, you wonder what it must’ve been like for them, watching your bakery rise while theirs fell apart.

Jihoon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know… it’s dumb. You didn’t mean to screw us over. I just… I just miss the way things used to be.”

You breathe in deeply, trying to push down the growing lump in your throat. 

The silence between you two lingers, stretching out like the stillness of the night outside. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator behind the counter, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You breathe in, thinking of something to say, and for a moment, Jihoon glances up at you, expectant. But when you close your mouth again, he looks away, fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

Finally, you place your hand on the wooden table between you, the sound of your fingers brushing the grain breaking the silence. "What kind of tarts did your grandma sell?" you ask, voice steady but curious.

Jihoon frowns, clearly taken off guard by the question. "Savory ones," he says after a beat, as if testing the waters of the conversation.

Your brow lifts in surprise. Savory tarts weren’t really your thing—you specialized in the sweet stuff. "Savory?" you lean in a bit, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Jihoon seems to hesitate, unsure of where you’re going with this, but then he starts listing them off, voice soft at first but growing stronger. "Palm heart or olives, ham, and cheese, sometimes we’d do quiches with bacon and caramelized onions, even some seasonal ones with pumpkin or sweet potato… Stuff like that."

You sit back, letting the list of flavors settle in your mind, gears turning. You’d never considered offering savory tarts before—your bakery was known for its sweets. But maybe that was part of the problem. There was a whole side of the tart game you hadn’t even touched.

"You think you could make some of those flavors and bring them tomorrow?" you ask, your tone casual as you rest your chin in your hand.

Jihoon frowns deeper, confused, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

You chew your lip for a second, glancing around your bakery, imagining it filled with the rich, hearty smells of savory tarts instead of the usual sugar and cream. "I was thinking maybe we could try something… an experiment," you say, eyes lighting up as you lean forward. "You bring the savory ones, I’ll sell them in the display, right alongside the sweet ones. See how people like them."

Jihoon blinks at you, processing your words, and for a moment, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re suggesting. "You… you wanna sell my grandma’s tarts here?"

You nod, the idea already snowballing in your mind. "Yeah, why not? People around here are crazy for the sweets, but maybe they’ve just never had the chance to try something savory. And you know I don’t do that kind of thing, so… it’d be different." You pause, watching his face, which is slowly starting to shift from confusion to something brighter. "We’ll call it a collab or something. Give them a taste of what your bakery used to offer."

His eyes light up, sparkling with excitement as the idea sinks in. The hesitation that was there before vanishes, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. "Really?" He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "You think… people would like them?"

"If they’re as good as you say they are," you grin, tapping your fingers on the table, "then yeah, I think they will."

Jihoon’s face softens, and for the first time tonight, a real smile spreads across his lips. It’s small at first, but there’s something genuine and almost childlike about it, like you just handed him a lifeline he wasn’t expecting. "They’re really, really good," he says earnestly, nodding. "My grandma used to get people coming back for them all the time. They were, like, her specialty."

"Then bring enough for tomorrow," you say, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "We’ll put them out, see what happens. Maybe it’ll bring some of her old customers back."

He looks at you like you’ve just flipped the entire script on him. The guy who’d been tagging your bakery out of spite now suddenly has a shot at redemption, and it’s written all over his face. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his excitement barely contained.

"How many do you need?" he asks, voice filled with an eagerness you hadn’t seen in him before.

You pause, thinking for a second. "Start small—maybe a couple dozen to test the waters. If they sell out, we’ll know we’re onto something."

Jihoon nods rapidly, his excitement bubbling over. "I can do that. I can bring, like, the spinach and feta ones. Those were super popular. And maybe the mushroom ones too. People loved those." He’s rambling now, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "You think they’ll like them? I mean, people around here are kinda obsessed with sweet stuff, but these… these are different."

You laugh softly, watching him get more and more animated. "I think if they’re as good as you say, people are gonna be lining up for them. And who knows? Maybe savory tarts will be the next big thing."

Jihoon sits back, grinning like he can’t believe this is real. "I can’t believe you’re actually doing this." His eyes flicker over the bakery, taking in the pink and white décor, the polished countertops, the faint smell of sugar still lingering in the air. "I thought you’d just tell me to fuck off, honestly."

You shrug, smiling slightly. "Well, I did wanna hit you with a mop earlier. But… I don’t know. It seems like the least I can do after everything."

He stares at you, his grin softening into something more serious, more genuine. "Thanks," he says quietly, and you can tell that he means it. "I… I really judged you wrong."

You wave him off, but inside, there’s a warmth spreading, something that feels almost like… relief? Like maybe this little experiment could be more than just business—it could be a way to right some wrongs.

"Just bring your best game tomorrow," you say, standing up from the table. "If your grandma’s tarts are half as good as you say, I’m sure people will love them."

Jihoon stands too, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, they will. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with that confidence again, and for the first time, it feels like you’re seeing the real him, not the guy who’s been tagging your bakery out of anger.

As you walk him to the door, you glance back at the kitchen, already imagining the savory tarts lining the shelves next to your usual sweets. This could be something big, something new—something that might even help mend the bridge between you two.

Jihoon pauses at the door, turning back to you with a grin. "Tomorrow, then. You won’t regret this."

The next morning, Jihoon arrives at your bakery with a box, the warmth of the tarts and quiches radiating from inside. You grin as you lift the lid, the smellof the buttery crust wafting out. Carefully, you place them in the display, arranging them neatly beside your sweets.

Jihoon moves towards the door without saying a word, but before he can leave, you raise your voice, “Where are you going?”

He pauses and steps back in, bending down to pick up a bucket of paint remover and a brush from outside. “Gonna get rid of the mess,” he says with a shrug, shaking the supplies in his hand.

You scoff, leaning against the counter. “Looks like hitting you with the mop actually worked.” You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed.

He freezes, his eyes widening a little, like he just remembered something. “Hey! You!” he protests, gesturing to his back. “I’m my back its black and blue thanks to you! My back its ruined.”

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Serves you right,” you shoot back, and Jihoon huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he heads outside to scrub off the tags.

As the morning rush starts, a couple of your regulars approach the counter, eyeing the new items. One of them, Mrs. Park, furrows her brow. "What’s all this?" she asks, nodding to the savory tarts.

You flash her a smile, "We’re doing a little collab with Jihoon’s family bakery. They used to sell these savory tarts, and we thought we'd give them a try here. You should taste them, they’re amazing."

Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow but picks up one of the tarts anyway. Within minutes, word spreads, and before you know it, the dozen savory tarts you put out are gone—people even leaving with extras for home. You lean against the counter, watching the buzz, satisfaction building in your chest.

As the rush dies down, you step outside where Jihoon is wiping down the wall, now tag-free. You smirk. "Sold everything," you say, watching his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

You nod. “Yeah, they went faster than I thought. Even Mingyu couldn’t keep his hands off them,” you say, pointing through the window where Mingyu is, mid-bite, munching happily on a tart behind the counter.

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at Mingyu, then back at you. "I’ve got more ready at my grandma’s place. I can go grab them now."

"Do it," you say with a grin, waving him off. “Bring a lot. I don’t think these’ll last long.”

An hour later, Jihoon returns, but this time he’s not alone. His grandma, the sweet old lady you remember from the bakery across the street, is with him. You light up when you see her.

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly. 

She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she gives you a gentle hug. "You’ve done so well with this place," she says, looking around the bakery.

As you help unload the box of fresh tarts, you see Mingyu’s eyes widen as he watches you set them out again, his mouth practically watering. He reaches for one, but you swat his hand away.

"Those are to sell," you scold playfully, but before you can follow up, Mrs. Lee reaches up and pats Mingyu on the head.

"Eat, eat, you’re a big boy. You need it," she says, and Mingyu, towering over her, grins sheepishly as he lowers his head.

"Yes, ma’am," he says with a boyish smile, clearly charmed.

With the tarts restocked, the afternoon turns out to be just as busy as the morning. People are coming in and out, curious about the new savory options, and before you know it, they’re sold out again.

After the rush dies down and the shift ends, you pull out the cash notes, counting how much you’ve made for the day. You walk over to Jihoon, handing him a stack of money.

"Here, this is how much we sold, minus the cost of ingredients," you say, but Jihoon waves his hand, shaking his head.

"Nah, don’t do that," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s your bakery. I’m just helping out."

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. "You think I’m not gonna pay you for your grandma’s recipes? Don’t be stupid."

He fidgets, glancing down. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles, but you cut him off.

"Come on. You think of reopening your grandma’s bakery again?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "I’ve been thinking about it. But there’s a lot to clean up, fix…"

You lean back, thinking for a moment. “Well, while you figure it out, how about you use my bakery to sell your savory stuff? We can split the profits and see how it goes. Maybe that way, you’ll get enough to fix it.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, gratitude spreading across his face. "You… you’d let me do that?"

You shrug. "Why not? People love your stuff, and I’ve got space. Plus, this way, we both win."

His lips part, disbelief still etched on his face, but then his shoulders relax, and a small smile forms. "I don’t know what to say. Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," you say, grinning. "We still gotta get through tomorrow."

He laughs, the tension that had been hanging between you since the whole graffiti incident finally easing. "I guess I’ll be back here early with more tarts, then."

"Bright and early," you reply, with a playful nod. "And don’t forget to bring your grandma too. Mingyu might cry if she doesn’t show up."

Jihoon chuckles, glancing at Mingyu who’s in the back, still wiping tart crumbs from his face. "I think you’re right about that."

As Jihoon and his grandma leave, you’re left standing in your bakery, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the now pristine windows. 

The next morning, Jihoon shows up right on time, his grandma’s small hand wrapped around his arm as they step into the bakery. There’s something heartwarming about the sight—the way she leans on him, and how he effortlessly balances the heavy box of tarts in his other hand. You catch a glimpse of the pure affection between them, the kind only grandparents seem to have for their grandkids, and it makes you feel... softer.

Jihoon flashes you a quick, almost shy smile as he sets the box on the counter, the warmth of the freshly baked tarts instantly filling the room. You move to help him, opening the glass case of the vitrine. As you lean in to arrange the tarts, his arm brushes against yours, just barely. It’s nothing, really—just a quick touch—but you bite back a smile anyway. The warmth of it, the quiet ease, feels nice. Comfortable.

Outside, the rain begins to pour, pattering against the windows. It's not the gloomy kind of rain, though—it’s the kind that makes people crave warm spaces, a place to settle into with a coffee in hand. Your bakery, with its soft yellow lighting and the sweet smell of tarts mingling in the air, feels like the perfect refuge. You can already see a few people huddling under umbrellas as they make their way inside, the little bell above the door chiming each time.

Jihoon steps back, his eyes following yours as you arrange the tarts in perfect rows. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to sound casual, though your voice is a bit quieter than usual. You clear your throat. “Rain’s gonna bring people in. They’ll want something warm.”

Almost as if on cue, the door swings open with a gust of wet air, and your best friend stumbles inside, panting, her umbrella flung into the holder by the door. She shakes the rain off her coat and makes a beeline for the counter, eyes wide.

“I heard you’re selling savory tarts now,” she exclaims, nearly breathless.

You shoot her a look, half-amused. “Word spreads fast around here, hm?”

She leans on the counter, eyes scanning the new additions in the vitrine like she’s sizing them up. “You know me. I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says, grinning. Her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who’s still standing behind you. “And you,” she says, her tone turning teasing, “finally decided to be useful, huh?”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes, but you can see a flicker of amusement there. “I’m useful in ways you don’t even know,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, but it makes you smirk.

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure,” she quips, pulling out her wallet. “Alright, give me one of those tarts. Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

You grab a tart—spinach and cheese, her favorite—and hand it to her on a small plate. She takes one bite, her eyes widening dramatically. “Oh my god,” she says, mouth half full. “Okay, this… this is dangerous. You can’t sell these, I’ll be here every day.”

You laugh, watching her devour the tart. Jihoon leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed, a little smug. “Told you they were good,” he murmurs.

The steady rain outside only adds to the cozy vibe, making the bakery feel like a warm little haven. More customers trickle in, shaking off their umbrellas and ordering coffees to go with the new savory tarts. Some regulars ask about the new addition, and you tell them about the collaboration with Jihoon and his grandma. It’s casual, like you’re letting them in on a little secret, and soon enough, people are lining up to try them.

As you work, you can feel Jihoon’s presence behind you, quietly helping out where he can—refilling the display, wiping down tables, clearing plates. It’s kind of funny, actually. Not long ago, this same guy was spray-painting the walls of your bakery like a punk, and now here he is, setting tarts in your vitrine, his arm brushing against yours, acting like part of the team.

Your friend finishes her tart and slides the plate back toward you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, I gotta go before I eat the whole case,” she says, shooting you a wink. She glances at Jihoon as she grabs her umbrella. “You better keep bringing these, or we’ll have problems.”

Jihoon smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

As she leaves, you watch the bakery fill with warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of conversations. The rain taps against the windows, the outside world grey and wet, while the inside is alive with comfort. You lean against the counter, watching Jihoon’s grandma chatting with a customer. It’s kind of perfect, in a way—everything just falling into place.

After the lunch rush, Jihoon catches your eye, his expression a little sheepish. "They’re really selling, huh?"

You smile, a little proud. "Yeah. Told you they’d be a hit."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Guess I underestimated this place."

“It’s kinda nice having you around... even if you are a pain in the ass.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes but not disagreeing. “You just like bossing me around.”

“I do,” you admit with a grin. “And you’re getting pretty good at following orders.”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he picks up a rag to wipe down the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring more tomorrow."

The evening was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint swoosh of the mop gliding across the floor. You were halfway through cleaning when your foot nudged something under the counter. Frowning, you crouched down and pulled out a box—heavy, clinking inside—and when you opened it, there they were. Paint cans.

You tilted your head, staring at them, then shouted, "Jihoon! What the hell is this?"

He popped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Uh... well, I was thinking... maybe the bakery could use a little—art,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cans to you.

"Art?" you raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips. "You're not gonna draw a dick on the front door, are you? 'Cause if that's your plan, Jihoon, I swear—"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No! It wasn’t me, alright? That was one of my friends.”

Your eyebrow shot up even higher. "So you had your friends tag my bakery too?"

He suppressed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I yelled sorry, like, a million times already.”

You shook your head, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Jihoon stepped closer, eyes scanning your expression carefully. “Look, I promise—no dicks. I was thinking... something different. Something that matches the vibe here. I could paint something... that looks like you.” His gaze lingered on you, analyzing your features like he was already sketching you out in his mind.

You sat back, considering it. The idea of graffiti on your pristine bakery wasn’t exactly appealing, but there was something about Jihoon’s offer... the way he was looking at you, not like a cocky vandal but like someone who wanted to create something for you.

You frowned, arms crossed, skeptical. “You? Graffiti something that looks like me? You’re kidding.”

He shrugged, stepping back slightly. “Let me show you. I’ll do it on the back wall. Something pastel, something sweet—like your bakery.”

You huffed, but curiosity got the better of you. “Fine. But if it looks like shit, you’re cleaning it up, Jihoon.”

Outside, the air was crisp, and the dim lights of the street barely reached the back alley behind your bakery. Jihoon grabbed the cans, setting them down with a focused energy, his jaw tight. He was different when he worked on something—serious, quiet. You watched as he started to shake one of the cans, the metallic rattle filling the space. 

He started to sweat after a few strokes of the spray, his arm flexing each time he pressed the nozzle. The light from the back door illuminated his face, and when he flicked his hair to the side, it reminded you of those boys from high school, the ones who all had that Justin Bieber haircut. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He stepped back, turning toward you, his eyes searching your face. “So... what do you think?”

You tilted your head, focusing on the paint. It was a pastel-colored slice of cake, detailed with delicate swirls and shadows that made it look almost real. “The... strawberry looks a little weird,” you pointed out, walking closer.

Jihoon let out a soft laugh, stepping aside. “Come help me then. You fix it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Me? I don’t know how to spray paint, Jihoon. It’s gonna look like a five-year-old did it."

He waved it off, walking toward you with the can in hand. “Nah, you can do it. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you out of the chair, placing the can in your hand. “Just like this,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His chest pressed lightly against your back, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear. His hand moved to yours, guiding your fingers to press down on the nozzle, and the paint sprayed out in a clean line. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Press gently... just like that."

“See?” he whispered, his voice right in your ear, and you could feel the concentration in his breath, how calm it was. “Not so hard, is it?”

You were too aware of everything—his breath, his hand on yours, the way his body pressed just slightly against yours, not enough to feel too much, but enough to make your pulse pick up.

His hand, now on your waist, gave you the faintest squeeze, right where your skin showed between your top and your jeans, right where your shirt had ridden up a little. It was an absent touch, almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did. His fingers were warm, the pressure light but there. Your breath caught in your throat for a second.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His hand never moved, just stayed resting on your waist, a quiet but steady reminder of how close he was. The paint kept flowing, and you realized you were barely focused on the mural anymore. It was all Jihoon. The way his body moved with yours, the brush of his breath against your ear.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, voice low, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. "You sure you're not just getting handsy with me to avoid doing the work?"

He huffed a small laugh, right in your ear, his breath warm. “You think this is me being handsy? I’m just trying to teach you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little more, just enough to feel him tense up. His hips were snug against yours, and you could feel the smallest reaction in his body, the way his chest rose sharply as you pressed back into him.

"Uh-huh,” you said, feigning innocence. “So that’s why you sound like you’re having the best time of your life right now? Not exactly subtle, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, his mouth so close to your ear that you flinched a bit. "Says the one who's shivering under my arm like I’m doing more than just helping you paint.”

You let out a soft chuckle, your head leaning back just a little, the movement making his face brush against your shoulder. You could feel his breath catch again as your body pressed back.

“Jihoon…” you said, voice dropping an octave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying real hard not to moan in my ear.”

His breath hitched, and this time, you felt it. His body tensed, the can in his hand wavering slightly as he pressed the nozzle. He was trying—trying so damn hard to stay focused on the paint, but your words were getting to him. His grip tightened on the can.

He lowered your arm, stopping the spray of paint, and you could feel the tension crackling between you both. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and then he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw as he whispered, “You keep teasing me like that, I’ll forget the painting and pin you to this wall.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the low rumble in his voice, letting your ass push against him again. You give him a slow, teasing smile, turning your head just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “And if I told you I wouldn’t mind?”

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, in a blink, he turned you around, the paint can clattering to the floor as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips hovered over yours for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, tension thick in the air. “You're playing with fire, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “Then burn me.”

His lips crashed against yours in a starved kiss, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed so close it felt like there wasn’t an inch between you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him down harder into the kiss, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders. His hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch burning your skin as he kissed you deeper, rougher, like he couldn’t get enough. 

His body pressed you against the wall, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, and you could feel his cock coming to life. The slight tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, the way his breath hitched when you kissed him harder—it was all there, barely restrained.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly like the strawberries and honey from earlier, and every time you tried to pull back for air, he chased you, his lips crashing back against yours like he couldn’t stand the space between you for even a second. 

Finally, when you both pulled away for breath, your foreheads resting together, you smirked, your breath still uneven. “You okay there, Jihoon? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

He chuckled, his hand still gripping your waist, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You talk too much,” he muttered, pulling you back in for another kiss before you could even think of another comeback.

You could feel the wetness of his tongue against yours, slick with saliva that started to pool at the corners of your mouth as you sucked it in deeper. Jihoon’s hand was firm, gripping the curve of your ass, his other arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

You stumbled backward in a tangle of steps, the two of you moving like you were magnetized to each other, lips fused together, completely unwilling to separate. His hand squeezed your ass hard, making you gasp into his mouth. That sound—the desperate little moan you couldn’t hold back—had him groaning too, swallowing the noise like it fueled him, pressing you harder against the door to the back of the store.

Jihoon fumbled for the handle, blindly opening it while keeping his mouth glued to yours. You barely noticed when he shoved you through the threshold, into the bakery’s quiet salon. He didn’t break the kiss, not even for a second, not until your back hit the counter and he pressed himself against you again, trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You were breathless, desperate to kiss him harder, to get more of those sweet, low moans he made when your lips connected just right. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slipping between you that you realized what he was doing. Somehow, in the heat of it all, he had already undone your jeans, his fingers deftly sliding the button free, his hand dipping lower, teasing the waistband of your panties.

"Fuck, Jihoon," you panted, head thrown back as his lips trailed along your jaw. You shivered when you felt his hand slipping under the lace, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. You felt your sink boiling, the warm air from the bakery making you sweat down your neck. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, more like moaning. 

The jeans you still had on were tight, too tight, and it made it impossible for you to spread your legs the way you wanted. The friction of his hand between you was good, but not nearly enough.

You shifted against him, trying to spread your legs wider, your breath coming out in frustrated little pants. "Jihoon," you managed, voice almost pleading, "jeans... get them off."

His lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, and you could feel him smirk before he pulled back slightly. "So bossy," he murmured, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to your jeans, tugging them down with quick, rough movements, the denim catching awkwardly on your thighs before he yanked them free.

With your jeans finally gone, he spread your legs wide, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over you. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you exactly how he wanted before slipping his fingers right back under the waistband of your panties, but this time, there was no hesitation.

He slid one finger through your slick folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were for him. "God, you're soaked," he breathed, almost like he was in disbelief. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips. "Just... please, Jihoon—more."

He slid a finger inside you, the sensation making you gasp, your legs instinctively spreading wider for him. You wanted more of him, needed it, and when he curled his finger just right—not even forcing it, he felt the spongy spot, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

"Like that?" he whispered, voice hoarse as he added another finger, filling you up and making your whole body arch into him. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, each thrust deeper, more insistent.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, barely able to form words as he sped up, his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, making you see fireballs with closed eyes. "Just... just like that."

His hand moved faster, fingers curling and stroking deep inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room. Your hips bucked against him, chasing the sensation, wanting him to take you higher, needing him to push you over the edge.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, "I could do this all night... but I think you want me to make you come, don’t you?"

You whimpered. "Please, Jihoon," you breathed, voice shaky. "I need it."

His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deep, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body trembled. He could feel how close you were, could see it in the way your thighs quivered, the way your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

"Cum for me," he murmured, thumb pressing harder against your clit, feeling the nerve throb as his fingers worked inside you. "Cum all over my fingers."

You rest your elbow on the counter, arching your back in a way that makes the slick sound between your thighs almost obscene. It’s impossible to ignore. You know exactly how wet you are, and palm, right there pressing down the mound of your pussy—god, you can feel it, burning hot. Your breath hitches, and you throw a hazy glance in his direction, catching his smirk, that cocky look on his face. His lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes dark and full of heat, and that’s all it takes before you come apart.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you. Eyes squeezing shut, your body tenses, thighs trembling as your hips jerk involuntarily against his hand. You hear him coaxing you through it, his voice a low murmur, his fingers keeping steady pressure, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of you.

“There you go… good fuckin' girl. Just like that, keep comin’ for me… shit, so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, fingers slowing just enough to keep you riding the high.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you slowly open your eyes again. He’s staring at you—taking in every inch of you. The smirk on his face hasn't faltered, only deepened. There’s something dangerous about the way he looks at you, like he's already planning his next move.

“You think you can turn around for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, still catching your breath, but a wicked grin spreads on your lips. “Nah. I’ll fall to my knees and suck you off instead.” Your voice is steady despite the way your legs still tremble. His eyes widen just for a second before he sharpens a breath, a harsh inhale that lets you know you’ve hit the right nerve.

You don’t give him time to respond before you’re on your knees, fingers already undoing his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. You look up through your lashes, watching his jaw tighten as his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. His breathing’s heavy, uneven.

You run your tongue along his length slowly, collecting the sticky precum, teasing the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. He moans immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward as your lips slide further down his cock. The sound he makes is a whiny moan, almost of frustration as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel the pulse of him on your tongue, the way his body reacts to every little move you make.

He grips your hair, tugging gently as you bob your head, setting a slow rhythm that has him panting. His hips start to move, barely restrained, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Goddamn… ngh—fuck! From hittin’ me with a mop to this?” His voice cracks on a laugh, but it’s breathless, shaky. “Didn’t think you’d… suck me off like this…”

You pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lips slick, before looking up at him, smirking. “Better than the mop, right?”

His laugh turns into a groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you take him deep again. “Fuck yeah… way better than the fuckin' mop.” He’s losing his composure now, hips moving a little more desperately, the hand in your hair tightening, guiding you as you work him harder, faster.

His moans grow louder, less restrained, and you can feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer. You hollow your cheeks one last time, sucking him in deeper, tongue working every inch of him until you hear him curse under his breath, his head falling back as his body shudders.

“Shit—” His moan is drawn out, almost too much for him to handle, as he loses himself in your mouth, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably. You keep going, pushing him right to the edge, savoring every last sound he makes until he finally pulls you off, breathless and wrecked.

“Fuck... you’re gonna kill me with that pretty mouth,” he pants, grinning down at you, still catching his breath. 

You pull back for a second, lips slick with spit, catching your breath before you go back in, this time with a wicked grin. His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him slowly, teasing, just enough to keep him on the edge.

“So…” you start, voice low, looking up at him with a dangerous gleam in your eyes. “How are you gonna fuck me, huh? Gonna be good to me, or…” You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, making him gasp before taking him back into your mouth, sucking harder, wanting to hear him stutter. “… or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His breath hitches, and he swears under his breath. “I—fuck, I—” His hips jerking toward your mouth, but he’s not quite there. The pressure is building, you can feel it, the way his muscles tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens.

But before you can push him too far, he suddenly pulls you off with a gasp, his cock red and leaking at the tip, his body shaking from the almost-orgasm. “Stop, stop, fuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, lips swollen as you sit back on your heels, panting, teasing. “Could’ve just let me finish you off,” you murmur, licking your lips slowly as you watch him struggle to catch his breath.

He grins, though his expression is tight, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. “Not gonna let you win that easy,” he mutters. He helps you up, hands firm but delicate as he lifts you to your feet. Your knees wobble a little from the discomfort of kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and he notices, his thumb brushing gently across the soft skin.

“They hurt?” he asks, glancing down at your knees, frowning just a little.

You shake your head, smirking. “I’ll live. But you owe me a good fuck for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You let him guide you back against the counter, his hands already sliding down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down tossing it on the floor. He pauses just for a second, eyes flicking between your bare pussy and your face, his breathing heavy.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Gonna make you scream.”

You shiver, feeling his cock press against your thigh as his hands move to grip your waist. His fingers are rough, impatient. You can barely think straight when he turns you around, pushing your chest flat against the cold countertop. The contrast of the cool surface and his hot skin makes your breath hitch, your body already aching for him.

He groans softly, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your slick folds as you grind back against him, impatient.

“Fuck—please, just—” You barely get the words out before he thrusts into you, filling you up completely in one swift movement. The stretch is intense, but it’s exactly what you needed, the delicious burn making you gasp as your fingers dig into the counter.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.” 

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke. 

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched.  Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it. 

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the “zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?” 

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him. 

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling. 

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control. 

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate. 

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red. 

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

 “Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased. 

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

[hongism]

SWEET JUICE - s.mingi (18+)

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

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

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

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

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

“You said he’s nice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Back to the new guy, Hwa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be happy to do that for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it hurt badly?”

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

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

“So what? You’re a witch as well?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a water witch.” 

You retract your hand from his with a scoff.

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

Mingi somehow has it in him to smile.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, you find that you are not alone.

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

“I know enough.”

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

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

“I think some part of me might.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

The first snow of the season is late.

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then too.”

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

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

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

────────────

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

[wri0thesley]

famous last words - dottore x reader x dainsleif (9.6k)

you can take care of yourself.

cw: dead dove, do not eat. not sfw, minors dni. non-con, drugging, syringes, mind control. yandere dottore and yandere dainsleif. reader is the traveller and has been travelling with dain. bondage, restraints, misuse of the akasha system, reader is traumatised and taken advantage of by dainsleif after being at dottore's mercy. reader wears a dress and has breasts/a vagina, but is referred to by they/them pronouns. please please heed the warnings.

a/n: please please (i am repeating it!) read the warnings on this one. one of my favourite yandere/dark content tropes is actually 'reader has a horrible experience and then a character who is supposed to take care of them takes advantage of them', and i don't think i've ever written it before, so this was super interesting to write!

this was a commissioned work.

Dainsleif has been on edge since the two of you crossed Sumeru’s borders. 

He doesn’t say it out loud - you have learnt, over the time the two of you have spent travelling together, that Dainsleif is a man of very few words even at the best of times - but you know his small quirks and foibles well enough now that you sense it. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way his eyes are constantly darting about wherever you go.

It’s somewhat in the way he walks closer to you, his height casting a shadow over your own, as if he can protect you merely by being near you. It makes a muscle in your jaw twitch - you are grateful for his care, of course, but surely he knows by now that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? You have gotten used to the feeling of a sword in your hand over your search for your twin - you have made a name for yourself in every nation you’ve traversed, and only some of the time has Dainsleif been by your side. 

You suppose that the newfound relationship between the two of you is clouding his judgement somewhat too--

Well.

‘Relationship’ might be too strong of a word.

Dainsleif is hesitant with you even now; checks with you, twice and three times, before he so much as touches your shoulder. But you hope you have made it clear he does not need to, with the way you have let your hand entangle with his and the way you have smiled at him when nobody else is looking, the soft confessions to him at camp overnight that he’s one of only two people in this world you would trust whole-heartedly . . .

All of that, perhaps, has made Dain even more protective over you than he was before, despite the truth of the matter being that you are almost equal in swordsmanship and combat ability. And he’s said enough to you, too, that you understand his hesitance. Other people he has loved have been taken from him - a whole nation, in fact. Dain has had to struggle on for years all alone, and walls built over such a long time do not crumble so easily--

But still. You wish he would not fret so when you walk away from him in Sumeru City to investigate an interesting looking fruit and to ask the stallholder some questions about their wares. 

You’re startled out of your reverie - handling the Zaytun peaches that lay in plump piles in round baskets upon this particular stall - by Dain murmuring your name. He has attracted some attention - he is tall and handsome and blond, an air of mystery and exoticism emanating off of him - but he is unaware of the giggles behind other people’s hands, his gaze set firmly on you.

He has always been like that - those piercing blue eyes, even through his mask-like patch - never fail to make you feel as though you are the only person in the world. You have woken up in the night at camp plenty of times, too, and felt safe in the knowledge that Dainsleif is there and his gaze will not falter. 

You toss some Mora to the stallholder and turn to Dainsleif, proffering one of the peaches to him. He takes it like a precious treasure.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, before you take a bite. His brow is furrowed - you sense something brewing in the wind. A kind of unease that lies hot and heavy in the humid Sumeru air. Dain sighs softly.

“I have some things I must do,” he says to you, his voice soft and low. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, smiling. You wonder what it is that he does not want to take you along with, but you do not push - Dainsleif will tell you in his own time, you are sure. You have no desire to push him too far when his hope seems such a fragile thing still. “I’ll meet you tonight, here?”

His shoulders untense, just a touch. 

“Will you stay in the City?” He asks you, and you laugh.

“Dain,” you say, smiling, just a touch of reproach in your voice. “I can take care of myself, you know! Go and do what you need to do. I will be absolutely fine. You know that! When have I not been?”

Dain does not look entirely convinced, but whatever it is that he has a need to do has a hold on him - he looks at you with those serious, piercing eyes and takes your hand. Your cheeks go hot all over as he bends to press a chivalrous kiss upon the back of it. The crowd of admirers that Dain has amassed are all atwitter over this - you cannot blame them. If you’d seen it happen to someone else you’re sure you’d be swooning. Even now, your heart is beating a double time march against your ribcage as you wonder how you got so lucky. 

“You promise me?” He asks. You can sense he is barely holding back the urgency in his voice; anxiety that tugs at the syllables like it is weighing them down. This errand he has to run . . . your curiosity runs rampant at what it might be that it is so clearly important to him.

“I promise I’ll be more than fine,” you say to him, smiling. There is the slightest snick of irritation, in the back of your mind - have you not fought dragons? Have you not befriended Archons? His concern is sweet, but he does not need to fret about you so. You say to him, trying to make sure your voice is as reasonable and convincing as possible; “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As it turns out, this proclamation will come back to haunt you.

They will become what are referred to in some places as ‘famous last words’.

You notice the earpieces that the Sumeru citizens wear as you wander around; when you ask someone about it, they look baffled as to your own lack of them.

“Usually you’re given one when you come into the city,” the young woman explains, as she kindly guides you back towards the entrance of Sumeru City. This explains it; Dainsleif always prefers to take the least populated way into anywhere, and most of the time you are happy to agree with him. Your exploits across Teyvat so far have occasionally resulted in some notoriety that isn’t always conducive to exploring new nations; you’re not surprised that Dainsleif had avoided the grand entrance of Sumeru City proper. Still, you’re beaming as the young woman brazenly walks up to one of the men standing at the entrance greeting newcomers. 

He has dark hair and a moustache, and is wearing the robes that you recognise as marking him out as a member of the Sumeru Akademiya; as the young woman explains that you two are without the devices - she calls them an ‘Akasha’ - you smile at him, as bright and hopeful and friendly as you can manage. 

He nods thoughtfully, and raises a hand to his own Akasha system.

“Just a moment,” he tells you, “I’m scanning the system for any information on you - just to ensure we don’t go around letting in criminals, you see?” 

As he does that, you ask a few more questions of the young woman - what it is that the Akasha system does, and whether your . . . unusual physiology (a far easier way to explain it, you’ve surmised over weeks of practise, than explaining that you are a traveller from beyond the realms of Teyvat) will effect it in any way. She is effluent with her praise - the Akasha, she tells you with a wide smile and genuine pride in her voice, has truly revolutionised what it is like to be a citizen of Sumeru. 

“This is unusual,” the man says, finally taking his hand from the complicated earpiece of the Akasha system. “I’m terribly sorry, but . . .”

“Is everything alright?”

You hadn’t wanted to mention it, of course - but you’d been afraid when he’d said he was scanning for information on you. Though you have mostly made peace with the nations you’ve travelled through, there have been plenty of misunderstandings too - and there are an unfortunate amount of activities that may be considered criminal in your past. Your heart beats just a little too quickly, as you carry on smiling and hope that your nervousness isn’t written too plain on your face.

You’d hate to get yourself into trouble after promising Dainsleif you would be absolutely fine on your own. 

“I’m sure there’s no problem at all,” the man assures you, as he tries to return your smile. “It’s simply that we do have a record of you - oh, please don’t worry, it doesn’t name you as a wanted criminal or some such thing! It merely asks that you be shown to the Akademiya to meet with one of our trusted scholars, if you are to set foot in Sumeru City.” 

This sounds a little more understandable, you think, as you let loose a small sigh of relief. Your reputation precedes you in several places - and this scholar would be far from the first person who has sought your help with matters. It’s strange that they couldn’t manage it alone with all of the resources of Sumeru behind them, but you are not in a position to judge. 

“Is it just me?” You ask. “I usually travel with another man, a different blond--”

He checks, the vine-like contraption of the Akasha pulsing over his ear, but then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, as he offers you his arm. “The only information we have is on you.” Another smile, clearly meant to reassure. “I really did mean it about not worrying; if you were a danger, I’m certain that this would not all be so civil. Sumeru maintains several forces of Eremite mercenaries to keep the peace, and the Akademiya itself has the Matra . . . If you were about to be in trouble, there would be far more of a guard than simply me.”

You still consider running. You let your eyes flash over the surrounding area to map out all possible escape routes, to see who you might have to fight if you need to - but in the end, you take the proffered arm. No matter how much Dainsleif might want you to lie low and not attract attention, you can’t help thinking that causing a scene like that would be far worse than going along with whatever it is you’re wanted for up in the Akademiya. 

You do not know it at the time, but it turns out to be just another decision that will come back to bite you. 

As the two of you walk, Panah - that is the man’s name, you find out - sends a message up to the Akademiya proper via the system, to let them know that the two of you are coming. He seems almost giddy when he is done, a smile playing beneath the moustache.

“I was permitted to speak to him myself,” he says, and you gather from the excitement in his voice that whatever man it is you’re about to meet occupies a place of high honour within the walls of the Akademiya. You’re impressed by the technology; you can’t help thinking how useful it would be, if you and Dainsleif had such a way to communicate when you were apart.

He’s not going to be happy about all of this - but with any luck, this will be a quick thing for you to deal with and you’ll be able to rake in some glory and reputation in Sumeru so the two of you don’t have to worry so much on your journey. A lost dog, perhaps. A band of Treasure Hoarders who need to be taken out--

If you had one of those Akasha systems, you think, you wouldn’t need to be trailing up all of these steps. You bring this up to Panah, and he laughs, still riding a high from speaking to whoever it was he was permitted to speak to.

“Ah, don’t worry about that! You’re going to be very lucky - he told me he even has an Akasha terminal set aside especially for you, with a couple of brand new features he’s been wanting to test out--”

Later on, you’ll curse yourself for these words not setting alarm bells off in your head. But right then, under the bright Sumeru sun and with the freedom of a day in Sumeru without Dain’s occasionally too protective presence, you just laugh brightly and daydream about the knowledge your very own Akasha will place at your fingertips.

There’s a little bit of pomp and ceremony when you make it to the Akademiya proper; the other staff members and workers and students who have been assigned to help you are all excited and chattering as they wave Panah off and begin to lead you into the labyrinthine halls. It’s a beautiful building, to be sure - but it’s deceptively large, and after going through lifts and corridors and being taken through door after door you begin to lose sense of where exactly it is you are. You feel a brief flare of panic inside; you much prefer to be in places where you have an idea of how to escape, should the need arise--

But everyone around you remains excited about the great scholar you’re about to meet, and their smiles and pats and their wistful proclamations about how lucky you are serve to soothe the fear, just a little. 

“Here we are,” says one of them, stopping outside a great wooden door with a complicated series of locks on it; some of them are easy to understand (you know what a padlock looks like, after all), but others seem to be rather more high-tech than you’re used to. Whatever it is behind this door, you think, it must either be very important or very expensive. “Oh! We have your Akasha terminal--”

He reaches into the folds of his robe to produce one of the vine-like contraptions that everyone in Sumeru wears on their ears.

“This one was designed by him specifically,” the man tells you in awe, as he reaches over and affixes it onto your ear. “It has a few brand new functions that he wants help testing out, and he said that your experience would be a huge boon in working out all of the kinks--”

Ah. So that’s what he wanted your help with. You wonder which of your exploits it is that has made this scholar think you’d be a good fit for this kind of testing; you wonder, too, why Dainsleif wasn’t included in this idea. The two of you have done so much together, after all--

You feel a brief electric zap that seems to flash over your vision and down to your spine. A little noise in your ear, a sense of heat that lasts barely a moment - and then, the man is stepping away from you and giving a strange little bow.

“It’s working, I think,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket to turn a key, swipe a card, as his own Akasha pulses to life and some of the locks upon the door respond in kind. “Ah - I’m afraid we’ll be leaving you. His temperament can be a little unpredictable, and I’m sure he’d rather meet you alone--”

“That’s alright,” you say, smiling. You wonder what kind of brand new functions this Akasha system is going to have; perhaps something for combat capabilities? Wilderness scanning, to be able to identify poisonous herbs and dangerous animals? The big wooden door slowly creaks open, as the entourage who have guided you into the bowels of the Akademiya all disperse, leaving you alone.

“Come in,” calls a voice. 

The voice is familiar; somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you recognise it. A kind of low, smooth drawl of a voice, that shivers with suggestion as it calls out to you. But it is not enough to deter you, now you’ve made it all the way here. 

You step into the room, walking further and further into it to see that it’s a . . . workshop, of some sort. There are a few tables scattered with various tools, deconstructed machinery lolling on the floor and propped against walls. There are a couple of remains of Ruin Guards, but in Sumeru this is hardly a surprising sight--

The door slams closed behind you. You hear the click and the whirr of the locks resetting themselves, trapping you in here, but even then you still do not panic just yet. You are in the Sumeru Akademiya, after all - what horror could possibly befall you at the hands of someone so well-regarded, in such a beacon of wisdom and hope in the nation? 

That’s when you spot the bed in the middle of the room. 

Sterile white sheets, white metal frame, restraints at the head and at the feet. An IV standing proudly beside it; a table to one side that is scattered with, instead of tools and screwdrivers, medical equipment. Needles and scalpels and pill bottles. Your throat goes dry. 

“Ah,” there’s that voice again, and out of the shadows steps a figure. Your brain snaps into action sickeningly quickly; this is indeed a man you recognise. This figure, in his doctor’s coat and long boots, with his hair falling over a masked face-- “You’re just as lovely as I remembered you.” 

You crouch, your body primed, your position ready to jump to attention at any moment. You reach behind you to will your sword into your hand - if you incapacitate Dottore quickly enough, perhaps you can knock him out whilst you search his workshop for tools to help you break the locks--

“Oh, my,” he says. “Such an unwelcome reception, my dear. Still. That won’t be for long.”

“Open the door,” you snarl, through gritted teeth. “Let me out, and I won’t ram my blade through your throat.”

He smiles beneath the mask, the tilt of his lips almost fond. 

“There’s that lovely fire,” he says to you, in a pleased purr. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you for what seems like forever.”

“I’m warning you--” Your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword. Your breath comes short; your heart pounds. 

You do not truly know if you could take Dottore in a fight - he is ranked second of the Harbingers, after all, and you do not think such a position would be granted without some combat capability. But you have to hold fast to your hope - and without Dainsleif here, all you have to rely on is your own skills. What might happen if he does overpower you doesn’t bear thinking about--

(You’d noticed, the last time the two of you had met, the way his gaze behind the mask had lingered on the shape of your body. The way he had spoken silky smooth, shivering with intent, when he had addressed you. The way his leather gloved hands had felt, on your shoulders, lingering there as if they wished they could be somewhere else--)

“Ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, chiding. “Now, darling. That won’t do at all.”

You realise too late that the Doctor himself is not wearing an Akasha system earpiece - but you are. 

And as you feel it pulse into life, as bright colours flash against your vision and you stumble, your sword slipping through your fingers . . .

Everything goes black.

“Now,” Dottore’s voice cuts through the blackness, as everything seems to slowly fall back into place like a jigsaw puzzle being re-assembled. “This might hurt a touch. Just a sharp scratch, my dear--”

You’ve been strapped onto the medical bed, just as you had feared. The straps are wrapped around your ankles and your wrists, binding you spread-eagle upon the thin little mattress. You can still feel the vines of the Akasha system wrapped around your ear, and your throat clogs with the fear of it - if it could knock you out stone cold, what else could it do? Your eyes flutter open, and Dottore pauses--

He’s leaning over you with a syringe in his hand, the liquid within glowing with the same blue glow as the earring he wears. As he sees that you’re awake, his mouth opens into a wide smile with just a hint of too sharp teeth.

“Oh!” He exclaims in delight. “You’re finally awake! My, you’ve missed quite the little drama.”

He carefully places the syringe down upon the metal table as he reaches over you and fiddles with some kind of control on the side of the bed. Slowly, it creaks upwards, propping you up a little so you are bent at the waist.

“That’s better,” Dottore coos. “Now we can all see one another. Look, darling. Your knight in shining armour.” 

Dainsleif. 

How long have you been out cold? How easy was it for Dottore to strap you onto this operating table - how deeply did the Akasha knock you out? 

Long enough for Dain to realise you were missing. Long enough for him to track you down - long enough for he, too, to be overpowered by the second Harbinger and find himself entirely at the Doctor’s mercy.

Your travelling companion sits across from the bed you are restrained upon, ropes tied around his broad chest to keep him lashed to a rusted metal chair. A gag has been crudely shoved into his mouth so all he can do is make a soft little distressed noise at the predicament you have found himself in; more ropes bind his ankles to each leg of the chair, just to ensure that he’s fully unable to so much as wriggle in his bindings. He stares at you, agonised. 

“We’ve been talking about everything I’m going to do to you,” Dottore hums - and something hot and sour crawls into your throat as he leans over, and his leather gloves caress your face like a lover and not like a madman. “Ah, sweet little traveller . . . I’ve barely been able to wait to get my hands on you. A pretty face like that, and that fighting spirit . . . Ah! You stick in a man’s mind.” His smile is just as wide and unhinged as ever as he taps your cheek fondly. “I don’t think your poor knight is going to enjoy it, but . . . well. I’m sure you will.”

You struggle in the bonds, as your strength returns to you. You try and use your not inconsiderable strength to see if you can loosen the leather around your wrists, as fear of the undercurrent of desire in Dottore’s words and anger at Dainsleif finding you like this and worry about Dain himself all war at once within you like a churning whirlpool.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you seethe at Dottore, tugging hard. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it would be better for everyone if you just let me go now, and we can pretend none of this happened--”

Dottore throws his head back and laughs. 

“Oh,” he practically purrs at you. “You’re so lovely when you’re enraged. But . . . ah. No, I don’t think I shall. Now, my dear. How shall we start? A kiss, perhaps? Your lips have been haunting my dreams recently--”

“I’ll bite your tongue off,” you snarl, and though you cannot see Dottore’s eyes you can tell from the way that his face moves that he has raised his eyebrows. He lets out a low, silky chuckle.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, if so . . .”

He reaches back over to the metal table, and in his hands now he lifts the syringe once more. He taps the barrel of glowing blue liquid once, twice, that infuriatingly calm and smooth smile returning to his face. 

“This won’t knock you out,” he tells you. “I want you to be aware of everything we do together, darling, so you remember how good it makes you feel . . . how much we belong together. But it shall . . . how should I put this? Take a bit of the edge out of you.” He leans in; finding the crook of your elbow, thumb smoothing softly and almost lovingly over the patch of skin. “I’d hate for all of your fire to go missing, but . . . perhaps we should at least dull your teeth a little, hmm?” 

Dainsleif makes some awful noise; a whimper crossed with a moan, a kind of noise you’ve never heard the stoic Twilight Sword make before, as the needle sinks into your skin with a sharp scratch. Panic flares in your mind white hot at whatever kind of concoction is being injected directly into your veins--

But the panic quickly dulls, as you feel the drug beginning to take effect. 

It adds a muzzy kind of quality to everything. You see Dottore and Dain before you - the Doctor smiling, Dain agonised behind his patch and gag and rope. You know that there is something terribly wrong with this scene, but your mind is too hazy to pull up the specifics. You go to open your mouth and put word to a question, but nothing comes out - your tongue is too heavy, your teeth feeling as though they’re in the wrong place in your mouth.

“Oh, lovely,” says Dottore with relish. “My, you took to that sedative better than even I hoped you would! Sweet dear thing, will you let me kiss you now?”

You know, in that hazy mess of your mind, that you do not want this man to kiss you - but as he leans forward, you cannot remember why. You cannot make your tongue move to say no, and before you know it a pair of lips have firmly pressed to your own, tasting of the smell of antiseptic and peppermint. Dottore kisses you as thoroughly as he does everything else - his mouth working against yours, sharp teeth tugging at your lower lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth and laying claim to the shape of it as if he is an explorer mapping out newly conquered territory.

From somewhere that seems very far away, you hear another angry noise, half groan and half moan. 

Dottore pulls back, his tongue tracing his lips as if he’s savouring the taste of you left on them.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs. “But . . . ah, my dear, don’t you want to kiss me back?”

There’s a pulse by your ear. Your mind short-circuits - and then Dottore is leaning in again for another kiss, and without you sending a single signal to your body you are kissing Dottore back, your mouth working against his, your tongues twining with one another as if possessed by an unknown force. Dottore groans into your mouth, at the same time as one of his gloved hands comes to land on your thigh, bare beneath your skirt. 

You realise dully that it is the Akasha, taking control of your body; doing exactly what Dottore tells you to do.

If you hadn’t been drugged with the sedative that the Doctor had used, perhaps this realisation would make horror rise in you - it clearly does in Dainsleif, who struggles desperately against his bonds. But to you, in your current state . . . it is merely a realisation that washes over you like a cool stream. An inevitability. 

“Ah,” Dottore says, and he smiles something horrific and tender down at you. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?” 

Those gloved fingers slide higher and higher up your thigh, the touch remaining soft. You think it would be better if he started pawing at you like an animal; if he ripped and tore at your clothes. Something about the softness of how his thumb moves over your inner thigh, the soft untouched skin there - something about the gentle way his thumb brushes over your underwear . . . that feels a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine. 

He sighs in pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it; your wrists and ankles bound, your entire body prone, your veins numbed with sedatives. Your eyes seek out Dain’s across the room - and he looks at you, so broken that you think you will cry. 

Dottore’s other hand reaches up to the catches down the side of your dress. They are there to make it easier to dress yourself - catches and buttons up your spine are not helpful when you are alone or injured, and since you have found yourself in Teyvat you have been both of those things more often than you’d like to have - but you curse them, now, as Dottore’s other hand gently (oh-so-gently) peels them from your body and you are almost bare before him. Your nipples pebble in the cool air; your cheeks flush hot at how he tilts his head to look down at you. 

If you could see his eyes, what would you see written in them? 

“Oh,” Dottore is quiet when he speaks; appreciation dripping off every syllable. He moves his other hand away from where he’s been constantly petting at your sex through your underwear in order to turn all of his attention to your newly bared chest; you feel the hot flush across your collarbones at the sheer admiration that seems to ghost every movement. “You’re even more lovely than I could have thought.”

His leather-clad palms reach down, taking a handful of the soft curve of your chest; squeezing the half-globes in his hand, sighing happily at how they fit in his grip. His thumb and forefinger find the nub of your nipples, pinching one each until they stiffen and pucker beneath the attention and you squirm, a hot little bolt of lightning going straight from the place Dottore is pinching to the place between your thighs.

“You like that?” He murmurs, not missing the way you shudder beneath the attention. “Ah, sweet thing - has your knight not done this for you? Have you been saving yourself for me?”

Again, you can’t make your tongue form words; all you can do is let out a little whimpering moan of a noise that makes Dottore chuckle. It sounds far too close to affirmation for your liking, but what can you really do, as Dottore continues to pinch and pluck at your nipples and the warm zaps of pleasure and excitement continue to run hot in your veins? 

You can hear the way your breath is starting to come out in little pants; how it shudders in the air, heat coalescing between the bots of you as Dottore’s insistent pinches further cloud your mind. You can’t help the noise that falls from your mouth as he bends his head and applies his tongue just so upon one of the buds; as it swirls around it, suckling the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with attention that makes your back arch involuntarily. 

Dainsleif, still bound across the room, fights against the ropes once again and lets out a muffled noise of anger; words caught in the gag, vitriol spewed at the Doctor as he does whatever he wants to with your body. It is all for nothing, though. 

Dottore’s thumbs are hooking into your underwear. The thin cotton tears at the seams at only the flimsiest tug from the second ranked Harbinger, and then Dottore is looking down at your spread thighs and the folds of your sex on display for him and cooing at you so sweetly that it cloys. 

“Oh, darling,” he says to you. “You’re this wet for me?”

It’s not fair.

Frustrated tears rise to your eyes. In your current state, drugged and confused, under all of Dottore’s touches . . . your body has betrayed you. You know you’re wet; you can feel your own slick, oozing out of you, your folds wet with droplets of arousal. Desire to be touched warring with disgust for the man before you inside of you - frustration that you cannot so much as speak to put voice to your anger. Not even to beg him to stop. 

Hand on your thigh. Two fingers, deftly parting the lips of your labia so cool air hits the sensitive inner folds; the swollen bud of your clit, waiting to be touched, thrumming with excitement. A whine catches in your throat at the sensation of being studied like this; the way that Dottore is looking down at you like a wolf about to thoroughly enjoy his meal. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, again. “So much lovelier in the flesh.” He turns his head without turning his body, catching Dainsleif’s gaze. “Look, Twilight Sword. Ah. Don’t you wish you were in my position now? Aren’t you simply longing to have your wicked way with our sweet little Traveller?” 

Dain struggles desperately, the muscles of his shoulders flexing, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth working at the gag firmly pressed within it. You know that he wants to help you; that Dain would tear Dottore limb for limb for what he is clearly about to do to you, if only he could get himself free. 

But, too, there’s something in his eye that you do not want to admit to.

Shining bright behind the agonised blue is a palpable lust; a desire to be in Dottore’s place. You know that Dain would never hurt you - would never strap you to a table and use you against your will, you’re sure of it - but that look in his eyes makes you shiver. 

“Don’t worry,” Dottore assures him, turning back to you with that wicked smile on his face. “I’ll make sure you get to watch.” 

He eases the way his fingers are keeping you spread apart in order to be able to slowly slide his index finger through the valley of your sex; to wet his glove on all of the slick, to let it gather on his fingertip. He raises that gloved finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you as he tilts his chin back to savour it.

“Ah,” he says, as he tugs his glove off with his teeth. “Forgive me, my dear - I simply must feel you without them.”

His fingertips feel just as cold, as he touches you with them instead of the gloves. Your back arches again, though your own restraints keep you on the bed and stop you from being able to wriggle away from Dottore’s questing fingers even if the sedative hadn’t filled your limbs with honey.

Dottore lets out a soft chuckle at the way your body moves, another chiding click of his tongue. 

“Breathe out,” he advises you, as his finger circles your entrance, as his thumb finds the swollen pearl of your clit and begins to draw slow, firm circles over it. “It will make it easier, sweet thing--”

One of his fingers swiftly presses inside of you, punching the air out of your chest. You hate it, you think - you hate the feel of his slender digits pressing further and further inside of you, the feel of him crooking his knuckle just so that the bone rubs against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars--

It feels good, too. You don’t want it to. You don’t like how the feeling of him inside of you seems to satiate an ache that had started when he had rubbed over the seam of your underwear and kissed you and toyed with your chest. You don’t like that, as a second finger rubs around your entrance in preparation to be put inside of you, your breath catches in excitement at the thought of being stretched further.

“That’s right,” Dottore is murmuring, his own voice a little breathless now as excitement leaks into his tone. “Oh, you’re doing so well, lovely thing. Ah-- you have no idea how good you feel. Like silk . . . Thinking about doing this to you doesn’t at all measure up to the real thing.”

The thought of Dottore having these thoughts about you makes your heart twist. You close your eyes, just so you don’t have to see Dainsleif sitting across from you, watching you with agonised eyes as Dottore’s fingers make you feel a way you didn’t know you could. 

A few more months and perhaps you would have imagined Dain himself doing this to you - something more intimate than the shy, awkward kisses the two of you have so far shared, as Dainsleif silently agonises and worries about his body being tainted and his curse ruining everything that shimmers between the two of you like fragile gossamer. Perhaps then, it would have been slow and careful - Dain waiting for you to give the go-ahead, letting you lead . . .

That choice has been taken from you, now, as two of Dottore’s fingers scissor inside of you to open you up wide and his thumb continues to rub over your clit in firm, sure circles. The way that Dottore touches you would almost be clinical - designed solely to make you feel good, to prepare you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, to make sure that your slickness would provide adequate lubrication for the glide of the same - were it not for the bright mania that fills his grin as he stares down at you, watching your sex swallow his fingers with every wet, slick pump of his wrist. 

That is the look of a man very much enjoying what he’s doing to you. 

“Sweet Traveller,” he murmurs, low and cajoling. “I think you’re going to come for me.”

You have just enough control of your body to toss your head weakly, shaking it from side to side, your hair falling over your face. It does not hide the fact that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright, that your chest is heaving as every rub of his fingers sends brand new sparks of pleasure careening to the middle of your stomach into a hot, tight ball. 

“Oh,” Dottore’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. “That wasn’t me asking, darling. Come for me.”

Another zing; a zap, a pulse, where the Akasha terminal is wrapped about your ear--

And your body twitches and pulses under his command, as the hot tight ball of want inside of you seems to get a signal from the terminal that now is the time to explode. You don’t know how to explain it; the way that your mind seems to contract at the same time as your body, and then you are panting and whining helplessly as shivers rack you underneath Dottore’s twisting wrist, his insistent thumb. 

He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he pulls back, his fingers glimmering wetly with your own orgasm. Again, he lifts them to his mouth; again, you see a sharp flash of teeth as his tongue traces his own digits and he savours the way you taste on his tongue. 

“That’s more than enough,” he says, pleasantly. He looks at Dainsleif, the blond all wide-eyed and desperate and seething with hatred, and gives him another smile that is like the edge of a knife. “Don’t you think so, knight? Ah. Don’t you think it’s time for me to take them fully?”

Dainsleif struggles again, and Dottore laughs like a creaked, rusting hinge on a sharp iron gate.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” he says, syrupy sweet. “Oh, they mean more to me than that. I merely want them to understand how badly I need them . . . and how good I could be for them, too.”

The sedatives in your system do not allow you to fight back; to bare your teeth and growl and tell him you could never imagine how he could possibly be good for you. But though your mind churns with these thoughts, your body is still not quick enough to respond - your veins still weighed down with honey. Too tenderly, Dottore reaches for your face; traces his thumb over your cheekbone.

“We are going to consummate our mutual adoration,” he tells you, and he reaches for his fly. You hear the buttons of his placket undo as if you are somewhere very far away, button sliding through button hole. Dottore sighs happily as he repositions the table and himself, making sure that Dainsleif has an even better view of the way that he slots himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Dottore’s cock slap against the bare skin; the wet, slick head of him, as he rubs it over your own soft inner thighs. You burn with humiliation, as the wet pap of him slapping the cockhead against your cunt echoes in Dottore’s workshop, and the Doctor keeps smiling as if he’s enjoying himself terribly.

“How about,” he says, loud enough for Dainsleif to hear it, “before we begin, you tell me what I want to hear, Traveller?”

You blink at him slowly, as he pushes his hips forward, and the head of his cock catches on the ring of your entrance; as your body clenches and puckers, waiting for him to move further forward. You wish he would just get on with it, but at the same time you wish that this wouldn’t happen. If you were fully in control of your body, you’re certain you would be struggling and sobbing and spitting - but you are not.

“Oh,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet. “You don’t know what I mean? Darling, let me say it a little simpler whilst you’re still all addled from me making you come . . . Loud enough for the Twilight Sword to hear, now. Why don’t you tell me you love me?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It’s not really silent; there’s a buzzing in your ears, there’s a constant hum from the machinery that surrounds you both, there’s the sound of three people breathing within the room, panting and seething and hating . . . but that’s how it feels.

You would never tell this monster you loved him.

But Dottore is still looking at you, his cock still pressing against your entrance, his head still tilted to one side, his mouth still quirked in a smile - and there’s an eager kind of obsession in his gaze, as if he thinks you might actually get the words out--

The pulsing in your ear. The flash across your brain. You can’t breathe; you can’t think, through anything but the sudden desire to tell the Doctor who’s about to ruin you that you love him.

Your tongue is slow. Heavy. Your voice echoes too loud around the room.

“Doctor . . .” Dainsleif lets out a pained whine behind the gag. “I-- I love you--”

“Oh, good-- well done--!”

Dottore pants in wild pleasure at the sound of your voice, the way it sounds desperate and reedy not with hate, but with feeling. He cants his hips forward, still too wild - and your head falls back, a whine escaping your slow-tongued mouth as his entire cock sheaths itself inside of you in excitement.

It’s easier to close your eyes.

You do not want to see Dainsleif, over Dottore’s shoulder - the disappointment and horror and despair that’s written clear across his handsome face. He must have seen the Akasha pulse, he must know that you would never say such a thing of your own volition - but that doesn’t stop the fact that you did say it, and he did hear it. Eyes squeezed shut, the feel of him inside you is all the worse; the way you can sense your body tightening around him, the feel of being stretched wider than you’ve been stretched before.

Dottore’s pants do not let up; there’s a desperation in him that you would never have thought the Doctor possible of - bringing a horrifying kind of truth to all of those things he had said, all of the ways he had stared at you. Perhaps it is more than just lust--

And that makes it all the worse. 

His hips judder against yours in desperation, his white coat rustling as it rubs against your own bare body. One of his hands explores your chest, even as he keeps rutting into you; thumbs pinching at your nipples, palming at your hips and your waist and your chest, as if he cannot truly believe this is happening. 

He is undone, like this; and you cannot quite believe he is letting you see some of those walls fall down. There is no more the strong, smooth Doctor - the one who could raze cities to the ground if he so chose. There is a man; a man who is fucking into you, a man who wants to have as much of your body as he can, a man who seems to want to devour you. 

You cannot believe he made you say that you love him. The Akasha upon your ear feels like a parasite, worming its way into your psyche, taking complete control of you. You think of Dainsleif, forced to watch, and a juddering sob manages to tear itself from your throat. 

Dottore kisses your cheek, the tears catching on his lips, his tongue tracing the saltwater tracks. 

“Don’t fret so, darling,” Dottore murmurs, against the apple of your cheek. “It’s alright . . . Doesn’t it feel good?”

It doesn’t - and it does. You don’t want to admit to the way that his constant thrusting and the grinding of his pelvis against your still-swollen clit are working together to make your insides churn, your body feverishly hot and confused. Your breath comes out in pants that match Dottore’s own. You can’t come for him again, you simply can’t - it doesn’t matter, you try and tell yourself, that there is heat bursting anew in your stomach. That it is not really because of Dottore, but natural biology--

You came earlier, yes, but Dottore told you to; used the Akasha against you. If you came now, without him forcing you to, it does not bear to think about - it doesn’t bear to think about how Dain might react, if he watched you come of your own volition under Dottore’s fucking--

No matter how sternly you try to speak to yourself, one cannot stop biology in its tracks.

Dottore’s pelvis batters against your clit; Dottore’s cock bullies itself mercilessly into you, as if it is trying to make you mould to the shape of him. With each thrust, it rubs against spots inside of you that your own fingers have never been able to reach; ones you had never realised would feel so good. You try and tell yourself, over and over and over, that you will not let yourself come for Dottore.

But your body betrays you.

Your body betrays both yourself and Dain, a man who you had always thought would be the only one to ever do this to you, though you had not let your fantasies yet get further than a hand over your dress, skimming your bare thigh. You come for the second Fatui Harbinger, as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon - and this time, you do not even have the Akasha to blame it upon. 

Your wrists are still held either side of your head by restraints; all you can do, as the spasms of pleasure resonate out from your sex and into every other part of you, is dig your nails into your palms. All you can do is let out a heavy, slurred whine-moan escape from your parted lips. All you can do is take it - come for the Doctor, the way he always knew you were going to.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips double their speed, desperately rutting into you. “I didn’t even have to tell you to, that time - you want me just as badly, don’t you? Oh, sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ll give you everything I have--”

His words are slurred too; he is too far gone within the euphoria of finally being inside of you. His hips rock into you, harder and harder, his cock twitching wildly as he hisses out your name.

He comes inside of you with a wild bite into your bare shoulder, grunting and groaning, more animal than scientist - proof that, beneath it all, he is just a man. He remains there, humming into your skin, his cock softening inside of you. His tongue licks across the bite on your shoulder as if he wants to remember the taste of you.

“Why,” he says, a pleased hum in the back of his throat. His cock twitches. “I think I might even do that again--”

There’s a knock on the door. 

You are still too out of it after what Dottore did to you to register much beyond his frustration that he is being called back to Snezhnaya, now of all times. An awkward assistant, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing, lingers by Dottore’s side as the Doctor grumbles under his breath and pulls your clothes back on over your bruised body, his come still leaking out from between your thighs.

“I’ll see you again,” Dottore says to you, with a smile, as he brandishes another syringe. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting about how much we shared any time soon, darling. You’ll keep me warm many a cold Snezhnayan night.”

The syringe is brought up to your elbow; the liquid injected directly into the vein once again. You barely have time to wonder what he is injecting you with this time before the heaviness of unconsciousness begins to blur the corners of your vision. 

Dottore strides across the room to Dainsleif, another syringe glowing within his gloved fingers.

Before you slip into oblivion, you watch Dottore roll up Dainsleif’s sleeve, and you hear him say this;

“Now, I’m sending them back with you, Knight - but you won’t soon forget, will you, that they told me that they loved me?”

You slip into the abyss.

You wake back up at the camp you and Dainsleif had established, on the edges of Sumeru, as safe as the two of you could find - as if absolutely nothing has happened. 

Oh, there’s the lingering reminder of Dottore - there’s a soreness to your thighs, there are bites on your shoulders, there’s a muzzy headache from the drugs and the way he had used the Akasha upon you . . . but other than that, there’s nothing. The system itself isn’t even attached to your ear any longer.

Dain, too, has reminders of the ordeal upon him - rope burn on his wrists. A burning look in his eyes when his gaze falls upon you that makes your insides crawl in fear, lest he be disgusted by you now - lest he never want to look at you again. Perhaps, you think wildly, he is going to cast you away - say that the two of you can no longer travel together, accuse you of being damaged goods . . .

It does not end that way.

Dainsleif stares at you across the clearing after waking up, as if he is trying to sort all of his thoughts out. His fingers twitch, his eyes raking over you desperately - and then he has moved, lightning quick, and his arms have wrapped around you and you are being crushed against the weight of his chest.

“I thought . . .” He whispers into your ear, his voice so broken it makes you ache. “Oh, I can’t believe he would . . . I’m so sorry--”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” you whisper to him - relieved to find that your tongue and your throat are once more capable of working. You reach up to touch his face, and Dain groans, torn between leaning into the touch and pulling away as he so often does, so worried that he’s somehow going to taint you.

You’re not sure if you could ever feel more tainted than you do right now.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” his voice cracks. Dainsleif is normally so stoic and solid; you cling to him as you journey through Teyvat, relying on him. Seeing him like this makes you ache.

“You won’t,” you reach for his hand, take it gently and place it over your collarbone, shivering at the touch of his glove on your skin. “See? I’m still here.”

Dain sighs again, his lashes fluttering closed against his sculpted cheekbones. He murmurs your name again, so softly you can barely hear it; and his fingers slide along the imprint of that same collarbone, to your shoulder, until they find the place Dottore had bitten into when he had come.

“I can’t bear seeing his marks on you,” he whispers. “I want to scrub you free of every touch.”

You close your own eyes and let yourself be lulled into Dainsleif’s arms; you let your head rest against his chest, you let yourself be comforted by the familiar scent of him. His fingers don’t stop tracing the bite marks, his touch getting more and more agitated. 

“Dain--” You murmur. You’re suddenly so tired. You know you were just unconscious, but that’s not the same as getting real rest. This morning - or was it this morning? How long were the two of you really with Dottore? How long had it been before Dainsleif had come to find you? Whatever the case, it seems a hundred years ago now. 

You wonder if Dainsleif would mind if you fell asleep on him, right here. 

“Please,” Dain’s lowered his head now. His breath flutters against your ear; delicately tickling your ear. “Let me . . . Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, but it clearly means a lot to Dainsleif, and you do not mind the gentle touch of his hands as they smooth softly over the places Dottore has bitten, the places you have bruised. Dainsleif has lost so many people, after all - you do not blame him for wanting to check on you. You nestle your head under Dain’s chin and he takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Do I still smell like myself?”

“Don’t joke,” his voice breaks. You don’t know how else to cope with it; the thought of Dottore’s hands all over you, the reminder of what the Doctor took from you. Dain’s hand slips under the bodice of your dress.

You go all-over cold, all-over still.

Dainsleif doesn’t even notice. His hand gently travels further down, further down, squeezing the weight of your breast in his hand. Your fingers twitch where they lay against him, cradled as you are in his arms - but Dainsleif is still murmuring to himself now, lost in a frenzy of his own thoughts, and for the first time you feel afraid of him.

“Dain--” You try to say, throat clogged. “Dain, don’t--”

“Please,” he repeats, ragged. “I just . . . I need to touch you. I need to know you’re here. I need to know he didn’t--”

You can’t do this. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sickening thumping beat as Dain’s thumb rubs a circle over your nipple and traitorous body, it responds to him just as it had to Dottore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” Dainsleif whispers, broken into your ear. “Let me . . . I won’t hurt you . . .”

His other hand, pulling you further into his lap. Holding you spoon-fashion against him, like a lover.

You wouldn’t complain, ordinarily. 

But now . . .

All you want is for him to hold you. All you want is for him, you think, to kiss your forehead and reassure you and take care of you. The way his hands keep travelling over your skin - the other is kneading at the flesh of your thigh now, his breath coming in those same great shuddering pants as if he doesn’t have full control over his own body right now. You whimper aloud as his hand brushes further, further--

You’re not wearing underwear. Not after Dottore had torn it at the seams. 

Dainsleif sighs.

“It killed me seeing him touch you,” he whispers into your hair, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head, disgustingly tender. His fingers are petting at your folds, his arms iron-tight like the ropes that had wrapped around him earlier. He doesn’t notice that you’re trembling; he ignores the soft little entreaties you do manage to get out. 

“I can’t,” you say, as Dainsleif tugs at your nipples.

“Dain--” you whimper, his fingers spreading the lips of your sex apart.

“Not yet,” you beg, as he drops a kiss over the bruising bites Dottore left on your shoulders.

“I wish I could cover you with myself,” Dainsleif says, as he continues to use his mouth and his fingers and acts as though he does not hear a word. “But . . . oh, I don’t deserve you . . . Not yet . . . Please, let me make sure you never think of him again--” 

It’s too much. Too much, too soon, your body churning with feelings and your mind churning with thoughts that you can’t yet put in place, because Dainsleif is touching you and not listening to you and you wonder if this makes him just like Dottore, in his way. 

You think about yourself, in Sumeru City, your smile bright, laughing off his concern - and you think about Dainsleif now, his touch so possessive and so desperate that he’s going to cover the bruises Dottore left with bruises of his own.

“I’ll be fine,” you had said. I can take care of myself. 

Dainsleif takes care of you, when you cannot; when you are injured or sick or lost. You have always had him to rely on; your travelling companion through Teyvat, as you desperately tried to make sense of the world that you have found yourself in. 

Here, though . . . 

You think, as the tears roll down your face, you could do without Dainsleif taking care of you like this. 

[luvyeni]

MY SHY NEIGHBOR ( chapter. 14 )

— CHAPTER FOURTEEN: my favorite cashier 🥰🤍…

— 𖦹 warnings? none

previous chapter - next chapter - my shy neighbor masterlist

You opened the door to the café, immediately coming into jeongins view. “Hey.” He waved; you waved back. “Well, isn’t it my favorite cashier.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, smiling to himself. “D-do you want the same.”

“You know it.” You said, “And what drink would you recommend.” He thought about it, before pointing. “I order that every day.” You nodded, “then i’ll have that too.” You smiled. “Are you eating here today too?” he asked. “Yeah I have a while until my next class.”

You found your favorite seat, pulling out your phone to wait for your food. You checked your messages, frowning — it had been a week since your mystery man texted you, he was supposed to be only a client, but you actually looked forward to his text.

Why was he ignoring you? Had you crossed the line by saying you wanted to see him? No way, guys would beg to see you — they’d pay money to spend the night with you, even if you knew you’d never do it. Maybe that’s what made him different. Maybe he only wanted to keep it strictly over the phone. By why? “(yn)?”

“I’m about to go on my lunch break.” Jeongin told his co-worker. “Good, you can take this to your girlfriend.” He handed him a tray. “My girlfriend?” he said, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“So that girl isn’t your girlfriend?” He pointed to where you sat. “n-no, she’s not.” He stuttered; you were the only girl he could mutter a single word to unless it was a coworker. “But i’ve seen you talking to her, which is rare for you, you know she also asks for you when you aren’t here?”

You ask about him? Why? “We’re just friends.” He said. “Well, she’s cute, you should set me up.” He took the tray from the boy. “Stop saying nonsense, i’ll be back soon.” He walked over to you; you hadn’t acknowledged him yet.

“yn?” you finally look up at him, he sat your tray down. “Thank you.” You said, “Are you on your break now?” He nodded. “Good now you can sit with me.” You pointed to the seat in front of you. “m-me?” you chuckled. “Well there’s no one else i’d be talking to silly.”

He hesitantly sat down, you past him the drink. “Here, drink this.” You smiled, “I get these for free, you didn’t have to.” You flagged him off. “I know, that’s why I also got you this.” You handed him half of the dessert. “Eat up.”

You watched him pick up the fork, taking a bite of the dessert. “Good, now stop being so scared, we’ve been talking for a few weeks you shouldn’t be this scared of me anymore.” You said, his ears turned. “I-i’m sorry.” He said, you reached out grabbing his hand. “Don’t stress it too much.”

He hated that he was like it this, being so shy has never worked out in his favor, we’ll expect those few times, drunk girls don’t really care if you’re shy or not, they just want to jump on the closest cute guy they see — that’s a story for a different time.

“I talk to much anyway, so I can do the talking for me and you.” You smiled, he mirrored yours. “Does that sound good?” He chuckled, looking down realizing you haven’t taken your hands off his — his heart thumping for a second, he followed your hand. “You have a tattoo?”

Where has he seen that tattoo? Before he could get another look, you took your hand away. “it’s embarrassing, me and lily got matching tattoos and they completely fucked it up.” You laughed, covering it up, that’s where he probably seen it, but he could’ve sworn he’d seen it somewhere else. “Ah, you two must be close?” You nodded. “We’re both from australia, she was the first person I actually met besides chan.” You spoke.

Sadly, it was time for him to get up, but he didn’t want to, he enjoyed talking to you. “You have to go back to work now?” He frowned, nodding. “Sadly.” He stood up, you grabbed his hand. “Hold on.” You reached into your bag, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. “I know we live next door to each other, but if you ever want to hang out when you’re not at work, you can call me.”

He watched you writing your number down. “Here.” You put the paper in his hand. “Make sure to actually use it, I really want to hang out with you.” You said, he nodded, praying you didn’t notice his red ear, or at least ignored it. “o-okay, i will.”

“Good.” You let his arm go with a smile, and he turned to walk away, smiling to himself. “Oh, it’s you.” He ran into your friend. “Mat!” He heard you yell. “It’s nice to see you, you should come out with us again, you cook really good meat.” Jeongin nodded, walking back to his register.

He watched you conversation with your friend, looking over at him, smiling waving. He waved back, smiling. “Jeongin pay attention, you have a customer.”

He shook his head; you were all he was focusing on, he forgot he was at work. “i’m so sorry, welcome to Love café how can I help you.”

And this time he actually said it with a smile.

— ( taglist. CLOSED ) @soulsbbg @k-poplv @yourmomscuntis2tighy @bbokarimenu @enczen @queen-in-the-shadows @thesweetesttattoo @ririlinoriri @aloverga @ashiitex @ddazed-lhs @heartsforhyunjin @chlodavids @simp4myself @surefornext @lostwonderwall @xxr-s4sha @charmer-c @vixensss @frobin4ever @bmnyy @semi-semiisbae @m111nho @i2innie @aalexyuuuhm @iraa567 @cheshireshiya @ihrtlix @abbiestearsricochet @niaalove @skzswife @babrieeee @thisisnotjacinta @luvskai @ikeusol @costalmaine @whos-kkira @minhosprettywife @hey-hey-heybitch @jeongins-version @denisaandreea20 @lovesunshinefelix @222brainrot @thatgirlkay @ss3oung @number1jeonginstan @whitney190 @jongseongsluvr @chesemonky @worcesheshestershiresauce @puppy-minnie @prettygirlsstanskz @hanniemylovelyquokka

©LUVYENI

[mygnolia]

get better! | 3. meet my neighbor ig???

SMAU! synopsis -› in which your neighbor and popular twitch streamer park sunghoon breaks his arm, so he switches to vlog style content that matches up with yours! now everyone’s curious why 1) you have a cute boy in your apartment, 2) sunghoon’s not on his grind anymore, and 3) when are you two going to date!?

(2.2K WORDS, cw: food, y/n collects smiskis and sony angels LOLL)

You open the door to see a fist about to rain bruises on your forehead- and Sunghoon doesn’t expect for you to answer so quickly. He immediately retracts his hand, an apology tumbling from his lips as he drops his head in embarrassment. You wave it off, inviting him into your apartment.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” You greet, turning to face him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

Sunghoon stares at the bare walls. “It’s…very new.” He comments, unsure of how to take in the plants in one corner, fluffy rug, half built coffee table, and extensive video editing equipment all ready to go near your balcony.

“What do I get for being the world’s best teacher?” You start. “Will you even let me on your stream?”

He cracks a smile. “Of course. You’ll have your own verified twitch badge and everything, too. What did you need help with, by the way?”

“I need to unpack my wall decorations. You’re tall,” You mention, walking towards another labeled brown box. “You can help me hang up my pictures.” You reach for cardboard with ‘photos’ scribbled over in marker, setting it down in front of Sunghoon. “Those two.” You point, and his eyes follow. “I marked on the wall where they all go.”

Sunghoon at least knows how to keep quiet, working with an efficiency as he refers to the pictures you’ve sent of where you want everything to go. You both move floppy potted plants near couches and decorate them with proper rugs and throw pillows. You realize how much better it is to have a second person, even if he was down an arm. Your living space changes from something plain, and as Sunghoon describes, ‘new,’ into something more personable.

“Help me build this shelf.” You say, and he frowns, looking at his right arm in a cast.

“And How am i supposed to do that?”

His words make you pause, forgetting that Sunghoon can’t just build furniture for you. “Okay. Let’s build it together. Then, I’ll set up my figurines, and I’ll help you film.”

With a nod from the streamer, you make your way towards the box, slowly taking out the pieces as Sunghoon lays them out. He eyes them carefully, making sure they’re in the right piles and opening the plastic.

“Okay, it says….I need..Where’s piece 236?”

He sighs and leans over, reading the instructions properly.

“It says 23 and 6.”

You frown, almost hitting him when you turn around to scowl. “Close enough.”

It continues that way for a while, and you finally finish building the cute shelf, leaning it against the wall and starting to put the figurines on as Sunghoon adds succulents to your kitchen.

“Let’s eat.” You half yell half suggest across the spacious room. “I’m hungry.”

“But we haven’t even filmed anything.”

You grab your keys off the kitchen counter and ignore him. “I’m craving toast.”

He laughs, following you down to the elevator. “You eat like a Victorian child.” Biting your lip, you pretend to be offended.

“And you look like one.” You weakly retort.

You make sure to bring your recording stick and smaller camera, playing with the settings before you record. “Hi guys!” Waving to the camera, you pan it over to Sunghoon, tilting it up for the camera to catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure next to you. “We’re getting lunch!” Across the parking garage, you see the somewhat busy cafe, but as one couple leaves, you usher Sunghoon to take the spot, commenting slightly to the camera.

When done ordering, the food comes in a cute yplace decorated with small animal doodles. As influencers, you’re both aware of the plaster social media life you have to live, taking out our phones and snapping photos that scream ‘date.’

Sunghoon pans the camera over, and the device catches the steam from the thick fluffy bread as he cuts a small piece, showing to the camera before trying it.

You stare at him, waiting for any change in expression.

“It’s really good, ____. Try it.” He nods, agreeing with the 5 star reviews.

“I got my egg a little crispy on the end,” You tell the recording, holding up a piece you cut before eating. Despite the simplicity, the eggs are well cooked and seasoned, and the addition of small vegetables on the side makes for a light meal. It’s not expensive, and in your opinion, it shouldn’t be- it’s literally eggs and toast. After a bit of small talk regarding the menu, you both agree to stop the recording.

Sunghoon speaks up. “I might have to leave early. The groupchat is telling me they want to play League of Legends.”

You falter, confused. “But you can’t even play.” Sunghoon’s heard the line so many times and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I’ll just sit on stream and cheer them ob, or something.”

While you’re in no place to direct him around, you definitely have the means to judge Sunghoon a little for the things he does. “You work, right? Not just streaming?”

“Of course,” He answers casually, wiping the table and stacking the plates. “I am just another computer science major with an internship.” His tone makes you laugh, and you mirror his actions to make sure your table is clean, before returning the plates and leaving.

Despite inviting a stranger into your home for business talk, you seem to get along despite your rough start online, and he seems to not take anything too personally; a huge relief for you. When back in your apartment, you grab your better camera, making sure it’s properly adjusted to the sunlight that shines through and lights your living space.

After a glance around the room to take in how much work you two did, he speaks up. “What about the shelf, and your figurines?”

“Don’t worry about it. I want the natural lighting in the video.” You refer to how you want to avoid filming late.

Sunghoon leans back, observing not only the brand but also how easily you mess around with the features, keeping a mental note of the model.

“Smile.” You tell him, pointing the camera up to Sunghoon. He flashes a grin, and the corner of your lips turn up as the perfect amount of exposure makes for a great video cover. He raises an eyebrow, and you turn the camera around, showing him how it turned out, and he’s satisfied.

“Cute.” He mumbles.

“You love telling yourself that, huh?” You shake your head, mock disappointment on your features.

“I voice the general public.” He defends, smiling as he watches you get out your laptop and open a word document. “What’s that for?”

“Ideas.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty.”

You patiently watch as he rummages for his phone through his pocket and finding his notes app. Sunghoon’s positive he’s come prepared, practicing a sweet tone in the mirror and styling his hair just right.

He scrolls and scrolls.

It’s empty.

“Plenty?”

“In my head.” Sunghoon plays it off with a sheepish expression, suddenly embarrassed. You laugh at his sudden change in demeanor, continuing to tease him.

“Thanks for all of your help, mister ‘hooniebee.’

“I was trying to come up with video ideas last night, actually! I just fell asleep before I could write it down.”

“And you didn’t remember anything, huh?” You grin at the way he shrinks on your pink couch, quick to jot down some of the lingering thoughts from last night’s brainstorming.

“I’d say we start off with a ‘simple get to know you.’ Sunghoon’s suggestion is the same as yours, and you’re relieved to share the same train of thought.

Your excitement to teach him is infectious, and Sunghoon understands why people like you so much. Even if your stuff is still in some boxes or in the wrong places, you really do live an almost perfect life, and your beaming personality is no different.

“When it comes to vlogging, you learn what people like to hear. For my audience, they love to know about some video schedule updates as I’m doing small tasks, or simple life updates and explanations. If you’re as boring as the internet makes you out to be, then you got to start overexplaining.” He scoffs, crossing his arms the best he can with his cast.

“I’m not boring!” Sunghoon counters, running a hand through his hair and making himself presentable. “Start recording. Your audience will love me.”

You smile, clicking record without letting him know. “You sure?”

He nods. “Pickles Fan Club will become my fans. Promise.”

You turn to the camera, flashing a bright smile.

“Thinking and thinking about… Hi everyone! It’s ___ and you’re here rent free!” Your introduction is cute, and Sunghoon realizes that when you pause, it’s his turn to introduce himself, and he panics.

“Buzz Buzz.” He hurries, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. You laugh, motioning at the camera to cut this part out through your quiet laughter.

“That’s not bad at all!” You promise, turning to him. Sunghoon gives you a blank stare, and your optimistic look fades just a bit. “You just can’t sound like you hate saying it.” You advise. “Buzz Buzz…what you do call your fans?”

He pauses, heat rushing to his face. He glances up, noticing the way you raise your eyebrow as you wait.

“Bae-bees.”

A grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but find amusement in the situation. “Bae-bees??”

Sunghoon rubs his face with his one hand, waving you off. “They like it.” He promises weakly. “You named your fans after your cat.”

“So be it.” You conclude, turning to the still recording camera. “Say it.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet groan of disapproval before sucking in a breath, flashing a bright smile at the camera, and you anxiously watch. “Buzzin’ over here is your favorite Hooniebee! Hi guys!” He offers a little wave, and looks at you for approval.

Your satisfaction is plastered all over your starry smile. “That was really good.” You praise, and Sunghoon smiles, suddenly feeling bashful.

You turn the camera back, and start talking about what you two plan to talk about in your video. You introduce the mysterious boy as your broken armed neighbor, and you two laugh about how you met, listening as he teases you and reads direct quotes of texts from his phone. You two have natural chemistry in front of the camera, and whether that’s from your personalities or your ability to perform in front of a camera, you’re not sure.

You continue to ask questions about him, almost like a podcast as you two exchange witty banter and comments. You talk about his college life, he shares some drunken interactions, and talks about how much he appreciates his fans for sticking along. You think it’s all very sweet, the way he talks about his ‘bae-bees’ with so much adoration. You chime in, agreeing with Sunghoon’s thankful comments.

“I think that’ll be enough for the getting to know you part! We should do a quick apartment tour.” You pick up the camera, adjusting any hair and making a face before panning it over to Sunghoon, who just waves. His still slightly awkward demeanor can’t be helped, but it makes him all the more swoon-worthy to everyone who sees him.

You ramble about what you’ve started to put together, reminiscing to your long time fans about certain pieces of memorabilia that you had to let go. Sunghoon follows you around and adds a bit of commentary, even if it’s only to make jokes or make fun of you for not being able to build an ikea shelf around him.

The video ends when your half finished apartment has been toured, and you cut the recording after some cheerful waves to the camera.

“How do you think?” Sunghoon looks over at you when you ask for his input, nodding.

“I think it went pretty well. Pretty natural, or at least I hope. I’m not too boring, am I?” Sunghoon rubs at his neck sheepishly, and it takes a refusal from you for him to look up.

Offering him a nod of a approval, you say, “You did great, everyone will love it.”

Finally looking over the recording, you realize you might have to raise Amber’s pay, for how much footage there is.

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[calumfmu]

your fics are godly. you wouldnt know you were in a slump!

could i request eddie and steve fighting over reader? like eddie shows up at family video and steve is stood between readers legs feeding her red vines and shes playing with his hair and eddie is like 😤 game on steven.

Hiii babe <3 thank you so muchhh. like genuinely, I could cry rn. Im really fucking trying lmfaoo so I hope this is good :)))) Steddie x Reader (who is playing them both) cw: swearing, allusions to sex, 2.1k+ words (I did it y'all + working on edits are next bc I'm shit at them, I can only do collage)

“Just call me for what time to pick you up, okay?” Eddie’s voice was soft when he spoke to you, tires screeching to a halt as the van pulled up in front of the Family Video. You were shy behind the smile that nursed your lips, trying not to fully beam at him as he ran out to open your passenger door.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the deal, Munson,” you teased, hoping out with your bag thrown over your shoulder.

He stood up close in your space, nearly chest to chest with you as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. He smelled like leather, the familiar scent filling your senses like a heated towel.

“Just looking out for my favorite girl,” he whispered, pecking your nose as you rolled your eyes playfully at his comment. You weren’t his girlfriend, but he loved to tease you when it came to claiming you as his. You couldn’t even pretend to be upset at it, loving the way he called you his and the pet names that followed.

“Is that what I am now?”

“My one and only.”

The look on his face warmed you up, his hair blowing in the wind as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, lips touching with the briefest sensation of want— remnants of your time spent in the hazy morning in his trailer, seated on his lap, pushing him down into the mattress.

You heard a throat clear to your right, only for you to look up and see Robin standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the glass door of the video store.

“You’re gonna be late,” she grumbled, shaking her head at the two of you intertwined. Blushing, you pulled away from him, his hand outstretching to hold yours for as long as possible while you took a few steps away. He reluctantly let go, your arms being stretched as the distance increased to be too much for contact.

“Call me!”

You nodded at him, waving him goodbye as he leaned against the van door. Meeting Robin’s side, you bumped your shoulder with hers.

“You know, you’re going to have to make a decision some day,” she said, holding the door open for you as you walked in. Your heart kicked up at her words, clearing your throat to ease away the discomfort.

“What do you mean?”

You fawned innocence, eyes batting up at her as she gave you that all knowing look. The two of you made it a few steps into the business, your eyes immediately searching for that chestnut colored mane, puppy dog eyes lingering amongst the aisles.

“You know what I mean,” she said, leaning into your ear so her words wouldn’t carry far. “They’re not dumb, you know.”

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about.” You called out behind you as you made your way around the counter. She grumbled something in reply, it being lost as you as your mind was set on one thing.

You gave her a cheery smile, walking to the back office to place your things down. Immediately upon entering, there he was— Steve, your other situation, if you could call it that. The serious look on his face immediately flipped around upon laying his eyes on you, teeth bared in a smile with his eyebrows raised.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, no. You didn’t mean to be playing both sides of the fence, Eddie on one hand, reserved for late nights and early mornings, Steve on the other, day time charades and afternoon picnics.

It just happened. Maybe somewhere along the mysterious shit that always happened around Hawkins where you got to spend time with reformed king more or the effort to clear the Munson boys name, you happened to fall for the two of them. At the same time. It wasn’t your fault, okay? They were both too pretty to make a decision, too good to you in their different ways, too much to be able to put down.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he muttered before crossing the floor to meet you in an embrace. You felt safe in his arms too, chest broad in muscle, cinnamon scent encompassing you. It was different than Eddie’s, yet all the same. “You’re late.”

You looked up at him, chin at his chest as his eyes stared down at you. Sleep wore on his face, big eyes drooping slightly, exhaustion from the early morning showing.

“Only 5 minutes,” You pouted, bottom lip jutting out. “You’d cover for me right? My ride was a little hectic.”

“You know I always do.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you out of the break room to meet Robin on the floor. She was labeling VHS cases, tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth as she focused on getting the stickers straight. Following his lead, he settled next to her, dividing the pile while you took a seat on the countertop, opening a box of candy that had just been shipped in.

Your legs swung in front of you, hitting the backboard of the counter you sat on. While the three of you focused on morning duties, your foot hit Steve’s thigh every now and then, smirk on your lips as you knew he would get “frustrated” eventually and “snap”.

“Babe,” he warned, pushing your foot with his hip as he threw a tape down on the pile. You laughed under your breath, grabbing packs of Red Vines out of the case.

“What am I doing?” You cocked your head to the side, not yet wanting to look up at the look he was giving you. You tapped him again, toe pointed as his hand reached down to grab your ankle.

“Playing dumb is really your strong suit,” Robin commented, raising her eyebrows as she looked at the two of you. You shot her a look, urging her to not continue as Steve rose an eyebrow.

“Rob, shut up,” you laughed, throwing the balled up packing tape you had accumulated from the boxes at her. She dodged it as she laughed, throwing her own scraps from labels towards you.

Steve’s grip on your ankle tightened slightly, he slid in between your parted legs, hips pressed flush against the counter as you tried to maneuver out of the grip, laughing as he locked you in.

“Playing dumb? You’re the smartest girl I know,” he teased, helping you unpack the candy while still seated between your legs. Robin made a face at you from behind him, immediately going serious when Steve turned around to give her a look. She loved teasing you whenever she had the opportunity, all jokes in good fun, no matter what she thought of the predicament you found yourself in.

“That’s so rude, Harrington,” she said, rolling her eyes as she took a stack of tapes to re-shelf. You watched as she walked away, getting lost in an aisle closer to the door.

He ignored her, placing his hands on your thighs as he abandoned the candy. You held a box of licorice in your hands, toying at the corners as you looked at him. The look on his face grew more serious, eyes squinted as he pursed his lips.

“I wanna know though… what are you so good with playing dumb at that Robin had to be oh, so mysterious about?”

Your heart lurched at his question, eyes darting down to look at the blue box in hand. The corner ripped underneath your hand, plastic being pulled back as you found sudden interest in it.

“Nothing.”

He hummed at the short answer, fingers coming up to pull your chin to focus on him. You met his eyes, chocolate brown wide as you melted at the look.

“Is that so?” Steve’s voice was low, a deep grumble coming from his chest. His fingers found your hips, pulling him into you quickly that made you yelp, candy flying everywhere as your hands flew up to grab at him.

“Steve! Look what you made me do!”

“You still didn’t answer me.”

You groaned, looking at the mess of red candy that laid around you. He picked up a stick of licorice, taking a bite out of it before feeding it to you. You smiled around it, hand coming up to rest at his chest as you went to push him away from you. His scent of cinnamon hit you, preventing you from the motion, instead curling your fingers into the fabric of his striped shirt, sat under his vest. You dragged it up the length of his body, settling into his hair as you curled a piece of it between your fingertips.

“Hey, uhhh… you guys…” Robin’s voice was wary as she spoke across the floor, yet the two of you didn’t register it, focused on each other.

She hurriedly made her ways towards you guys, foot steps coming closer as her gaze was focused on something outside the doors. You took another bite of the candy from Steve’s fingers, looking up at him through your lashes as you made a show of it.

The bell above the door rang, signaling entry as the two of you remained distracted.

“You forgot your jacket in my…”

Your heart stopped. You recognized that voice. Eddie stood there, your jean jacket in his hand as he faltered his steps, feet away from the counter. The look on his face dropped, eyes glaring at Steve who stood in front of you. Pushing him away, you hoped off the counter.

Robin stood frazzled behind him, eyes wide as her eyes glinted between the three of you. Her mouth was dropped open, cringing at the awkward situation it was.

“Steve.”

The tone of the name had you cringing, realizing that Eddie saw you at no fault, this was up to Steve. He slowly made his way up to the counter, jean jacket being placed on the flat surface as he stared down the younger man.

“Than—” You cleared your throat. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He hummed in response, not breaking the staring contest that he found himself in. Steve shifted uncomfortably, quickly swallowing down the piece of candy he had.

“You had her jacket in your van?” The realization of the situation began to dawn on him, voice dripping with the same tone Eddie had. It was all directed towards the long haired man, leaving you out of it.

“Mhmm,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt small between them, both boys beginning to size each other up. “She must have left it last night when she came over.”

You shot a look at Robin, begging her to help you as you didn’t know what to do. She shrugged at you, mouthing ‘told you so’ before turning on her heel, scurrying away from the budding altercation. Sighing, you placed a hand at your forehead, the temperature in the building rising suddenly.

“Came over?” Steve asked, stepping up to the counter, closer to him. You were grateful for the separation between them, not daring to think about what would’ve happened if it wasn’t there.

“That’s right, pretty boy.” You don’t think you had heard Eddie ever speak to Steve in that manner, them becoming ‘friends’ in the most recent months.

“That must have been after our trip in my car.” Steve’s eyebrow shot up. “To Skull Rock.” His palm pressed on the counter, leaning over in his direction. “After sunset.”

You could’ve passed out right then and there if it weren’t for the way Eddie suddenly smiled at him, teeth bared in a grin you had only seen reserved for you. He walked even closer to the counter, face inches away from Steve’s at this point.

“Touché, Harrington.”

With a quirk of his eyebrow, he turned away, walking towards the door. His hand shot out to push it open, lingering in the frame before turning to face you.

“See you later, sweetheart. Pick you up at 6, normal time?”

The subtle nod of your head had him smiling even wider, the chains around his neck clinking together as he tilted his head in response.

“She’s got plans with me at 7, Munson!” Steve’s voice shouted out to him as he exited, a loud ‘HA!’ left behind in his wake. The counter swung shut, bell ringing as the shutters on the door rattled.

You just stood there for a minute, wondering what the fuck you got yourself into. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, most definitely wasn’t supposed to be discovered like this. You closed your eyes, leaning onto the counter with your elbows, head rested in your hands.

“You are so fucked,” Robin laughed, returning to your side. You just nodded in response, palms digging into your eye sockets. Stars floated behind your closed lids, dancing in the darkness behind them.

“Shut it, Robin.”

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! Part two <3

[wave2tyun]

policy of truth and lies | ☆

pairing: huening kai x reader

genre: highschool!au (kinda), band!txt, brother's best friend!kai, fluff, a bit suggestive

summary: a little white lie never hurts sometimes. to what lengths are you willing to go to protect it?

warnings: mentions of throwing up

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this all started just from my silly little desire to write a fic with the brother's best friend trope absdjhabj but honestly, this is one of the fics that i am most proud of, it has a special place in my heart :(<3 shout out to all my dear ningdungies!!!!😼😼💞 i love you all a lot!!!!<33 (and i hope you manage to survive this!!!)

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

“carefully planned-out coincidences” - that’s what your encounters with kai were; something that would appear unsuspicious to the naked eye, yet so obvious to a love connoisseur.

a fixed set of rules had been established in order for such meetings to be successfully completed, and continued.

1. no texting each other when you’re next to others. people love to snoop and steal a glance at your phone screen, getting you easily busted.

2. no form of physical touch is allowed on school grounds, unless you’re well-hidden. you never know what pair of eyes could be lurking around.

and, the most important one of them all: 3. do not, under no circumstances, get caught by soobin.

your brother tended to be more of a quieter person with an almost inhumane kind of calmness in him. that, however, did not apply when it came to unveiling lies. had he found out you had been kissing his best friend behind his back, it would have certainly not turned pretty. you knew that the longer you kept it away from him, the harder it would be to reveal the truth. even so, you kept postponing it, as you couldn’t figure out the right way to do it. you couldn’t just randomly go up to him and say: “remember that halloween party we held last year? yeah, me and kai kissed while you were in pain, next to the toilet bowl, releasing the obscene amount of sweets you had eaten that night”.

it was not the most romantic scenario, obviously, but it was one of the very few moments when soobin and kai weren’t glued at the hip, and neither of you could take the tension anymore. taking your brother’s pitiful cries out of the image, the kiss was actually quite sweet. and no, it wasn’t because of the jelly beans kai had eaten prior to that- maybe only party. the actual reason was kai’s hand on your waist, accompanied by the breathy “can i…?” that he whispered against your cheek.

as cheesy as it may sound, it’s a night that you will never forget.

-for various reasons.

one of them being the fact that it was pretty much the the starting point of a certain “shift” in your relationship with kai. from that day onward, it seemed like both of you tried to find as many opportunities as possible to be in each other’s presence. oh- kai came over and wanted a glass of water from downstairs? whew- well, you were thirsty too, looks like you had to go to the kitchen with him. kai was left on dish-washing duty after parties? you could spare a few minutes to help him out. movie night with the boys? the only free spot was so conveniently the one next to kai.

it was thrilling, adrenaline-inducing. you could never be too sure whether you were subtle enough, or completely alone, so you had to walk on eggshells every single time, no matter what. it got exhausting though, and you wished that, at least for once, kai could come over to your house to see you, not soobin.

kai, on the other hand, was definitely more of a risk taker than you, one that saw no harm in breaking some of the rules every once in a while.

and there are no risks, without possible consequences.

it was something that kai had learned…the hard way…on the lovely day of february 14th.

soobin had invited kai to spend the day together, playing games and trying out all the mystery flavors of a heart-shaped chocolate box. initially, they weren’t supposed to be the ones indulging in the sweet treat, but soobin had chickened out before giving it to his crush at school that day. sulking uncontrollably, he called his best friend so that they could console themselves from the soul-crushing fact that they were both (to soobin’s knowledge) “single”.

while he felt bad for his downcast pal, kai also couldn’t take his mind off you. love was in the air, after all: the rom-com that played on his tv as he was getting ready to come to your house, the lovey-dovey songs playing on the radio, the couples getting affectionate on the streets- they only added further to the burning desire that he felt today, more than ever, to see you. and perhaps…not only see you.

depending on the situation, those coincidences would often consist of: hand-holding underneath blankets or tables, winks sent to redden the other one’s cheeks and, if you were lucky, an exchange of swift, tiny pecks.

none of the outcomes above satisfied him though. the more he thought about crossing paths with you, the more he wished to caress your face, to hold you in his arms- to have an intimate moment with you that involved something more than a “kiss and run” type of situation.

“hey- the race started, why are you not moving?” soobin exclaimed, his mario kart character moving way farther than kai’s across the screen.

snapping out of it, kai shook his head, placing the controller down onto the coffee table before excusing himself “i have to go to the bathroom-” he said as he placed one hand on his stomach, mustering up all his theatre acting skills to put on a pained expression on his face “i think those sweets aren’t sitting right with me”

as soon as he finished that statement, kai basically flew up the stairs, skipping 2-3 steps at once. he made sure to flip the light switch to the bathroom before striding towards your room, to make it seem like he was there.

kai made his entrance with a finger over his lips and a catlike smile.

“what are you doing? you can’t be in here-” you whisper-shouted. kai had never- ever been in your room up until that point. it was too dangerous.

however, you still gave in, not pushing him back through the door he came in from.

he walked closer, coming to cup your face in his hands “i wanted to see you”

“is that so?” you asked coyly.

kai smiled more, sensing the bit of happiness sneaking into your voice beside your attempts to appear mad at him.

“it is so” he answered, waver in his voice from excitement.

“if you don’t believe me, then i guess i could go back to soob-”

“no-” you tugged kai’s arm, laughing “stay, i was kidding”

kai turned on his heel, lips falling into place perfectly on top of yours, transferring his smile to you in an instant “you know i didn’t intend on actually doing it” he whispered, caressing your cheek.

“i know” you chuckled “but you have to make it up to me for the teasing”

you pulled at the collar of kai’s shirt, waiting for him with closed eyes to initiate another kiss. kai chuckled before connecting your lips back together, starting off with agonizingly quick pecks, then attempting to initiate something more through longer, fervent kisses that trailed down to your neck, all while he slowly made you walk backwards to your bed. it wasn’t long before you hit the mattress and the two of you ended up tangled in your sheets, with one hand tugging at kai’s hair and the other one at his shirt as he hovered over you. soft gasps escaped through your mouth- the only acceptable way to lightly catch your breath, as it didn’t involve letting go of each other.

a knock on the door, however, sent kai flying through the air.

“y/n? can i come in?” soobin asked, completely oblivious to the events happening on the other side of the piece of wood that his knuckles had grazed a second ago.

the strong fear that he’d come barging in before you answered, turned you to push the poor lover boy away earlier, catapulting him onto the floor, the fluffy rug hardly alleviating his pain.

“what was that sound- are you hurt?” you heard a worried shout. it was a clear sign that you had no more than five seconds to prepare for disaster.

“i’m coming in, okay?”

seeing the doorknob twist, kai had no time to process his anguish. he wriggled his way underneath your bed, pulling down the blanket to hide his body.

“everything alright…?” soobin took two steps into your room then froze. the sight of your disheveled bed as well as your poor, motionless figure, scrambled up his feelings of concern with confusion.

“yeah- never been better” you replied, brushing out any folds on your clothes with your hand.

soobin’s eyebrow raised in suspicion; it was hard to make your breathing seem normal when your lungs burned like an athlete who had ran a marathon.

“i swear i heard a loud noise coming from your room-”

“nope, uh- nothing here. i was sleeping before you came in” you yawned, stretching your arms up in the air to reinforce your previous statement.

kai placed a hand over his mouth, careful so as not to move the blanket or make any sounds- why did you have to say something that would direct soobin’s attention right in his direction? your brother sneaked another glance at your bed, judging its unusually messy state.

“are you building a bird nest or something?” he huffed, placing his hand on the doorknob, about to leave “don’t answer that actually- i don’t want to know. i just wanted to tell you that the pizza is gonna arrive in about thirty minutes. if you don’t come down on time, i can’t promise that there’ll be any left for you”

with that, the door was shut, allowing your body to slide down to the floor in relief- and the breath trapped in kai’s lungs to be released.

it was only after this incident that kai’s venturesome nature seemed to be slightly tamed. not once did he try to sneak into your room again, nor did he dare to bring up the matter. the one and only thing that he could do, was to look up at you with troubled, wary eyes as he pecked your lips, knowing that it didn’t stand in his power to do more.

nevertheless, it wasn’t long before he proceeded to go back to his usual antics, the feeling inside his heart all too unbearable.

after all, not everyone can resist temptation, can they?

people knew that it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you to be spotted in and outside the school with the most in demand band of the city, txt- your school’s pride and joy, which both your brother and his best friend were part of. so, whenever you tagged along with them, say it were to a local show, backstage, or during rehearsals, no one questioned a thing.

what was uncommon though, was you receiving private messages from the band’s notably fine pianist, kai, and giggling while responding to him, on top of it all.

this scene was witnessed by a certain someone who you thought had fallen fast asleep in the middle of class. little did you know how effective the bell ringing was to wake him up and how he had the most perfect view to the conversation taking place on your phone screen.

kai

[9:17 am] can you stay after the rehearsal today?^3^

[9:18 am] i miss you…

the witness slowly placed their head back on their desk, choosing to stay silent. this kind of matter required evidence, direct confirmation, and therefore they chose to follow you around for the rest of the day, like a shadow, thoroughly analyzing your words and actions; the texts were your first strike of the day, could there have been anything else you were keeping in the dark? the answer is yes, and you can take that literally- it turns out that the lonely, far corner of the school library makes a good spot for “discreet” pda.

you and kai were tucked away in that poorly lit spot, hugging, laughing- blissfully unaware of the third pair of eyes there with you, glossed with anger and action-driven by betrayal.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“and that’s a wrap- good job guys” yeonjun clapped his hands, turning from the microphone stand to face the group with a smile.

“kai, cleaning duty is on you today. make sure you don’t forget to lock up the doors before you leave” yeonjun threw the keys in kai’s direction, which he caught effortlessly.

“what? you always ditch on me when we get paired up together- what could have possibly gotten in the way this time?” kai’s brows furrowed in annoyance. he wasn’t one to enjoy picking a fight, but yeonjun was taking too much advantage of his compassionate nature. he had enough of all the chores landing on him every week, without fail.

“scored a date with that girl from the mall” yeonjun winked “which, by the way- starts in less than half an hour. so, i gotta go, sorry buddy. maybe you can get somebody else to help you”

everybody else’s eyes turned to the floor after yeonjun parted ways with them, blurting out random reasons to be excused: “i have a project to finish” “i did it last time” “i just don’t want to do it” ; nobody was enthusiastic about staying at school overtime.

nobody, except for you. you were about to say an excuse of your own when the realisation hit you: you and kai? alone? with none of the boys around? it was a rare occurrence, one even rarer than the blue moon. you couldn’t simply pass by it.

“i can help you”

soobin watched you from the corner of his eye, biting his tongue to prevent any words from slipping out. you had stayed behind to help the members out before, it would be weird if he only started commenting on the matter when it was kai you were going to stay with.

“we’ll leave you to it then” beomgyu swung his arms around soobin’s and taehyun’s shoulders, leading them towards the door before you could change your mind.

“yeonjun always does this” kai huffed, picking up the acoustic guitar from the floor “i love him but- for once, i wish he’d keep his word- or at least not cancel on me last minute” the more his spoke, the more reckless his movements became.

“careful with that- no matter how cheerful beomgyu might be most of the time, i don’t think he’d be too happy to see his guitar destroyed by you”

“sorry” he said bashfully, resting his body against the wall with a sigh “i guess i’m just fed up with everything”

as you placed a hand over kai’s cheek, his eyelids fluttered shut, comfort already washing over him.

“would a kiss make you feel better…?”

kai nodded eagerly “i might need more than just one kiss though” he whispered, bringing his hand to the back of your neck to pull you back closer.

his kisses were playful at first, with smiles and chuckles interrupting every once in a while. then, when he switched positions, bringing you to be the one trapped against the wall, he began alternating between pecking your lips and lightly biting them, chaste touches soon turning into something more…heated. hands brushing over each other’s bodies in a frenzy, swollen red lips caught in an endless, desperate chase, like you had never had a taste of something sweeter.

what had gotten into you both? doing something this risky in such an “honourable” place. it was the lousy heap of all your lies and yet the most enthralling point of them all.

too bad that adrenaline rushes don’t last forever though.

you felt kai’s heart thump against your chest as you cupped his jawline to bring him back for more, but your next kiss never came to fruition.

“am i interrupting something?” the person standing at the door’s threshold cleared their throat to grab your attention.

you felt your blood turn cold upon hearing the sound. having a hunch about the sight ready to greet you, you turned your head at an awfully slow pace.

“care to give me an explanation?” soobin stood with his arms crossed, the expression on his face indecipherable.

in a single day, all of the rules you swore you’d follow like a saint, for the sake of your relationship, had been broken.

kai was dismissed from the room by soobin without being given a chance to speak. it was your words he wanted to hear first and foremost, it was you who left him the most perplexed ever since he took a furtive look at your phone screen this morning, or since he saw what you were up to in the library.

you were silent, rubbing your hands with your head hanging low. lies can’t last forever, you knew that, but you wished the right to make that dreadful reveal was in your hands to hold.

your brother cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his position in the plastic chair he sat down on. when he abandoned the boys earlier because he “forgot something” in the practice room, he didn’t have a concrete plan in mind.

“how long?”

“what?” you murmured.

soobin repeated himself “for how long has this been going on? this…thing between you and kai?”

your throat went dry- your first instinct was to spit out another lie. upon better thought though, you realised it was have been ridiculous to even try and deny anything, given the fact that you were caught mid-act. the only actual option left for you was the raw, honest truth:

“…a year” you said reluctantly. soobin only nodded his head.

the silence soon felt direful, and neither of you could tolerate it. soobin turned his head up to look into your eyes, he got the answers he was looking for, now it was his turn to be sincere with you.

“y/n, i’m not the one who chooses who you’re gonna love- and as much as it bothers me that, out of all the people, it’s my best friend who you fell for- i can’t tell you to stop seeing kai”

his words turned your mind in even more of jumble than before. that was it? no screaming? no need to pull out the classic “but i love him“? it was a rare occurrence for the two of you to settle things so easily, it felt like you were suddenly picked up and placed in an alternate universe.

“so, what i’m getting is…you’re approving of our relationship?” you asked, feeling the need to have a definite confirmation of his feelings; none of the scenarios you had imagined before where you revealed your relationship matched the result of this one.

soobin hummed “as long as you don’t hoard him on the weekends- he might be your boyfriend now, but he was my friend first. i’ll have him on saturdays and you can have him on sundays, deal?”

you smiled, shaking his stretched out hand “deal”

“shouldn’t kai have a say in this too though?”

“something tells me he’s already agreed to it” soobin laughed, pointing at a “totally-not-eavesdropping-kai”, the half-open door revealing his pink cheeks along with both of his thumbs up.

taglist: @huekalover3000

[basicmyherowhore]

Reader didn’t know how she got in this situation , to go to her ex boyfriend wedding maybe it was the embarrassment being single or feeling spiteful that she decided to ask her ex boyfriend bully , to be her date and who knows maybe love will bloom in the weird situation that their in (Katsuki x reader angst with a fluffy ending maybe :)

I love this idea🥹🥹 Edit: This has been in my drafts for basically a year, I’m so sorry😭

When the invitation arrived in the mail you thought it must’ve been a mistake. Why would your ex invite you to his wedding? Was it to spite you? To rub it in how happy he was with his soon to be wife? To tell you one last time that he could do better than you?

No. Izuku was never the spiteful type, he’d never go out of his way to hurt anyone. And it’s not like the two of you ended on awful terms. Actually, it was you who ended the relationship. It wasn’t because he cheated on you, or treated you poorly. It was because you could tell it wasn’t the time for him to be in a relationship. He was too caught up in his work to be in love, no matter how much he said he loved you. His job as a hero would always come first. Of course, you understood that and that’s why you decided to let him go. The world needed him more than you did.

Both of you hurt for a long time after that. But it wasn’t a full year later before the tabloids began releasing headlines about Pro Hero Deku and Pro Hero Uravity being the next hero power couple. That really hurt. Somewhere in your heart you hoped that Izuku would come back to you. He would realize how much you mattered to him and would beg you to come back, promising to put you first for once.

Obviously that didn’t happen. You watched like every other member of society as their love for each other grew in the public eye. You knew why things were different for them. She was a hero too, she understood exactly what he was going through and wouldn’t blame him for being distant. She understood him in a way that you never could. And that’s what really hurt you.

So even though you knew of the relationship for the last two years, it still came as a major shock when you found the wedding invitation in your mail box. Because why would he invite you of all people to his special day?

The sight of it caused forgotten pain to surge inside of you. Your eyes stung as you tried to hold in the tears. Your heart ached and it felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. Such an old wound reopened so quickly.

You allowed yourself a moment to grieve. To mourn the loss of a relationship that you’d officially never have again. This was your last goodbye to the love that once existed between Izuku and you. When that moment ended you slipped the invite back into the envelope it arrived in before tossing it into the junk drawer. You’d never embarrass yourself by attending such an event. Never.

Except, now all your friends are pressuring you to go. It’s very unfortunate that Izuku and you happen to share some of the same friends. You’d think they’d be more understanding about the whole thing, but apparently they think that this is the closure you need. Not that you’re hung up on the relationship still, that’s just what your friends think What do they know?

Mina is the person who wants you to go more than anyone. She thinks that you seeing Izuku happy will allow you to “finally let go”, even though you aren’t holding on to anything. When you tried to use the excuse that you didn’t have anyone to bring with you and you didn’t want to go alone, she told you to leave the date situation up to her. Two days later she set up a “double date” between you, her, her boyfriend Kirishima, and your mystery date.

When you arrived at the restaurant five minutes after the agreed upon time, you quickly find your friend and her boyfriend sitting in a secluded booth. They were facing you, the mystery dates back was towards you. Once you finally approach, pulling a polite smile on your face to greet the supposed stranger, you’re met with a vaguely familiar face.

Bakugo Katsuki. Izuku’s long time rival.

You’d only met him once or twice before. Neither time had you talked to him, he was always too busy arguing with Izuku to pay you any mind. But now his attention was focused on you and his crimson eyes seemed to burn holed through you. You shakily introduce yourself before asking Mina to come to the bathroom with you. She excuses herself before following behind you.

“Mina! That’s Bakugo, the guy who’s basically Izuku’s arch nemesis! Why would you think this is a good idea?” You whisper shout at her, mindful of any other people that might be in the bathroom.

“That’s exactly why this is a good idea! Who else to show that you’ve moved on than the person he dislikes most?” She smirks at you, proud of her own pettiness. “Also, you probably don’t know this but Bakugo used to date Uraraka before her and Midoriya got together. He needs this as much as you do.”

Her statement silenced you for a moment. Did Bakugo feel the same way that you did when his invitation arrived? He might be the only person in the world who knows exactly what you’re going through right now. Could this be a sign?

“Just give it a chance. If you can’t tolerate his big personality then we’ll try someone else.” She guides you out of the restroom and back towards the booth. “I have plenty of attractive friends that would make great arm candy.”

She basically shoved you into your seat next to Bakugo before sitting down next to her boyfriend. Mina sends you a sky wink before striking a conversation with Kirishima. You take a breath to calm yourself before slowly turning to Bakugo, only to find him watching you once more. You smile shyly at him, introducing yourself again.

“I know who you are. You’re that shitty loser’s ex.” He says plainly, eyeing you up and down. His heavy stare makes you feel kind of uncomfortable, you feel unsure of what to say. You send Mina a pleading glance over the table.

“Bakugo also needs a date to the wedding.” Mina says bluntly, transitioning the conversation in an unexpected way.

“I don’t need shit. I don’t even want to go to the stupid wedding. You two are the ones that want me to go.” The rise in his volume makes you flinch, shooting to the very edge of the booth to give him space.

“Okay, even if you don’t need it so much, it would be nice to support Uraraka as a fellow hero. It’s shows your maturity, you know?” Hearing Kirishima speak up surprises you, when you’re around he’s usually a man of little words.

“Whatever.” Bakugo’s rage shifts into a quiet one as he crosses his arms and slumps into his seat. He seems different from the last time you’d seen him. His fiery personality seems to be burned out, like a flame that has been doused with water. You can see the walls he’s built up over the years. It reminds you of yourself.

He doesn’t say much else for the duration of dinner and neither do you. The two of you sit next to each other in uncomfortable silence. You can see the disappointment in Mina’s eyes across the table. Kirishima pats her thigh comfortingly out of your sight. Secretly, he wanted Bakugo and you to hit it off just as much as she did.

When the time finally comes to leave, Mina pulls one last trick from her sleeve.

“Hey, Eij and I have to scoot. Bakugo, do you mind waiting with Y/N until her cab arrives? It’s late and you know bad things happen in the dark.” Bakugo rolls his eyes in response but agrees with a grunt. Mina swallows the squeal of hope she wants to let out. She hugs you goodbye, winking at you as she turns and begins walking away. You glare at her even though she can’t see it. Leave it to her to put you in an awkward situation.

“It’s shouldn’t be long. Maybe another 5 or so minutes.” You glance over at him, to find that he’s already looking at you. You look away quickly, feeling too intimidated to maintain eye contact. He only hums in response.

Once again the two of you stand in silence. Each minute that passes feels like an eternity. You regret not having your own car now more than ever. Damn you for wanting to avoid producing more carbon emissions.

Finally your cab pulls up and you’ve never felt more relieved. As you turn to politely say goodbye to Bakugo, you notice his outstretched hand. You stare at him confused, unsure if he wants a high five or a tip for waiting with you.

“Your phone, stupid. Give me your phone.” He provides you an answer, albeit a harsh one. Still confused, you reach to hand him your phone. “Unlock it.” He huffs with an annoyed tone. You do.

He takes your unlocked phone from you and taps a few buttons before typing something in. He hands it back to you after taking a moment to examine your phone case. It’s Allmight themed.

“I put in my number. I can tell you want to go to that wedding about as much as I do. But if they’re gonna force me to go, I’d rather go with someone who will be just as pissed off as I’ll be.” Bakugo finally explains as he helps you into the cab. He holds the door open, watching as your buckle the belt. “If you decide you want to go after all, text me. It’ll be nice to have the company.” He shuts the door, tapping on the roof of the car twice. The driver takes that as a signal to pull off, leaving you to stare at Bakugo as you get farther and farther apart. He watches the car too.

That was the last way you thought that day would end.

Now you sit at your dinning room table. To your left sits the invitation that you’ve just finally had the courage to dig out of the junk drawer. To your right sits your phone with Bakugo’s contact information pulled up. Your gaze bounces from one side to the other as your mind tries to think of what to make of all of this.

You didn’t even want to go to the wedding. You’d rather sit at home, watching movies to take your mind off of it. You’d order some takeout and bask on the couch for hours to drown out everything you’d be feeling. It would be peaceful. It would save you so much embarrassment and suffering.

But that would make you a coward. A scaredy-cat, too afraid to face the truth, the reality of your life. Everyone else is moving on. And you’re still exactly the same.

As you pick up the phone, you action are fueled by pure vindictiveness. You need to show people that you’re not a loser that’s still hung up on their ex. That you can and are doing bigger and better things.

You begin typing in the text box. You start typing- then stop. Start again then stop again, struggling to find the right words. Ultimately, you decide on:

Let’s do this.

\(•_•)/

Regret is pooling in your stomach as you stand outside waiting for Bakugo to pick you up. You have no idea what you were thinking when you sent that text, but you’d do anything to take it back now. It feels like one of those nightmares that you desperately want to wake up from, but can’t get yourself awake.

You’re in the process of opening up your phone to text Bakugo that you’ve suddenly fallen ill when a car pulls up in front of you. The window rolls down to reveal the very blonde you were about to text. Damn, there goes that plan.

He reaches across the passenger seat to open the door you, when it swings open you can see him better than before. A black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and black slacks with a belt adorn his body. You can’t help but stare in shock, you never noticed how attractive he was before. When he’s not glaring or screaming, Bakugo actually is very handsome.

“Are you gonna stand there all day or get in the car?” He yells, causing you jump as you snap back to reality. You spoke too soon. With a small huff you slide into the seat, making sure your dress was fully in the car before you shut the door. As you moved to buckle your seatbelt, you could feel eyes following your movements. Once your belt is clicked into place you look up and meet Bakugo’s gaze, a blank expression on his face. “Your dress looks nice on you.”

Was that a compliment? From Bakugo Katsuki?

“Thank you…” You respond after a moment, turning your head away from him to hide your stunned and slightly flustered face. He simply grunts in response, putting the car in drive and pulling off. The car ride was mostly silent, the only sounds being the low hum of the engine and quiet the chatter of the radio. Your gaze remains on the window at your side. Every once it a while it almost feels like his eyes momentarily drift to you, but you assume those feelings are wrong.

When the navigation system says the venue is only a couple meters away to the left, you can feel the ball of stress and anxiety tightening in your belly. As Bakugo parks the car you can almost feel your lunch coming back up. You swallow deeply in a last ditch attempt to keep it down. Though you desperately try to keep your nerves hidden, the man beside you could see right through you. He eyes you silently before unbuckling and opening his door.

Wordlessly, Bakugo exits the car, shuts his door, and makes his way to your side of the car. He then slowly reaches towards your door, as if not to startle you. He opens the door and extends an open hand towards you, his expression entirely neutral. There’s no anger, no scowl, just a blank face. And yet it feels more welcoming than you would’ve expected.

Again you gulp, unlatching your belt before placing your hand in his, allowing him to assist you out of his car. He shuts the door behind you before looping your arm through his own. You can’t help but be taken aback by his initiation and willingness towards contact.

“Let’s look the part, yeah?” Bakugo mutters to you lowly, eyes scanning around the parking lot where many others have already taken notice of you two. “I hate this kind of shit, but I ain’t gonna let any of these shit rags call me classless.”

You can’t contain the snort that slips out, your feelings momentarily forgotten when Bakugo makes you laugh. You try to cover your mouth to contain the ugly sound but it’s no use. The sound of your laughter makes a small smile cross his face, secretly happy to relieve some of your stress even if it’s just for a moment. He gives you time to let out your laughter while slowly guiding you towards the doors. By the time the two of you reach them you’ve gone silent, any laughter caught in your throat.

With a heart beating so loudly you can barely hear yourself think, you allow Bakugo to lead you into the building. You follow behind the others before you to look at a seating chart that displays where everyone was to sit. Bakugo has been placed at a table with Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and Denki. There was three open seats left for Sero, Kaminari, and Bakugo to bring their plus ones. You technically don’t have a seat since you didn’t have the courage to RSVP, so you walk arm and arm with Bakugo to the table where his friends are seated.

Mina is the first to see the two of you. Her eyes light up when she notices your arm wrapped around his. She excitedly taps on Kirishima, directing his attention towards the two of you. A large toothy grin spreads across his face before he stands to greet you both.

“BakuBro! Y/N! I’m glad you guys decided to come after all.” He calls cheerfully, clapping his longtime friend on his back and smiling kindly at you. You return the smile bashfully, waving at everyone else at the table as you slide into the open seat next to Mina.

“Shut up! I’d rather be anywhere else than here.” Bakugo barks at Kirishima, dropping into the seat next to you with little grace.

“Don’t lie, Bakugo. We know you’d never miss Midoriya’s special day.” Sero goads from across the table, poking the bear in a way you’d never attempt.

“Yeah, Bakugo. You can call him your rival all you want, but we know when he calls you come running.” Kaminari adds more fuel to the flames.

“Shut the fuck up! I’ll kill you both!” Your date growls, sparks popping from his hands. You cover your face with your hand, seriously doubting the choices you’ve made to get you to this point. Bakugo takes note of your distress and feels a small wave of guilt wash over him. He takes a deep breath in and out, then settles for glaring at the men across from him silently.

“Y/N, you look gorgeous in that dress.” Mina tries to strike up a new conversation, causing you to smile at her effort.

“Yeah you look great!” Kirishima chimes in to agree with his partner. He looks back at Bakugo before quirking a brow in thought before a big smile blooms on his face. “You guys are matching!”

Blood rushes to both of your faces when you look at each other and realize you unintentionally matched in all black. You guys really did look the part.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice that. Did you guys pick all black because both of your exes are getting married, so it’s like you’re mourning the official death of those relationships?” As the words leave Kaminari’s mouth, you feel an ugly feeling swirl in your stomach.

Is that what this looked like to others? Immense embarrassment washes over you. You begin to heavily consider excusing yourself from the table. You wanted to be somewhere else right now. All eyes turn to Kaminari, who’s looking at the rest of you cluelessly.

“Denki!” Mina hisses, wishing now more than ever she knew what was wrong with her friend. Even Sero shakes his head in disbelief of the sheer amount of social awareness his friend lacked.

“What? I’m just asking a question. They look like they’re attending a funeral rather than a wedding.” Kaminari attempts to defend himself, but only continues to dig himself into a deeper hole.

Bakugo agains starts sparking his quirk, seemingly ready to pounce at any moment. “You wanna talk about a funeral so bad, how about I get you ready for yours?” He growls, but before he can strike the other man, you raise your hand to stop him. Surprisingly, this effectively halts Bakugo.

Even though you’d much rather get up and find somewhere to hide until everyone forgot about you, you’re tired of hiding. It’s time to stand on business and face this head on. You take a breath before plastering a smile on your face, hoping that no one can see right through you.

“It’s actually a coincidence that Bakugo and I are wearing the same color. I guess we both just wanted to be as respectful as possible by avoiding the forbidden color. Black is the exact opposite of white so it makes sense right?” You can feel your heart beating in your throat, but you try to ignore the feeling. “I also just really happen to like the color black. It goes with everything.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Kaminari hums after a moment. “It’s still funny to see you guys matching. It makes y’all look like a real couple. If you’re finally over Midoriya, Y/N, how about you and me give it a try?” He asks suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at you.

Your face heats once again and all you can do is look away, wishing that you had a quirk that would make him be quiet. Bakugo on the other hand, reaches his long arm across the table to grab Kaminari by the collar of his shirt.

“You say one more goddamn thing to Y/N and I’ll blow you sky fucking high. Shut your stupid mouth, I don’t want to hear anymore dumb shit spill out.” Kaminari, who’s also a pro hero, gulps loudly before shaking his head and pulling as far away from Bakugo as he can. When your date lets him go, he trembles in his seat silently.

While everyone at the table is no stranger to Bakugo’s aggressive behavior and violent tendencies, everyone is a bit taken aback by how quick he was to defend you. You two were never particularly close in the past, so what’s changed in the small amount of time you’ve spent together.

“Y/N, I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar for Ei and I. Come with me.” Mina says as she stands, grabbing your hand to pull you from the table. You let her pull you from your seat, but you stop before she can lead you away.

“Do you want anything?” You turn to ask Bakugo.

“Just some water. I want to keep my shit together unlike these other losers.” He says, looking up at you from his seat. You nod and turn wordlessly back to Mina. You only make it a few feet away from the table before she grabs you and pulls you close.

“Girl! What the hell was that? I’ve never seen him defend a date like that before!” She whisper yells incredulously, her eyes wide with surprise.

“I don’t know. I guess he feels bad for me or something.” You shrug your shoulders, rubbing the spot on your arm where she grabbed you a bit too hard.

“No way, Bakugo doesn’t do pity. He rarely feels bad for someone else, I don’t think he has enough empathy for that. If he’s standing up for you like that, I think he must like you at least a little.”

Bakugo like you? The thought feels too foreign to even consider. There’s no way.

“I sincerely doubt it, but okay.” You decide to close off that conversation rather than continue to go back and forth with her. The two of you grab the drinks from the bar, then proceed back to the table. From the way people were scrambling to sit down, you had a feeling things would be starting soon.

You hand Bakugo his water wordlessly. He nods his head as a thank you before taking a sip. You wonder if his mouth feels as dry with nerves as yours does. You look down at the mixed drink Mina had chosen for you when you asked what you should get. Maybe you should’ve gotten a water like you date.

The room quiets down and the pending entrance of the groom is announced. Without a second thought you down the drink in one go, not even thinking about the others seeing. Suddenly, you didn’t care anymore.

Soft instrumental music fills the air and the double doors at then front of the room open. Out steps the man you once loved, dressed head to toe in white. Of course he’d do white. He was always a bit theatrical in that way.

You feel a pang in your chest as Izuku stands at the head of the room, looking happier than you've seen him in years. Uraraka is radiant as she steps down the aisle, her beautiful white dress flowing behind her. Their eyes only on each other, their smiles lighting up the room. Once she makes her way down the aisle you force yourself to smile along with the crowd, masking the ache in your heart.

Throughout the ceremony, you steal glances at Bakugo, who surprisingly seems to share your discomfort. He shifts in his seat, occasionally muttering something under his breath that you can't quite catch. His presence, though initially abrasive, has become oddly reassuring.

As the vows are exchanged and rings placed, you recall the moment Izuku told you there would come a day both of you would find your happy ending, just with other people. Those words, though painful then, now feel like a closure you didn't fully grasp until this moment. He had found his happy ending.

After the ceremony, during the reception, you find yourself standing alone near the bar. The married couple were glowing, filling the room with joy and cheer. Mina and Kirishima along with many others filled the dance floor, celebrating the newly formed union. You watch silently, taking sips of your drink every so often. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice when someone slipped off the dance floor and began to approach you.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come tonight.” You jump slightly when you hear the voice you were least expecting. Your eyes meet the green ones that you’d spent countless hours looking into in the past. The man of the hour, Izuku, is standing in front of you with a small smile on his face.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure either. But here I am.” You try to smile back, but it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped it would.

“I’m glad you did.”

“I don’t understand why though. I’ve been out of your life for years now, Izuku. You didn’t seem to care about me then.” You wish you could stop, but the pained words wouldn’t stop falling.

“Of course I care about you. I wanted all the important people from my life here tonight. Even if we weren’t meant to be, that doesn’t erase the impact we had on each others’ lives. You helped make me into the man I am today. And I can’t thank you enough for that.” You ache inside at this. He genuinely wanted you here because even if it’s just a little, you still mattered to him.

Words escape you. For a moment, all you can do is bite the inside of your cheek while you ponder what he said some more. Across the room Uraraka is laughing joyfully, dancing with friends and family. You watch as she enjoys her night.

“She’s beautiful in her dress. You’re a lucky guy.” It’s all you can think to say.

“I am. She’s everything to me.” You glanced over to see his eyes trained on her, a loving gaze following her every move. While similar to how he once looked at you, you realize his stare his different. Somehow, it’s so much more than when he was yours. He’s truly in love. You’re surprised when you feel his hand grasp yours gently. “Y/N, it wasn’t me for you. But I know someday you’ll have the right person. And you’ll be their everything.”

“Thank you for coming tonight.” He gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting go. It’s time for him and his bride to cut their cake. He smiles at you one more time before walking away. He doesn’t look back.

Once again you’re standing alone, a confused and murky mix of thoughts and feelings swirling inside of you. You weren’t expecting to talk to Izuku or for him to say what he said.

Moments later Bakugo appears beside you, holding a glass. It still looks to be water.

"You alright?" His voice startles you, but you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He sighs, looking out at the crowd that surrounds the bride and groom. The room watched as Izuku feeds his new wife a bite of cake, smudges of white frosting decorated their noses and lips. "I get it, you know. Seeing them like this—it's rough."

You meet his gaze, surprised by his empathy. "Yeah," is all you manage to say.

Bakugo shifts uncomfortably. "Listen, I know I'm not good at this kind of shit, but... if you need to get out of here, just say the word. I can take you home."

You hesitate, touched by his offer. "Thanks, Bakugo. I appreciate it."

He nods gruffly before stepping away, leaving you to your thoughts. You can’t help but think that maybe there's more to Bakugo than meets the eye—a depth you hadn't expected. A real person behind the persona.

Later, when the music slows and people begin to fade away from dance floor, Bakugo finds you again, this time extending his hand.

"Want to dance?" he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

You look at him, searching for any hint of malice or mockery, but find none. Just a genuine offer, from a man who rarely offers anything. There’s a sincerity in his eyes that you never thought you’d see.

You take his hand, and together you step onto the dance floor. As you and Bakugo dance, the music wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The atmosphere is charged with unspoken words, and finally, Bakugo breaks the silence.

"You know, I never expected tonight to go like this," he admits gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

You tilt your head, curious. "What do you mean?"

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "I didn't think I'd be the one comforting you at this damn wedding. If anything, I thought it'd be the other way around."

A small, sad smile tugs at your lips. "Life's funny that way, huh?"

"Yeah," he mutters, a rare vulnerability in his voice. "Guess it is."

There's a lull in the music, and you find yourself caught in his intense gaze. "Thanks, Bakugo. For being here with me tonight."

He shrugs, a gesture that speaks volumes. "Wasn't gonna let you face this shit alone."

Your heart warms at his unexpected sincerity. "I'm glad you're here."

He snorts softly, his hand tightening slightly around yours. "Yeah, well... I'm not great with this sentimental shit."

You chuckle softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I know. But I appreciate it anyway."

Bakugo's lips twitch into a half-smile, a rare sight that makes your heart skip a beat. "Alright, enough of that mushy shit. Don’t start thinking I’m gonna start being some nice softy wimp now."

You roll your eyes playfully. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As the song comes to an end, you realize that though tonight started rocky you’re glad that you came to the wedding. You actually feel some comfort and a little glimmer of hope. Hope that despite the past and the pain, there's a future where you and Bakugo might explore whatever this connection between you two is.

"Ready to get out of here?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You nod, feeling more at ease than you have all night. "Yeah. Let's go."

Hand in hand, you leave behind the echoes of Izuku's wedding, stepping into a new chapter—one where you're not alone, and where unexpected companionship just might lead to something more.

[taki-yaki]

I just thought of a prompt: In the game Astarion mentions during the first decade of his enslavement he met a sweet man that he didn’t want to bring to Cazador, which led to his year of entombment and giving up on fighting Cazador. What if Tav is a descendent or relative of that sweet man, and he left a journal of how a pale elf saved his life before escaping into the remote countryside. Tav is abducted while on her way to Baldur’s Gate to investigate the journal, and when she meets Astarion she immediately suspects it’s him.

When it’s revealed he’s a vampire spawn Tav is now sure he’s the elf that saved her ancestor/relative’s life.

Oooh, this is interesting, I have made this one a little bit angsty in one section. But I feel like this would change up the dynamic if it was in the game

Astarion x Descendant Tav Headcanons

For most of your life, you grew up living in the countryside, far from the large bustle of the city life in Baldur’s Gate. Despite your family's willingness to distance themselves from the city, it never seemed to deter you. Ever since you were gifted your grandfather’s journals as a child, chronicling his life in the upper city, from the views to that of the variety of dishes they provided, seemed like a dream to a country child like yourself.

Although one section was a mystery to you, that of in-depth descriptions of a pale elf. When you asked your parents, they never wanted to speak much about it, saying when he returned, he looked entirely different, changed by an event that took place there. They would always try to steer your thoughts away from the city if prompted any further.

One day, you decided to leave the small village on a whim to journey to the city, wanting to put an end to the mystery. Travelling along the road to Baldur’s gate to investigate the mystery, is cut early after being abducted by the nautiloid ship, now being set back further from where you started with a tadpole in your head.

However, one face looked familiar among your new travelling friends. A pale elf, one which matched the exaggerated descriptions inside your grandfather’s journal. However seeing him in person said otherwise, matching what was written, ‘Ruby eyes as if looking into a ripe rose’ and ‘Silver lock curls that brushed softly against his ears’. But how could an elf like him look the same after so many decades?

Upon discovering his vampiric nature, explains how he was able to stay young for so long. One night you decide to confront him about your grandfather’s journal, showing him the entries and asking if he knew anything about it. Of course, he would deny not having a clue about what you are talking about

“Why do you insist on exhuming the past? I have no such knowledge of meeting a person like this”

His eyes would dart away from yours wishing to no longer engage in such pointless dribble. Any other mentions of the journal would just leave you with him trying to skirt himself around the topic.

One night though, he approaches you, drunk on, presumably, the blood of a bear, clinging to you refusing to let you go “I’m glad you’re alive still” he’d slur “You were so naive and sweet, to be subjected to such a thing”. When you try to question him about it, he refuses to answer any further, just tightening his grip on you longing to stay in the moment, eventually having to drag him back to his tent for the night.

The next morning, approached his tent to check on him, “I suppose you want to know what I was talking about last night” His body turned away from you to stare at the deep crimson of the tent walls. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to”, he turns to face you “Hmm, well I don’t want to talk about as much as you do, but that won’t do anyone any good”.

He explains how, in his first decade of slavery, he found a sweet naive man, who dreamed of making it big in the upper city of Baldur’s Gate. Compared to most he would find from petty criminals, street drunkards and brothel-goers, he would occasionally find some naive soul who wished to make it big in the city. 

One of those was your grandfather, he never tried to charm him, more so befriend him, he warned him to never approach him again and to run far away from this city if he wanted to live. 

“He was the first and only one who I ever truly let go” his eye meeting the floor 

“And I punished horribly for it” the grip on his shoulders tightening.

An awkward silence fell upon the tent “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that to answer”. A light laugh leaves his lips as he turns to look at you, “Ha, you're just as sweet as he was, but…I’m glad he was able to make a life for himself, unlike me”. Slowly you clasped over his shoulder, his eyes staring directly into yours “Don’t speak so short of yourself, I promised you that I’ll keep you safe, just as you did for my grandfather, your actions won’t be in vain”.

Whilst travelling to Baldur’s Gate the two of you bond over the descriptions left in your grandfather’s journal describing the palaces within the city, ‘The Blushing Mermaids signature dish, salted small-fish stew, may be one of the establishment's more unique dishes that they have to offer.’, “We have to try that when we get to the city it sounds amazing”, “Hmm, how about we just avoid the Blushing Mermaid, I know their calamari dishes don’t live up to their praise and that was over 200 years ago.”

Upon reaching Baldur’s Gate, you felt as if you had the biggest culture shock of your life, from the once romantic establishments now being nothing more than an average local tavern and the food they served was nothing but the morning leftovers from last week's catch. Now staring down at the dish through the murky stew a piece of baitfish floating to the surface. “Now darling, it was your choice to go here you should looked more pleased with the dish that dear old grandfather elegantly described to you.” smiling at you with a smug look.

Despite the reality of city life overwhelming your naive outlook on life, one quiet night in elf song, you turn to Astarion, “You know, over 200 years ago, if you didn’t let him go that night, then I would have never met you, funny how things worked out like that”, “I’m glad you think so too, ever since that night, I wonder sometimes if I ever made the right decision, but know I think I do, and I’m thankful to have met you”.

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 3

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Wicca, anxiety (making friends takes spoons), self-doubt, lots of secrets being kept, Bat Max comes with his own warning. Summary: Making new friends isn't always easy, but when those new friends are the local coven sometimes it's a lot easier than you think! Notes:  The portrayal of Wiccan characters in this story is based on my own experience and the experiences of people I know personally. It's very safe to say that almost all practitioners have their own special way of doing things and each coven is a little different, so we're just going with what we know. 🧡🧹🍁 A little insight into Dolly's mansion: this chapter image is the fireplace in the morning room at the real life Chateau-sur-Mer!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

Waking up to no alarm, no banging or crashing around the house, and no feeling of terror at being late for work is a very strange sort of miracle. The sun is up and the clock on the mantle reads eight o’clock, but the house is silent. That in and of itself is odd, but what is stranger is that you don’t remember getting into bed last night. Popping up from the plush pillows, you find yourself covered with your own comforter and still in your clothes from yesterday, but your book is sitting neatly on the chaise and the window is shut. Did you just have the weirdest ass dream in the world about petting a bat and reading to it? You must have. Right? There is no way that actually happened…

There’s a soft knock on the door. Hearing you stir slightly has Renee waiting for you to give permission to enter before she turns the handle and smiles as she walks in. “Good morning, Dolly.” She murmurs softly. “Would you like a breakfast tray here or would you prefer to eat in the dining room?” Learning your preferences is key and since Mrs. Taylor is handling the blood from the blood bank in the kitchen right now, she doesn’t want you wandering in.

“Morning Renee.” A little groggy from the confusion of how you woke up, you dig the palm of your hand into your eye and smother a yawn. “I’ll come downstairs, you don’t have to bring a tray all the way up.” You’re more than capable of going downstairs, of course. And if your roommates are downstairs you don’t want to seem rude or standoffish.

“It’s no problem.” Renee protests. “Max and Eddie have already eaten, having early morning schedules.”

Somehow you didn’t figure Max for an early riser, but you shrug off that detail and offer her a smile. “I’ll still come down,” you decide. “Maybe a trip into town would be good today? Just to check things out and get to know the area.” It’s Mabon, but you don’t know if anyone else in the house is pagan or Wiccan or would be offended by having witchy holidays brought up, so you don’t say anything. Instead you’ll just quietly get a few fall-themed things for your room and not bother anyone else with it.

“It is the beginning of the autumn equinox, so perhaps it would be good for you to tour around.” Renee nods. “Mrs. Taylor and I will be setting the house up and Mr. Taylor will be decorating.”

“How did you—?” It’s like she was reading your mind, and you tilt your head slightly in curiosity. “I don’t suppose Newport has an autumn festival or a farmer’s market this weekend?” It’s too much to ask that there might be a community of witches nearby, but your parents’ Wiccan upbringing has seeped into your bones and happily stuck there.

The younger housekeeper nods with a small chuckle. “Of course there is. We are only two hours from Salem.” She explains. “This is a magical time of year where traditions outweigh conservatism.”

“Then I think I’ll head into town after breakfast.” The idea of fresh air and maybe hearing someone wish others a Blessed Mabon again gives you a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“If you need any directions or would like to be driven around, just let me know.” Renee tells you before she hums. “Oh, would you like to drive the Volvo or the Corvette?” She asks. “Mr. Taylor was in the process of giving the Volvo a tune up, but he can have it available for you whenever you need.”

“I don’t want to bother or interrupt anyone.” You insist right away, sitting up and moving to the edge of your bed. “I guess…I’ll drive the Corvette? It’s…that is okay, right?”

“Of course.” She gives you a smile, having already concluded that you will be asking permission for things rather than just doing. Perhaps in time it will change, but she will just roll with it for now.

“Okay.” Adjusting to the idea that these things are yours to do with as you please is going to take a long time, but you nod. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, then.”

“Of course.” She repeats, nodding respectfully and turning to slip out of the room. She will let Mr. Taylor know to pull the corvette out of the carriage house and tell Mrs. Taylor that you are ready for breakfast.

******

It seems like Newport has two parts. There is the ritzy, expensive, even touristy part of town — and then there is the old New England side of things. The locals are a little crotchety but ultimately nice enough, and one even pointed out his favourite coffeeshop to you when you finally ambled your way into the farmer’s market nearby. There are farm stands and crafts people, handmade goods and stalls from small businesses selling everything from soap and tea to jewelry and housewares. It’s an autumn festival minus the feast, but with all the food for sale it won’t be hard to make a feast of your own.

“Miss?” The vendor for the Say Cheese! booth, a gourmet, small batch cheese producer, tries to catch your attention. “Would you like to try some of our caramelized onion and thyme goat cheese?” She asks, offering a tray of the creamy spread that has been smeared on crackers. “Or we have honey and fig if onions aren’t you’re thing.”

You almost want to ask if it’s okay to try both, but that seems greedy until you turn and find a girl about your age with a shiny ’She/Her’ pronoun pin affixed to her apron alongside a name tag that reads ‘Allison’ in curving, cheery lettering. A foam witch’s hat is stuck to the corner and covered in purple glitter, making it extra chipper. “That sounds wonderful,” you say instead, nodding and stepping closer to the booth.

“It is.” She insists. “Although the pumpkin spiced brie can be a little…targeted.” She laughs and shrugs. “But it’s actually pretty good.”

“I’m a big fan of pumpkin spice.” The little witch hat makes you smile and you shrug. “Don’t they say that clove, cinnamon, and ginger keep evil away in folklore? That’s most of what pumpkin spice is.”

“To be honest?” She grins conspiratorially. “Most in my coven are thrilled that it’s become so popular. Protection while not even being aware.”

“You have a—?” You nearly freeze when she says out so freely - so openly - and blow out a happy breath. Happy is an odd feeling. “Blessed Mabon.”

“Blessed Mabon.” Her smile deepens and her eyes light up with delight. “May your harvest be bountiful and your light bright.”

“May the equinox bring you abundance and joy.” That was always your mother’s favourite way to return a Mabon blessing, and you had adopted it over the years. Not that you had had anyone to celebrate with in years, but that’s different. “I—I’m so glad to meet you.” Despite Renee assuring you that there are plenty of pagans, Wiccans, and witches in Newport, you hadn’t just expected to run into one first thing.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen you here before.” Allison comments as she starts to load up a small taster plate with an assortment of cheeses for you to try. “Are you just visiting or new to the area?”

“I just moved.” Though you’re wary of giving more detail than that, this woman is beaming and friendly. “Just trying to get out and see the town a little this morning and you’re the first person I’ve actually met.”

“Then that means we are connected.” Allison beams, reaching behind her neck and removes the smoky quartz crystal that is hanging on a delicate chain. “Here. A welcoming gift for you. It had been blessed during Beltane.”

She does not mean to be anything but kind and perhaps generous, but the gesture of a gift almost has you in tears as she presses the crystal into you stunned, frozen palm. It’s such a small gesture to her, no doubt, but any kind of gift nearly has you in tears that you have to wave off quickly. “Everyone has been so kind since I got here,” you explain quickly. Everyone but Max, you think just as quickly, but she doesn’t need to know your saga. Especially when your other hand has the sample plate in it now and you can’t even recall her putting it there. “It’s overwhelming. In a good way.”

“Our community can be very friendly.” She chatters happily. “Perhaps a bit odd, but that always comes with the supernatural, right?”

"Usually." You smile a little, eventually closing your fingers around the crystal and nodding gratefully. "Thank you...Allison." Her nametag is just out there shining in the sun and you gesture toward it before you introduce yourself.

“You are most welcomed.” She hands you the plate with a slight flourish. “Please let me know what you like out of these cheeses.” She tells you. “And, if you are interested, we have the harvest bonfire tonight.”

"Really?" Again your head shoots up in surprise, and the question is muffled around a bite of the pumpkin spice brie that makes you groan immediately in delight.

“Absolutely.” She winks at you and grins at the absolute bliss on your face. “It’s the first night of the spooky season. We have an eclectic group that comes together. Maybe you would like to meet some spiritual sisters?”

"My roommates were talking about decorating the house." It's still odd to think of having roommates - of living with anyone besides Derek - but remembering the little bat from your dream does make you smile. "I haven't had a coven since college. It...would be really nice to have a community again."

“We are welcoming to all.” She promises and pulls out a little card that has the information on it. “We start a little before sundown, socialize and relax.” She tells you. “Please come. It’s always fun.”

"Thank you." Your quiet murmur is full of gratitude, and moments later when the samples are gone from the little plate, you are buying all three flavours of cheese and whatever else Allison recommends from the stand she is working at. With the ability to actually spend money comes the desire to make sure that it goes to people who will actually benefit directly from your purchases - it's going to be a lot of farmers markets for you in the future and not so much time spent in big chain grocery stores.

Once the transaction is completed, Allison smiles at you. “I hope to see you later?” She asks questioningly.

"I think so." There is always a chance you'll get too anxious and freak yourself out a bit, but you nod. You want to have the emotional energy to make new friends tonight. Maybe you'll cut your outing short earlier in the day so that you don't run out of steam. It's been a long time since you had something you actually wanted to do like this. "Is--can I bring anything?" Always taught never to show up empty handed, you'll surely end up bringing something no matter what the answer is.

“An opened mind and heart.” Allison shakes her head. “Our guests are never required to bring anything more. It will be our pleasure to host you this evening.”

"I'll see you tonight." You will make it work. And besides -- the trip out this morning will have to be quick. You've got precious cheese to get back home.

******

“I hope that she is okay.” Mrs. Taylor glances out the window with a frown on her face. “She seems like such a timid thing. So surprising about that, considering.”

“We don’t know what she’s been through,” Renee reminds the older woman, methodically working her way through folding the last of your laundry. There was a lot of it that seemed barely touched — fun things like dresses and logo tees or more fitted things — and looser, more office work clothing and jeans that are surely baggy on you, that look far more worn. “A lot’s happened in her life. Or at least…a lot could have happened.”

“It makes me want to protect her.” Mrs. Taylor admits quietly. She’s never had children of her own, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a motherly instinct. “No wonder he wanted her brought here.”

“He should have been able to protect her before now.” Renee tuts, carefully folding a sweater depicting a black cat perched like they’re in a windowsill. “But that’s none of our business, of course.”

“There were reasons.” She’s not sure what those reasons are, but there’s very little he does that doesn’t have reasoning behind it.

“I’m sure.” She isn’t, not really, but Renee has never been the one to make the decisions. She prefers it that way. “At least we can do our part in taking care of her now.”

“Of course we can. It’s why he had her brought here.” She’s incredibly proud of her role in taking care of Cookie and there is a lot of trust that was placed in her hands to do that. Renee hasn’t been with the family quite as long, so she doesn’t understand that quite yet. “Perhaps we can put together a lovely tea time when she gets back.”

“I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t come back with a few things from the farmer’s market.” The thought of you settling in makes the younger woman smile and she sets the stacks of your folded clothes into the dresser beside her. “We can make a tray with some of what she finds?” As if on cue, the front door opens and closes, the sound reverberating through the house despite being gentle. “Hopefully that’s her,” Renee hums, quickly depositing the last of your clean things in the bureau and heading for the stairs.

Nodding, Mrs. Taylor quickly follows the younger housekeeper out of the bedroom to see who has come inside. Mr. Taylor is finishing up with the car out in the carriage house but he would come in the back door.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” Renee is the first to spot you, looking a little more relaxed than when you left this morning and caring many more bags. “Please, allow me.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Renee.” The fresh air has you feeling better, after having spent hours at the farmer’s market and debating whether or not to take a walk around the nearest bakery or florist shop, only to end up overwhelmed by the change in the people in those places. They were tourists - obviously wealthy and snobbish - and not nearly as friendly as the people you’d met at the market. “Only…” You separate out the bag that has your precious cheeses in it. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind putting these in the refrigerator for me? The farmer’s market had amazing things.”

“Absolutely.” She beams, happy that you had found things that you wanted at the market. “Mrs. Taylor was just suggesting putting together a tea tray for you. Would you like anything from here on it?” She asks, wanting you to have some input.

“There is a spiced plum tea and some goat cheese with fig that—” As soon as the thought begins, you frown and shake your head, becoming tight and self-conscious again. “You don’t have to trouble yourselves. I can take care of it. I—don’t want to give either of you more work than you already have.”

"Of course." She nods, but she has no intention of listening to you. There is plum tea and fig goat cheese that you have fallen in love with, so that will be added to the tray along with the tea sandwiches that Mrs. Taylor has no doubt already started making in the kitchen.

“I’ll just go and put these things upstairs first.” Crystals, candles, some waxed flowers, and cute little needlepointed pillow with a bat in a pile of leaves have all come home with you and they’re going to help your space feel a little more personal instantly.

"I'll bring the tray up in just a moment," Renee turns. "Unless you would like to have tea in the morning room?" The light is bright and airy in there and it's a lovely space for a tea service.

“You don’t have to—” Her face makes it abundantly clear that there will be a tea tray and the only conversation she’s willing to entertain about it is the location in which you will be receiving it. “The morning room would…it sounds very nice,” you admit after a breath. “Thank you, Renee.”

"There was a book on your bedside table this morning." She mentions quietly. "Would you like me to bring it down so you can read, or is that an evening book?"

“That’s an old favorite.” The hundred-year-old copy of Jane Eyre has even seeped its way into your dreams, but you enjoyed it thoroughly. “I’ll pick something else from the shelves for day reading.” It’s such a luxury, and it’s hard to process that that is your life now. Luxury. Doing whatever you want. No one is going to stop you.

"Of course." This time the nod is accompanied by a small smile before the assistant housekeeper rushes off to make sure that your tea tray includes the small little treats you had brought back from your first trip to the town.

The small bags with goodies in them are easily deposited in your room, where you notice that your childhood throw blanket with ballet slippers prominently featured has been folded and left at the bottom of your chaise, and your bed has been made again. It’s not bad, it’s just…odd. Something your great-aunt was so used to and maybe occasionally even took for granted…that you will have to remind yourself is perfectly reasonable. Refocusing yourself, you put down your bags and take the little throw pillow out, deciding to bring it down to the morning room window seat with you. It will be a sweet little thing to have with you, and you can bring it upstairs again afterward so that you don’t get in anyone’s way.

******

"She has been to the farmer's market and would like to use the plum tea and the fig goat cheese." Renee hums happily as she sweeps into the kitchen with the bag you had given her. As she had expected, the little three tiered display is already layered with little sandwiches on the bottom. She's sure some are cucumber and others are the curry chicken salad she had been experimenting with.

“I’m sure she insisted she would do it herself, and that we shouldn’t trouble ourselves?” Mrs. Taylor raises one eyebrow but continues her work on the tea server, adding orange flavored Madeline cakes to the top tier.

"You know she did." Renee tuts and rolls her eyes, although she's not bad mouthing you. "I will start to brew the tea."

“Did it seem she enjoyed herself at least?” The two women are very coordinated in the kitchen and move gracefully around each other as Renee starts the kettle and Mrs. Taylor puts the other cheeses away. There are some lovely crackers in the pantry that she can include to go with the cheese you particularly wanted to enjoy today.

"There was light in her eyes that was not there yesterday." Renee confirms as she brings out the silver teapot to set on the tray. Ms. Brown's favorite tea set is already laid out and tomorrow, Renee will suggest rotating the sets until they are certain of which ones that you prefer. She pulls out the canister with the sugar cubes to put into the small dish. "I would say that she enjoyed herself very much."

“We can finish decorating for the autumn this afternoon.” Mrs. Taylor decides, working quickly to make sure the tea service is just so. “Mr. Taylor brought the rest of the decorations down from the attic for us and Mr. Finchley suggested adding some garlands to the outer gates.”

“That sounds good.” Renee agrees. “I think that it will be good to have a sense of ‘life’ back in the mansion.”

“As it were.” Mrs. Taylor chuckles as she arranges the seeded crackers on the tea stand. “With so many undead about, it seems an ironic choice.”

“I honestly wonder if there doesn’t need to be a human in the house.” Renee muses. “When it was just us, there was something missing. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who felt it.”

After a moment, the younger woman hums again. “There does seem to be an extra element of activity with a human around.” For Renee, it is treasured. She was turned hundreds of years ago but she is still pulled toward humanity for so many reasons other than their blood. “Do you think…perhaps Eddie has taken a shine to her already?”

“He has.” Mrs. Taylor looks up from arranging the crackers with just the perfect amount of cheese with a hopeful smile. “I’m not sure if it’s brotherly or romantic yet, but our dear Eddie so needs another tender heart around.”

“Wonderful.” Renee sighs. “It would most wonderful for everyone to be happy.” But after a moment more of consideration, she chews on her lip and turns her head back to the older vampire. “Is Max trying to irritate Dolly?” She asks warily.

“He might be.” And it bothers the housekeeper to no end, knowing how timid you are. “He doesn’t know…” she shakes her head, carefully cutting coins of the goat cheese you found today. “If he did, he would leave well enough alone.”

“Or he would be trying to smooze her.” Renee snorts. “Which might be even worse than irritating her. If he touches her, he might stake him and not bring him back again.”

“We would be getting a surprise visit immediately if Max decided to do that.” Considering the way their boss had behaved when suitors arrived for the other young lady of the house so long ago.

Renee winces and shakes her head. “He will stay away if he knows what’s good for him.” She huffs with a smirk, knowing Max Phillips is nothing if not egotistical enough to try to play some game with you.

“But he doesn’t,” Mrs. Taylor reminds Renee as she puts the finishing touches on the food our your tea tray. “That’s how he ended up here in the first place.”

“I remember.” Renee snorts. “I had to take care of him when he was first brought back and his new skin was raw.”

“I still don’t understand why he felt strongly enough to bring Max back.” It was a mystery that Mrs. Taylor had not quite parceled out yet, but she certainly spent more time thinking about it than she let on.

“Of all the vampires he could have brought back.” Renee hums, shaking her head. “Max Phillips is the one he chose.”

“He will have had his reason.” Although what it is, Mrs. Taylor has yet to figure out. Instead she sets silverware and a cloth napkin on the service cart with the tiered server and dishes. The only thing missing now is the tea, and that should be ready momentarily.

As soon as the teapot starts to whistle, Renee pulls it off the heat and flips open the lid to the serving teapot, pouring the hot water in to infuse with the tea leaves you had brought home. Closing the lid with a satisfied smile. “There. Now I will deliver this to Dolly.”

“Will you let her know that dinner can be served wherever she likes tonight?” Mrs. Taylor wipes her hands and begins to pick up the counter right away. “Eddie and Max will both be out. I didn’t ask why, but it will be good for her to be able to relax.”

“Yes ma’am.” Renee wheels the cart out of the kitchen towards the elevator.

******

Upstairs, you have unearthed a first edition copy of Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived in the Castle and settled back in the window seat with your little pillow and the muted afternoon sun. Every window in the house seems to be coated with something that tints the light the barest shade of yellow and you wonder vaguely if it was some Victorian architecture fad. Or if architecture even has things like fads.

Wheeling the cart into the ‘secret’ room, Renee finds you already settled into the window seat and smiles. “Tea is served.” She announces, happy to see that you do not startle when she comes in. Yesterday you looked like you would jump out of your skin, but something about the new day seems to have settled you.

"You really didn't have to." Although you had a feeling that she might. Mrs. Taylor is the type to do things properly or not at all, and Renee is her dutiful second in command. "Thank you, of course." Grateful as you are, you put your book aside as Renee sets the cart beside you by the window.

“My pleasure.” She nods respectfully and steps back. “Mrs. Taylor and I are going to finish decorating this afternoon, but we will be available anytime you need us.”

"Thank you," you murmur again, catching a whiff of the spiced tea that you brought home and rolling over in your mind whether you want to venture out of the house tonight. Allison was so friendly, but you're nervous. "Renee...can I ask you something?"

“Anything.” Her job is to take care of the house and you are now a part of that. Anything you need, any questions you have, she will help as much as she can.

"I was invited to an event tonight." As silly as you feel about asking a virtual stranger for her opinion, Renee has been so kind to you at every turn. So you pull the little card that Allison gave you out of your pocket and hand it to the young woman. "A local coven is having a Mabon bonfire. I only..." you frown slightly, feeling small as you shrink against the wall. "I don't know if I ought to go? Or if that would be imposing too much."

There was a time that vampires and witches were enemies. At that time, she would have encouraged you to keep your distance. That had changed over the millennia and they had joined forces to keep the secrets of the world away from the humans, except for rare exceptions. “Allison?” She smiles as she looks down a the card. “You should go. I was supposed to tell you that dinner will be served wherever you wish tonight, but I think you will be out during the dinner hour.”

"I haven't had a coven in so long." When Renee hands the card back to you, it ends up cradled in your hands like precious cargo. "And she was so terribly nice."

“I know her vaguely. She’s extremely nice.” She agrees. “She would come to visit Ms. Brown sometimes.”

"Was...Ms. Brown...?" Somehow the image of this ninety-one-year-old woman that you had in your head with the first phone call from the lawyer's office has already changed twice over in the very little time you've been here, but you still hadn't expected this find out she was Wiccan.

“A witch?” Her brow arches up and she purses her lips in amusement that you cannot quite come out with the questions you need answered. “Oh yes. Probably the greatest witch in Newport, perhaps the East Coast. She oversaw the coven for years until….” She shakes her head. “Until her heart was no longer in it. Then she allowed others to take over.”

"Do you mind if I ask you what changed?" You could understand if age or infirmity had kept her from being as active in her coven, but this is not what it sounds like Renee is saying.

“She….lost someone close to her.” Renee knows she is not permitted to tell you the truth, that would have to come from him, at his discretion. However, acknowledging some of the reasoning behind Cookie’s change of heart cannot be too bad. “Very dear to her.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” It feels like intruding to ask more, so you only nod your understanding and leave the topic alone for now. “Well…thank you, Renee. Again. I think I will go out tonight after all.” It feels heavier now, somehow. More important. And there is a thought in the back of your mind that getting to know this relative you had never met by accepting the invitation of someone she knew is the best possible way to spend your night.

She bites her lip and then nods, as if making up her mind, which she has. “If the tea can hold for a few minutes, perhaps you will allow me to show you something?”

“Of course.” There’s nothing wrong with letting a teapot steep, and you set your book and pillow aside immediately.

“Follow me.” She asks, turning to leave the morning room through the bookcase door.

Through the hidden door in the wall and through to the library, you’re surprised when Renee crosses the room toward the marble hall and pulls open an even more hidden door in the window nook. This one has no visible knob but is activated with the pull of a false book exactly like a spooky story or horror film. A room no bigger than a closet houses an elaborate spiral staircase that seems to crawl up toward the sky and Renee beckons for you to follow. Up and up and up, the ornately carved wooden staircase just keeps going until you’re sure there can’t possibly be any house left, because you’ve counted to four floors and you were certain the place only had three.

When the stairs run out, they deliver you into the most incredible open room covered in overlapping rugs and thick, heavy, blue velvet curtains. The ceiling is painted like the night sky — blue-black with silver and gold stars and an immense chandelier that hangs high in the middle of the room. Renee has moved to the wall quickly, pressing a button that turns on the electric lights in the chandelier and lights up the room. The shape of the sloping gold and purple-fabric covered walls and ceiling tell you that you’re in the top of the East tower on the left of the house, but the point is driven home when you can see out the tinted window to the front yard. In front of the window, though, is a sizable altar all decorated in candles and a myriad of different size bowls of many materials. To the left is a bronze statue of a goddess and to the right in a black marble statue of a god - the two images presiding over the rest of the altar like the dutiful deities they are.

“This was her ‘spell room’ as Cookie liked to call it.” Renee tells you fondly. Even though they had believed that the room might never be used again, it is meticulously dusted. A labor of love to the woman who had used it before you. Now, Renee was proud to believe that the tradition of a witch in Chateau-sur-Mer would continue.

“I guess it really does run in the family…” Carefully stepping up to the altar, you hum with satisfaction to see that the goddess statue depicts Persephone and the god is Hades — favorite deities of yours, as well. “My parents were witches, too. Our altar at home had statues of Artemis and Apollo. My mother loved the idea of the balance between moon and sun.”

Renee nods, keeping her face neutral. “Another good set of deities.” She agrees.

“This is amazing…” There are elements of old traditions and new all over the room. A hand sewn broom leans against a case of carefully crafted poppets. An enormous collector cabinet dominates the far wall with labels for every herb and potion ingredient you can think of, and a circular scrying table stands ready in the middle of the room. Gothic style chairs surround it, suggesting it was used for much more than just scrying. “I never would have guessed,” you admit, looking back at Renee in wonder. “Not in a thousand years.”

“That is a good thing.” She tells you with a grin. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Then it will stay a secret.” You make a motion out zipping up your lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. “Is it…a secret from other people in the house?” Noticing other doors off of the room, you curiously poke your head over to see if any of the doors are open. Most are open archways, but one door is firmly shut.

“No. The - they know of it.” It was never a secret here what Cookie was, not when this was her refuge.

“Okay.” Nodding, you look back at the door and then to Renee. “Is there a key for this door?” The handle hadn’t budged when you tried it, and fortunately you hadn’t seen the maid flinch, either.

“There is a key.” She bites her lip and wonders if you want it bad enough to go in there.

“One I would assume Mrs. Taylor has?” The blinding fear of curiosity in your chest is a little nerve wracking, and you try to push it aside even though it has your blood beating in your ears. Forcing yourself to smile and step away from the door that has all of your focus narrowed on it, you swallow and feel the tingles of nerves all through your veins. “Tea will be cold if we stay up here much longer,” you decide, steadily trying to ignore the door that seems to call your name personally.

“Of course, Dolly.” She tilts her head, wondering if she had imagined the shiver that rolls through your body. She focuses on your heartbeat and finds it slightly faster than normal, which is already ticking at a nervous beat.

When you all but flee back downstairs, Renee is at your heels but leaves you to go through to the morning room alone. Or— you thought you would be alone. But when you walk in, Max is sitting in the window seat wrinkling his nose at your tea tray.

Max looks up from the tray that includes nothing bloody and the clove from the tea is nearly overwhelming. Grinning, he thinks about how you had stroked a bat who was sitting in your lap last night. “Hey Dolly.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “Looks like you’ve settled right in. Cozy little tea?”

“Renee— a-and Mrs. Taylor…they—” There is judgement in his voice. An accusation. And instantly you are petrified of what he might think of you. “I didn’t ask for it,” you insist, hands shoved into your pockets instantly as your posture shrinks.

Your reaction is completely off kilter for his good-natured teasing. “Of course you didn’t.” He tuts. “You wouldn’t ask boo from a ghost.”

"I just went to the farmer's market and they were nice enough to make a tray for me." With your eyes trained on the rug, you shrug your shoulders and let your weight shift from one foot to the other awkwardly.

“What smells?” He asks you, moving over to the teapot. “It’s like a batch of potpourri. Very…spicy.”

“Clove and cinnamon. And I think some ginger, too.” The three ingredients remind you of what you and Allison had observed about pumpkin spice and you almost manage a smile. “It’s Plum Spice black tea.”

"It's....pungent." He comments, picking it up and lifting the lid, curling his nose up at the strong scent. Still, he pours the purplish tea into the dainty flowered cup sitting on the small plate. He picks it up and shrugs, "Whadya take in this? Flowers?'

“Flowers can be delicious,” you protest softly, but motion to the tray again. “Sugar or honey, or whatever sweetener you like. I guess you could do cream if you wanted but fruit tea never seemed like a good choice for cream to me.”

Max frowns slightly and adds one sugar cube to the tea and stirs it, before adding a drizzle of honey. Tilting his head and biting his lip as if he were performing delicate surgery before handing it to you.

“I—um…thank you…” You had fully expected him to drink it himself, and when you take the cup from him it’s like you’ve forgotten what to do with it for a second. “Would you, um …want to sit with me?“ Even the most awkward of moments deserve kindness, don’t they?

“Sure.” Max shoots you a grin and sets himself down on the other side of the window seat and uses a small pair of tongs to poke around the three tiered tray. Not even a rare roast beef finger sandwich. He huffs slightly and picks up a cream cake. “So…how did you like the town?” He asks with a smirk to hide the grimace as he takes a bite of the cake. It’s no blood pudding, that’s for sure.

“It’s beautiful.” The turning leaves and picturesque streets that you saw while driving around today were lovely. Perfect for a gorgeous fall day. “And bigger than I thought it would be. I’m pretty sure I saw a cruise ship in the harbor.”

“It’s okay.” Max shrugs as he takes another bite of the cake. “Very slow kind of life here. Am I right?”

“That’s not always bad.” You would take slow and steady over the chaos of uncertainty any day of the week, but Max seems like the kind of person who likes to stay busy.

“Maybe.” It still irks him that Evan got the best of him. Him and that little doormat girlfriend of his. Zara Beth was more to his taste, she had teeth. “Must have been a good night though? Didn’t hear any screams of terror.”

“No, no nightmares or anything like that.” In fact, you’d slept remarkably well considering it was your first night in a new place. The anxiety of uncertainty hadn’t been a problem. And you’d had lovely dreams to boot. “Do you mind if I ask you how long you’ve lived here?”

“Four years.” That admission comes with a distinct grumble.

“And you don’t like it?” You guess, from the way he seems to begrudge that little piece of information.

“It’s not bad.” He huffs. “But it’s more that I’m a --" he stops, shrugging slightly since he has no real reason to grumble besides being told to stay put.

“Maybe you just haven’t found the thing that makes it enjoyable yet.” Everything has a silver lining, you have told yourself many times. Right now your silver lining is that your tea is perfect. Who knew sugar and honey was the way to go?

Max chuckles, knowing that despite not knowing you well, a comment about orgies leaving him unfulfilled wouldn’t go over well. “Maybe. Could always get a pet.”

“That would be sweet.” All of the snacks that were put out for you amount to a sizable lunch, and it isn’t until you start eating Mrs. Taylor’s amazing food that you realize how hungry you were. “What sort of pet?”

“A fox.” Max hums, smirking slightly. “Or a bat. That would be cool.”

“Bats are sweet.” Or, at least, the one you had a dream about last night was adorable. “They get a bad reputation.”

His brow lifts and he settles back against the fluffy, embroidered pillows. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You agree, taking another sip of your tea. “They’re cute. I mean cats and dogs and stuff are cute too, obviously.”

“A pet bat, huh?” Max hums, wondering if you will admit to your experience last night. “Dogs don’t like me.” It’s a natural reaction, smelling that they aren’t the top of the food chain when he’s around. “Cats just…don’t listen.” He can admire that, but as a moody creature himself, he doesn’t want that reflected in his pet.

“So you’d go for a bat instead?” It actually makes you smile, which might be the first time that you’ve ever smiled at him. It’s half from him and half remembering your extremely vivid dream. “I’ve always wondered if they like to be pet,” you admit after a second.

“They do.” Max can attest to that, but he gives you a shrug. “Watched some bat thing on NatGeo.” He explains. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Good to know.” It somehow makes the dream you had sweeter, and you smile a little wider at the knowledge. The mood between you and Max is calmer now, as if you’ve found a little common ground, as you’re silent for a moment before asking another innocuous question. “Did you have a good morning? Renee said you and Eddie left the house early.”

“Early bird gets the worm.” Max quotes with a grin. “I had some business meetings that I wanted to get out of the way before the sunset tonight.” He hums. “Too many witches out and about.”

The thought that you don’t know any places that do business meetings on Saturdays is walked away instantly by dread. “Do you…” Appetite suddenly gone, you set your teacup on its saucer. “Do you not like witches?” You can’t figure out why you should even care because you don’t much like Max, but somehow it still stings.

“Nah. They’re okay.” He watches you closely. “But I’d rather be socializing tonight than working.” He winks at you and grins.

“I mean it might not be an out-and-out party like Beltane can be, but I would hardly call celebrating Mabon work.” Just like flipping a switch in your mind, the defense that rolls off your tongue is completely automatic. Having spent many years feeling like you either shouldn’t speak about your faith at all or having to defend it when you do, you can’t help yourself — but you clamp your mouth shut immediately when you realize Max is smirking even more widely now.

“Well, well, well.” Despite your fiery outburst, which has a sensation similar to butterflies fluttering in Max’s stomach, he’s nothing short of amused. “Blessed Mabon, Dolly.” He chortles. “The witch of Newport is here to claim her throne.”

“I don’t know anything about a throne…” That definitely should have been mentioned by now if it was literal but you just can’t imagine it would be at all. “But…thank you. A blessed Mabon to you, as well.”

“So do you have plans for the night?” He waggles his brows. “We could dance naked around a fire in the garden.” He suggests playfully.

“I was invited to a bonfire.” You tell him, though it still feels odd to have been invited anywhere at all. “I met someone from the local coven while I was out today.”

“Ah.” He picks up a cracker and small medallion of cheese. “I see. You met…was it Allison or Tracy today?” He asks curiously. The witches are friendly to him, but he’s never taken it beyond flirting.

“Allison.” It takes a second to remember that Renee said that Allison had been around the house when Ms. Brown was alive, so that accounts easily for how Max knows her. “She was working at the Farmer’s Market.”

“So you’re going to the pot luck?” He asks, trying the cheese and finding it to be slightly better than the cake.

“I was planning on it.” Despite knowing he doesn’t technically have a say in what you do, you’re prepared for him to tell you no. To tell you to stay home or give you a reason not to go and meet the rest of the coven. Years upon years of experience have conditioned you to expect a ‘no’ and now you don’t even realize you’re bracing for it.

Max purses his lips and looks out the window. “A good night for it.” He agrees. “Take a sweater, Dolly.” The night can get a little cool after the sun goes down with the wind coming off the water. “It can get brisk after dark and you call if you have too much of the festive punch.” He teases with a smirk.

"I don't drink." The words are quiet but firm, and you pick up a cracker topped with a perfectly round slice of goat cheese. "But I'll bring a sweater." The obediance is automatic, but you dont know if he's giving orders on purpose. Or if he's just trying to give a kind suggestion and your mind has been actively rewired to perceive it as an order.

“So why don’t you drink?” Max asks, keeping his tone conversational for once instead of slightly mocking. You’re still young, and it’s not a religious thing.

"Ex-boyfriend was an alcoholic." It's only just starting to feel real, the 'ex' part, but you shrug. "I know not everyone who drinks overdoes it, but I just...don't like it anymore. Not when I've seen what it can do to someone." Someone I love is the end of that thought, but surely alcohol has fucked up a whole lot of lives that you personally had nothing to do with.

Max’s eyes narrow, his hands - idly playing with the edge of a pillow braid curls into a tight fist - entire body tensing as he sense that there is a lot more to that statement. “Really?” For all his cocksure bravado, Max had manners instilled into him by his own father. And suddenly the actions that seemed bashful when he first met you are making more sense. “Did he drink himself to death?”

"No." When you shake your head, your eyes are back down on the rug immediately. "He drank himself into debt, into irresponsibility, and into anger." Violence would be a more accurate word, but you're not ready to talk about that yet. Not at all. "It--it's lucky that I had this house to come to. That's all."

It’s a good thing that you are looking away from him at the moment, because Max’s eyes flash a deep and unnatural yellow before shifting back into their normal brown as he forces himself to relax. You aren’t his to protect and he doesn’t know why he wants to protect you. He doesn’t know you. “Then it’s good Cookie gave it to you.” He tells you simply, truthfully. He clears his throat and stands up, brushing his tweed pants off and adjusting the cufflinks that are too formal for a Saturday afternoon. “Well….I have some calls to make.” He tells you awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to your tea. Enjoy your Mabon, Dolly.”

"Thank you, Max." It has been unexpected to have so many people around you be supportive about your faith, but what is on your mind more is now that you worry you've said too much. You can't tell if he's affected by your reason for not drinking or simply finds you dull or even prim for the decision, but at least he didn't tease you. That counts for a lot.

Max stares at you for a moment before he nods, turning around and walking out of the main door of the morning room, the sound of his dress shoes quickly fading inside the house.

******

It takes an hour standing in front of the armoire in your room before you finally pull out a dress and tights that are great fall colors. Grabbing a sweater is almost an afterthought, but you did make a promise. And promises are meant to be kept, so you shrug a cardigan on over your shoulders and pull on a pair of boots before going into your dressing room. Renee has set up your few pieces of jewelry and grand total of two purses here along with all of the makeup that Derek used to insist that you wear to look ‘normal’. Ultimately you leave the house in minimal makeup with the sweater you promised you would wear, and the warming container full of stew that Mrs. Taylor had brought upstairs to send with you to the potluck. Apparently it had been a favourite when Ms. Brown used to host the coven at Chateau-sur-Mer.

“While Dolly is out, you can have your ‘wine’.” Mrs. Taylor is almost snickering as she sets a goblet of deep red blood in front of Max when he comes strolling into the kitchen. “I keep telling you that one of those tumbler things with a straw would be less conspicuous, but you like to be dramatic.”

“He calls it a bottle,” Eddie rolls his eyes in amusement as he accepts his favourite coffee mug from Mrs. Taylor, also full of blood. “But I think that’s pretty appropriate since he’s being a big baby about it.”

“It’s Gothically classy.” Max huffs, picking up the wine glass and taking a large gulp of the warmed blood. “Besides, someone would end up putting ice in it, ruining it.”

“No one would touch your drink, dear.” Mrs. Taylor assures him without doubt. “But enjoy your Gothically classy wine glass. I don’t expect Dolly will be home very early.”

“No, she’s going to the coven’s thing.” Max shoots the old housekeeper a smirk. “Did you make her the same thing that Cookie would take?”

“Of course I did.” Mrs. Taylor answers, huffing slightly like she’s offended he would even ask. Her homemade sausage and lentil stew was a favourite of the coven’s and she would never have sent anything else. “So you two will have blood sausage with dinner tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.” Max rolls his eyes happily as he licks his blood red lips. “That will be delicious.”

“Just because a few things will change around here doesn’t mean we aren’t going to take care of you.” Even if that was the kind of women she and Renee were, Mrs. Taylor knows that he wouldn’t stand for it.

“Has anyone heard from the big guy?” Max asks as he looks around the room. “Figured he’d be here today of all days.”

“He was detained on business.” Mrs. Taylor reports, lying very smoothly through her teeth. The one man that everyone in this house reports to had arrived when the rest of the household was otherwise distracted. “I’m sure that when he decides when to reveal himself, we will all be made very aware.”

If Max thought he was dramatic, he had nothing on the man who had sired him. Rolling his eyes, he shrugs. It’s not like the man had come back to magically release him from this house arrest. “I just assumed he would be back here. Since his soulmate loved Mabon.”

“She certainly did.” Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, Mrs. Taylor turns around to face the two men. “And it seems as though not so much will have changed in this house.”

“Talk about weird.” Max snorts. “Wonder why it’s this witch.”

“I’m sure Ms. Brown had her reasons.” Mrs. Taylor’s own penchant for the enigmatic is as well documented as any other member of the family, and Eddie chuckles when the housekeeper simply smiles and moves on to the next chore.

“Alright then,” he huffs in amusement. “Keep your secrets. We’ll find out eventually.”

“Anyway.” Max shakes his head, “I’m going to go get ready.” He tells the group, draining the last of his blood. “See if I can’t go seduce one of the pretty witches who are feeling spunky tonight.” He smirks, winking at Eddie and sailing out of the room whistling the theme song of The Craft movie, Love Spit Love.

******

The warmth from the sun is starting to dissipate by the time you arrive at the sweet little Dutch colonial that Allison shares with her sisters Tracy and Kristin. The family home had been the center of a farm a few hundred years ago, according to what Allison had told you earlier today, but now what they had left was their farmhouse and its small backyard, and they were perfectly happy with that. A half dozen cars are already outside when you park the Corvette, feeling conspicuous but grateful that Mrs. Taylor had sent you with a dish. Alison gave you no hint that it was a potluck.

"You came!" Before you are already out of the car, Allison has opened the door. Greeting you like a dear friend. "Oh - you are our guest," she tuts when she sees you grab the dish out of the passenger seat. "I didn't want you to feel obligated to bring something."

“I couldn’t possibly come empty-handed.” Even though it almost happened, you would have been extremely embarrassed if it had. As it is, you are happy to hand over the dish that Mrs. Taylor so lovingly crafted and packed. “I’m…I’m told it’s an old favourite of the coven,” you murmur, not having told her who you are or where you live when you met earlier today. Why would you? But now it seems essential.

"Oh?" Her curiosity is peaked for all of three seconds until she smells the casserole from the edges of the top. "Oh my god!" She cries. "Is that- that's the sausage and lentils that Cookie Brown would bring?" Her eyes widen and she looks at you with a sense of gratefulness and surprise. "How did you--"

“I—I didn’t know Ms. Brown,” you preface your explanation immediately. “But it seems we were related. And she left me her estate in her will. Mrs. Taylor…she’s amazing. And wouldn’t let me come without bringing this for all of you.”

“Ohhhh bless you both.” She tilts her head in curiosity, wanting to ask if you know about the residents of the mansion, Ms. Brown had confided in the coven about them, but she doesn’t ask you. Figuring she didn’t want to open that can of worms if you didn’t.

“I understand Cookie used to hold events for the coven fairly frequently?” It’s no wonder, being only one person - or three, with Max and Eddie there - and having all that space. “I would be happy to do the same. And I know Mrs. Taylor would be, too.”

She's startled for a moment, amazed that you would offer the space back to the coven if you aren't practicing. "That is very kind." She smiles. "We will have to see about showing you what some of the events at the manor would look like." She giggles. "We had talked for years about having a ball."

“I guess she used to have them all the time. You know…when she was younger?” Following Allison into the farmhouse, the sense of calm and scent of spice in the air reminds you distinctly of the Mabons of your childhood. “My roommates and I…well, they were encouraging me…we were talking yesterday about maybe having a masquerade.”

"That would be a wonderful thing." Allison sets the dish down amongst the others on the table and guides you towards the drink table. "I can imagine it would be a beautiful thing. If you do decide to hold one, please let me know what I could do to help."

“I would love the help, honestly. I have no idea what I’m doing but it sounds so nice.” A large slow cooker of warm, spiced apple cider stands at the ready and you defer to that happily when offered a drink. “But thank you for inviting me tonight. I really…I had no idea there would be witches here when I moved.”

"Our coven isn't quite as publicized as the ones near Salem, but we are well known on the eastern seaboard." She boasts, proud of that fact. "But it's more of a myth than anything else."

“A myth?” People are milling around greeting each other with enthusiastic hugs, so you get the feeling that you might be the only ‘guest’ here tonight. It gives you a slight feeling of needing to cling to Allison, and you eagerly ask for the story if she’s willing to tell it instead of daring to meet more new people just yet.

She smiles softly, her expression turning slightly dreamy. "It's one that you might not believe." She cautions. "But back nearly two hundred years ago, the head of our coven was soulmates with a vampire. Their love changing magic and this area forever."

“But…” Your brow furrows immediately, confusion and incredulity more than anything else — but you also don’t want to sound rude. “Vampires…they don’t exist?”

She tilts her head, shrugging slightly. "Hence why it's a myth." She won't correct you, since you obviously don't know about the residents and staff that are near you every day. "But it's said that the vampire who was her mate was incredibly devoted to her. Not caring that they were historical enemies and proving his love for her was real. His marks matching hers and his heart jumping to life when she was near. Feeding her some of his blood to prolong her life well beyond a mere mortal's existence until she was ready to shuck her mortal coil."

“It sounds terribly romantic.” The spice of the cider in your cup is a welcome sip, making you almost hum in pleasure. “A soulmate to help you live forever sounds…daunting, though. I suppose happiness makes it worthwhile.” Not that you can particularly relate on that front, but you can dream. An eternity with Derek might have been what killed you, not kept you alive.

"It would." Allison agrees, her own cup of cider is curled up to her lips. "I hope that one day I find my soulmate and he's that devoted to me."

“I don’t see how he couldn’t be,” you promise her with a wistful smile. “You’re too sweet to have anything else.”

She hums happily and shrugs. "I don't know, might be horrible to live with." She winks and reaches forward to curl her arm through yours.

Allison leads you out the back door of the kitchen to the small patio just outside where a dozen or so other women have now congregated with their drinks. They have all noticed you at this point but no one has questioned your appearance at all. Allison has a bit of a history of picking up interesting strays and bringing them home.

"So we don't have many male members of the coven." Allison admits. "Few want to admit that they practice, so it's just going to be us ladies tonight."

"The only man I've ever known in a coven was my father." You tell her with a small shrug. "It's a shame that it's still rare."

"Being Wiccan or having a coven is still one of those things that is viewed as feminine in a lot of mindsets." She huffs. "Although Ms. Brown's soulmate always came with her when he was available, even if he wasn't practicing."

"I know it's just because I miss her." A short woman with bright orange, curly hair and wide glasses comes out of the house behind where you and Allison are standing with a confused expression on her face. "But I could have sworn I smelled Cookie's lentil stew coming through the kitchen. Wishful thinking, I guess."

"Actually..." Allison smiles. "Candice....our guest here brought Cookie's lentil stew. She's related to our gal and inherited her house."

"No!" Candice gasps, but her face lights up with excitement. "That's so fantastic! I mean we all miss Cookie so much but I'm so glad to know that her legacy is continuing on."

"She seems like she was a very special woman." There is anxiety in the way you shift your feet, but you smile. "Unfortunately, I didn't know her at all."

“I’m so sorry.” Candice frowns and reaches out to touch your arm. “She was well respected and loved in the coven. If you want us to tell you about her, just ask.”

"I would really like that, actually. My roommates have only told me a little bit so far." Granted it has only been two days, but it's almost like Mrs. Taylor and Renee are afraid to say too much. And if that's true, you have to wonder what they're so afraid of.

“I’ve told her about our coven legend.” Allison tells Candice, knowing the chatty witch would spread the word. “About the witch and the vampire soulmates? She likes the story.”

“I know everybody thinks vampires are folklore,” Candice laughs, waving it off like it’s the silliest thing in the world. “But those are the same people who think magic isn’t real. So I guess ignorance is bliss.”

Allison smiles blandly, eyeing her fellow witch. “Of course.” She hums. “Come on.” She tells you. “Let’s go get you settled.”

The introductions seem endless. Every one is very nice and very glad to hear of the relationship you apparently hold to their old friend. It’s only when Allison’s sisters are giving you a little tour of the house and refreshing your drink that Candice pulls Allison aside. “She doesn’t know, does she?” The older woman asks, chewing on her lip with nerves.

"Not a clue." Allison keeps her eyes on the stairs, making sure that you aren't coming downstairs. "I'm not sure what is going on, but it seems like she has no idea that her 'roommates' are vampires. Or that our legend is real and was her relative."

“Gods.” Candice exhales deeply and shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a secret to keep while she’s in that house.”

"I'm sure there is a reason that it's being kept from her." She murmurs softy. "We just need to make sure that we aren't the ones to tell her."

“We zip our lips and throw away the key,” Candice agrees. “He was always nice enough to us when we met him, but the last thing I want to to make him upset.”

Allison snorts at the understatement of the year. "He did manage to steal from the devil after all." She reminds Candice with a knowing look. "I wouldn't want to upset him either."

“Never.” With another shake of her head, Candice huffs a laugh. “But I like her. She seems sweet.”

"She seems...." Allison flounders for a better word than what springs to mind, but none come to mind. "Broken." She voices, her tone concerned and sad. "Like maybe Newport is a haven for her."

“I would’ve said skittish,” Candice admits, but she smiles softly. “Fate had you stumble into each other’s paths this morning. Now it’s up to us to offer her family. Who knows what’s happened? The best we can do is offer her open arms.” It’s what Cookie would have done, and they all know it. So for her, they will make sure you are safe here.

"We will protect her." Allison agrees. "I will visit Mrs. Taylor tomorrow to see what the plan is for having her in their household."

“Tell her we said hello.” The whole coven loves Cookie’s vampiric housekeeper, but Candice in particular loved all of Mrs. Taylor’s stories about the ‘good old days’ of pre-plague England.

"Of course I will." Allison knows that Mrs. Taylor will insist on sending back some cookies or a cake to the coven of witches who had been regular visitors to the mansion while Cookie had been alive.

“Good.” Candice told her head slightly when she catches sight of you coming downstairs with Tracy. “Lets start the fire up and sit down to eat. This night just got a lot more important.”

The fire is crackling, lighting up the back yard and the logs that have been situated around them in a generous circle. Providing seating that is inviting and natural. All of you drifting out to gather around it after filling your bellies with the food, the lentil stew completely demolished with appreciative groans of happiness.

Prayers and wishes of plenty are shared for the equinox. An opportunity to cleanse before the new year starts is always appreciated, and bay leaves with refreshing wishes written on them are dropped one by one into the fire until everyone sits back again and begins to chat amongst themselves. The night is beautiful, and you hug your sweater around yourself — glad for just a moment that Max had suggested it. The temperature has dropped sharply tonight and you have to wonder if it’s due to being so close to the ocean.

At first, the bat isn’t noticed, sitting on the branch of a tree just outside of the dancing light from the fire. Black, beady eyes taking in the ground and then flapping his wings to take flight, honing in on one particular witch.

Allison had been asking you something animated about living in Nashville when you caught the movement out of the corner of your eye. Black wings blend into the darkness easily, but as the little figure gets closer to the fire you can make it out perfectly. “Gods!” You almost startled but the gasping sound you make it delighted. “You’re real!”

Max squawks as the bat, circling your head twice as the entire coven watches with various expressions of bewilderment at the appearance of the vampire. Everyone knows you don’t know about the feeding habits of your roommates, so why are you familiar with the bat form of one of them? He lands on your shoulder again and ruffles his wings as he folds them up, his face turned towards you expectantly.

“Hey cutie,” you greet the little creature the same way you did last night, deciding to grapple with the fact that you obviously didn’t dream the entire thing later. For now you put you hand up gently and pet the bat’s little head with two fingers. “How’d you find me so far from home, huh?”

Max chirps indignantly and flaps his wings at you. Insulted by the idea that this was far from home.

“Alright, so you’re a very crafty bat, then. I’ll give you that.” Your fingers pet the little creature’s head gently and you smile, instantly more relaxed. “Could’ve sworn bats were supposed to be blind, though. I feel like you’re looking right at me.”

He would roll his eyes at you, but he just nuzzles into your hand and hops up closer to your neck. Feeling the warmth from your body and sensing your pulse. Craving the closeness tonight.

“This little guy flew in my window last night,” you explain to Allison and several other nearby witches who look nothing short of shocked. “I could have sworn I dreamt the whole thing, but look at this. He found me again.”

“That bat?” Allison asks, watching as the larger than normal bat turns his head and she swears he winks at her before nuzzling you.

“Yeah.” The feeling of having the little guy nuzzle into your neck makes you laugh. “Weird, right? I always thought bats stayed away from humans.”

“Some of them are apparently friendly.” Candice snorts, watching as a vampire stake his claim on you. That’s the only thing that it could be. While he had come to plenty of ceremonies, never had he been in any form but his normal self. Where this had to be Max. Cookie had said he was a black bat.

“He let me read to him.” Knowing that it actually happened and wasn’t just a cute little dream basically lights you up inside like a little goth Disney Princess. “Cutest thing in the world.”

The little bat preens, as if he understands what’s being said about him, because he does. Max chirps and stomps his little bat feet on your shoulder.

“You don’t…mind him, right?” Just because you think he’s cute as all hell doesn’t mean the other coven members will, and you raise your eyes to Allison with concern and care. “I wouldn’t bring him in your house. I promise.”

“I think that he will go where he wants.” She tells you diplomatically with a small smile on her face.

“Maybe.” Bats are wild animals, after all. Even as cute as this one is, that doesn’t make it a pet. “I just think he’s sweet.”

The other witches giggle and ‘awww’ over the sight of the bat on your shoulder, all of them aware of his true nature. “Bats are sweet.” Allison agrees with a grin.

“Who knew?” Candice all but giggles. “I always thought bats were a little dickish. Like little winged misogynists.”

Max ruffles his wings, glowering at the witch and huffing, the sound coming out as little squeaks.

“Aww, it’s okay cutie.” The chattering by your ear makes you laugh softly and you pet him again. “You’re just a softie.”

He settles to your touch, cuddling against your hand and deciding that he’s not close enough. The next time you move your hand to pet him, he jumps into your palm.

It earns a wistful sighing noise from a few surprised witches nearby and a giggle from you. “You want cuddles again, don’t you?” Looking back at Allison and Candice, you shrug a little as you cuddle the bat to your chest. “Last night I made him a little nest to sit in my lap while I read.”

Max grins as he burrows into your chest. Unhappy that he’s not skin-to-fur, but at least he’s getting to cuddle into your breasts. Not that he’s trying to be creepy, but you are snuggling him to his favorite part on a woman and you are gorgeous to him.

“That’s super cute.” Candice can barely contain her laughter with the image in front of her, but she sips her cider and smirks. “So how are you getting along with your roommates?” She prompts, keeping her tone light and airy.

“Oh! Um…Okay, I think?” Really, everything about having this little bat with you is oddly comforting, but you do get a faint whiff of something weird like…sunscreen? Maybe? Which is weird but not off putting. You had just never heard that bats smell like sunscreen. “Eddie is really nice. And I don’t…I don’t know Max very well yet.”

Max the bat, coos at you in soft protest. He’s the one that’s spent the most time with out of all of them. Even putting you to bed last night after you had fallen asleep reading to him.

If you had known it was him — had any idea whatsoever — you might have laughed. A stifled giggle if nothing else. But since you have no idea, you just pet the little creature and shrug as Candice asks, “Max hasn’t been nice?”

“I think I’m not what he expected,” you admit with a small frown, thinking of his behavior at dinner the night before. “But he was very nice today. Mrs. Taylor made a beautiful tea tray with some of the cheese I got from Allison today and Max and I shared it.”

“Max shared tea with you?” Candice raises her brow. “It’s rare that Max really socializes. So if he’s spending any time with you, I bet you he’s finding you interesting.”

“Oh…I don’t know about that.” Despite sitting here at a coven gathering with a snuggly bat in your palm and the keys to a mysteriously inherited mansion in your purse, you shrug. “I’m not particularly interesting.”

Max flaps his wings, fluttering and against your chest again. Snuggling his head into your skin against your heartbeat.

“Maybe he thinks you are?” Candice offers, trying very hard not to giggle and give the apparently secret identity of your little friend away.

He doesn’t know why the witches are giggling, no one knows it’s him. Perfectly disguised for the evening to watch over you, since he’s felt the need to see what you are up to.

“Maybe.” Though you shrug, you can’t think why someone as sophisticated and obviously worldly as Max would care. “I suppose new things are interesting for a time.”

Max frowns, unsure why someone as pretty as you would have such a negative outlook. You should be flaunting your health and beauty.

“Sometimes new things stay interesting for a long time,” Allison smiles kindly and pats your knee. “You never know which new things can become old habit.”

______

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VW: @haileymorelikestupid, @miraclesabound

My Masterlist!

[xxaraaq]

wc | 0,9k

cw | Unprotected sex, weed consumption

Eddie Munson x Sinclair! reader

A/N | I was watching stranger things and I thought about this. I hope you enjoy!

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t go back. That you would never talk to him again, and go about your life as if you’d never met him. You knew he would only cause trouble, and you even told him this, saying that he was only a nuisance steering you off track from the plans you have for yourself.

But you’re a liar, and now you’re in his bed, gripping at his tattered sheets as he fucks you from behind.

This wasn’t even supposed to happen. You were at a party with Steve and Robin, nursing a cup of some random mystery punch when he had approached you.

“What do you want, Eddie?” You say, looking uninterestedly at him. “Long time so see, Sinclair. Whatcha been up to?” He asks, smirk on his face as he takes your drink from you, taking a sip before setting it on the counter. You groan as he attempts – and fails – to make good conversation. “We literally see each other in school every single day. And if you wanna know what I’m doing so badly, why don’t you ask my brother? Isn’t he in that stupid club you run?” You glare at him, growing more annoyed by the second.

He puts his hand on his chest, acting offended as he scoffs. “That was a low blow, Sinclair. And I’ll have you know,” He steps closer, bending down slightly to whisper into your ear. “Your brother has been nowhere to be found in these past couple weeks, with him being on the basketball team and all.” You can feel him smirking as his arm comes around your waist. You should push him away, curse him out for talking to you after you’ve told him so many times to leave you alone. But you don’t. Instead, you let him pull you flush against his chest as he kisses on your neck, whispering how you should come home with him to relax and unwind for the remainder of the night. You ignore the fact that relax and unwind basically mean the same thing and let him feel you up in the middle of the crowded kitchen, moaning quietly as his calloused hands work his way under your shirt.

 You should’ve known that you wouldn’t be able to stay away from him. Everything about him intoxicates you, from his scent of cigarettes and whatever cheap cologne he managed to snag from his uncle's dresser to his obnoxious laugh that comes out at the most inconvenient times, you could never get enough, and it pisses you off.

The drive to his place was quick, only around five minutes, before your feet hit the gravel that makes up his driveway. As soon as you step through the door his hands find you, slipping your clothes off before you even get to his room. His kisses are passionate, messy even, as he shuts the door, laying you on the bed.

You should've known that this was inevitable – face pressed into the pillow, back pushed into a perfect arch as his pelvis meets your ass with each thrust. It’s pitiful the way he can so easily reduce you into nothing more but a sobbing mess every time, hiccuping and moaning as he grips your waist tight, pounding mercilessly into your wet cunt.

“S’ too much, Eddie!” You cry out, hand reaching out in an attempt to slow him down. He chuckles, swatting it out his way, fucking into you even faster as he takes a drag from a joint. The air is thick, almost suffocating. Between the smell of sex and marijuana, you think you might pass out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take it anymore?” He coos, lazy smile on his face as his thrusts grow sloppy.  He could die a happy man if the last thing he could see was this, you fucked out of your mind while higher then the clouds. It was perfect, this was perfect, you’re perfect.

He wasn’t even concerned when you said you wanted to stop seeing him. He could see that you were scared of what he would do to you if you didn’t keep your distance; how he would slowly start to tear away at your reputation if you didn’t avoid him like the plague. In all honesty it’s funny, seeing how quick you were to squirm when he passed you in the halls, how you would avoid eye contact as though your life depended on it. And now here you are, pawing at the sheets with your eyes rolling back from the pleasure he’s giving you. 

“M’ gonna cum Eddie! M’ cumming!” You mewl, body tensing as your orgasm washes over you. He groans as your pussy clenches around him. He follows close behind you, cumming in you with a deep groan, taking his place beside you as you both collapse. He stubs the remainder of the joint in the ashtray, breathing heavily as he looks over to you. “I thought you said I wasn’t ‘ambitious’ enough to even be in your presence anymore, what happened sweetheart?” He jokes, putting up air quotes sarcastically. 

Without hesitation, you grab the pillow from under you and throw it at arm with all the strength you can muster. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You say, unamused look settling on your face.

Maybe it’s okay if he corrupts you, if only for a night.

-Nene

[temporaryrose200]

Hello sweetie! How are you? Firstly, let me tell you that your blog aesthetic is simply ✨awesome✨

I'd like to request headcannons/oneshot (whatever you prefer) with William J. Moriarty, having a relaxing bath with his fem! s/o.

Thank you very much, have a good day

(´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`)

✩Lavender✩

✟pairing: William James Moriarty x Fem Reader

✟genre: Fluff

✟warning: No use of Y/N, Not proof read

✟One-Short

✟fandom: Moriarty The Patriot

✟a/n:Hello I’m doing really good and thank you! I really love Renaissance paintings and just aesthetically pleasing blogs:) Anyway sorry, this took sooooo long. I’ve just had no will to write things much for the past few months. This request tho was really fun to write after months of writer’s block. Hope you enjoy<3

Hearing the door creek open, William looked up from his paperwork, watching as he saw your head peek out from behind the wooden door. Upon entering William’s office, you strolled over to where your husband sat. “And what can I do for my lovely wife?” your husband questioned with one of his charming smiles that would make any woman swoon over him.

William had been very busy these past few weeks, from going to social events, working at the university, and his other job…So after growing tired of waiting for your husband to finally be available, you took matters into your own hands.

Placing both your hands upon William’s shoulders you began slowly massaging. Feeling how tense the man in front of you was, a pout makes its way on your face. “My dear, you’re so tense” you gasped, placing a hand over your ‘frown’. “Why don’t you take a break?”

Gazing down at the unfinished paperwork, William thought for a moment. It couldn’t be so bad taking a small break and anyway, how could he say no to his darling Wife? Not when you’re staring at him with your doe eyes. “I suppose I could take a small break,” William muttered but it was loud enough for you to hear it. Joy overtook your body and you couldn’t help but let out a squeal of excitement.

Wrapping an arm around your husband’s neck, you couldn’t help but pepper kisses on his cheek. William sat there with a pleasant smile, marvelling at the affection. Moving towards the blonde man’s ear, he could feel the outline of a smirk against his skin. “How about we have a bath” you suggested.

With a raised eyebrow William turned to you, a viable smile making its way on his lips. “We?” Your husband repeated, seeing if he heard what you said was right. Once William saw you nod to his question he stood up from his comfy leather chair. “Well then” William started, clapping his hands together, your husband giving you one of his closed eye smiles. “Lead the way my dear.” You didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing William’s arm, you lead the man down the corridors of the manor towards the bathroom, that you had set up only 5 minutes ago.

Opening the door, William was met with the relaxing scent of lavender. Feeling the stress of the day being washed away and replaced with tranquility. Scented candles flickered in the corners of the room and scarlet rose floated in the warm watered tub. Guiding William into the bathroom, shutting the door while doing so, you strolled over to a bucket. Hearing the sound of rattling of ice, William knew exactly what was going to be inside the mystery bucket. Spinning around to face your husband, you held two empty wine glasses and the bucket with an wine bottle sticking out. Picking up the bottle, William began observing it. “45 year old red wine, good choice my dear” he smiled, handing you back the wine.

It was finally time to get undressed and unwind in the sweet scented bath.

[mari-lair]

your posts about this newest chapter are so real because it disappointed me so much.

It was way too lighthearted and just seemed like a huge joke. I was expecting the trial to have suspense where you can really feel for the characters and wonder what will happen next, but it just ended up being comedic. It was funny, I’ll give it that, but I really really wanted some angst.

This may just be me, but Teru felt so out of canon to me. I can understand him putting on that “flawless student council” mask but it feels odd considering he is around mostly supernaturals. He is shown to be very intelligent and considering he is an exorcist and they are school mysteries why tf would that “look at how beautiful I am I could never” argument work. It was funny, sure, but just seemed out of canon for him.

Akane felt a little out of canon too to me? Probably not but he seemed to fully accept his role as a judge with little to no guilt at all. We don’t really get him looking guiltily at Teru or feeling frustrated, he’s just kind of there. Probably because (as always) the story focused on Hanako, Yashiro, and Tsukasa.

NOW UGHH TSUKASA IS SO FAVORITED ITS PAINFUL. You’re telling me after all that suspense around the clock keepers he takes them out in TWO PANELS. The clock keepers seem like a fucking joke in this chapter instead of the powerful mysterious beings they have shown to be previously.

Overall I expected something much more satisfying and I hope next chapter will be a little better because the last chapter got me so excited for nothing.

just my opinion though, I know some people enjoyed this chapter and that’s totally ok! just not my personal favorite

That's a mood ya-rr-ow. Big mood.

Many people enjoyed the chapter, and I'm happy for them, but I was also majorly disappointed so I'll talk about what you mentioned here and add some other things.

(I will just focus on the negatives here so if you're feeling hyped about the chapter. I am sorry, I wouldn't recommend reading this)

Okay let's go

Chapter 108 went out of its way to create a tense atmosphere, it was mostly a set up and hype piece for the trial.

Mirai was a beast, but Akane was the one that really set up the tone. He had the power to make Teru harmless, which only hyped up the other clock keepers since he is the lowest ranking keeper. Mirai and Kako's supposed power was said to be dangerous enough to make Akane, who hates supernaturals and is so firm in his beliefs, feel cornered, switch sides to 'do his duties', his vague words hinting that there is more to this trial than it seems on the surface.

So I don't think we were being delusional to expect this trial to be dramatic. To have angst. Or at least, character dept. To be important.

But despite the trial being the title, the spotlight, we got none of it: Not only is the trial treated as a joke, which I already don't vibe with considering how tense the atmosphere in chapter 108 is. It is an empty joke.

It doesn't teach us anything about the characters, it doesn't give any new information. Nothing.

Hanako's trial was a gag. He isn't even my priority character, but considering how he have the title of 'leader of the mysteries' and had been put on trial before for the Yorishiro's destruction, it is a baffling choice to make Kako not mention this big BIG crime when judging him.

Nene's trial 'revealed' she likes Hanako and want to confess to him. Which she has been doing this whole manga.

We could talk about her time crimes (every time travel that made her meet Amane), try to bargain her lifespan since this is the main conflict in the story and they are talking to the keepers of time. They could talk about her crime of helping to destroy the yorishiros with Hanako, or just acknowledge she is still a threat since she is the Kannagi, the only one capable of ripping their yorishiro in the first place. But no, those are stupid, let's spend 4 full pages of a monthly manga to tease a confession she already did in the very previous chapter.

Teru revealed he has some craving for destruction on him. Which surprise, surprise! It also isn't new information! How nice!

( I talked about his love for the idea of destruction and how it's almost an escapism recently, here you go if you're curious)

About Teru and Akane's acting weird. That's not them being ooc, that's Aidairo making a narrative choice to not take anything serious, including his own characters. Everyone is acting like themselves, and nothing contradicts what has been established about their personalities, but their competence has been drastically downgraded to move the plot quickly.

Teru has the bad habit of becoming pathetic when he has strong feelings, like locking himself in his room and hiding under the covers after his fight with Kou, immediately hitting Akane's stab wound when he is too late to rescue aoi cause the situation stressed him. So it is in character that he wants to kill Akane, who has always been his stress relief.

However, because Teru takes things so personally, and it was stablished in chapter 108 that Teru is way more bothered by Akane's betrayal than being in a court of law, it makes no sense that he treat it as a normal court instead of using his very obvious alibi that he couldn't destroy the clock because he was with Akane. Teru doesn't turn this court into the confrontation that would bring attention to their split up, doesn't go "Are you doing to deny my alibi now?? betray me again??" or question "So? We are here! Why did it had to be now??" or anything that builds up on the last chapter to expand it.

Cause Aidairo decided the court doesn't matter. The build up doesn't matter. Once more, the consequences are an afterthought. We don't need the answers to anything.

Akane is still guilty, he can't look at Teru in the eye, can't defend him, but he goes "!!!" when Teru finally calls for him, paying full attention.

But this is comedic. And as i mentioned above, Teru doesn't say anything useful, anything with more depth than what we already know: that he is angry by Akane's betrayal and hasn't forgiven him.

We TRULY are given nothing in this trial.

Which is insane, cause even the promo art had details to build intrigue, a vague idea that while the chapter would be comedic in nature, it would explain more about the clock keepers, or at least expand on their boundaries.

Like, what are those numbers on the scale? will they be judged by year? Will a lie make their time be stolen? oooh what could it be! Can't wait for the chapter!

And the chapter comes, and there is nothing. The whole trial feels like filler. They treated the audience as a fool for being excited.

That's why this big twist at the end? I don't care.

As you said Tsukasa is overpowered, they are Aidairo's golden child. And they will break established lore rules and make a joke out of everyone else just cause he can.

It's not just Teru and Akane who were nerfed to make the plot move faster, not allowed to have any proper focus. The clock keepers were also a joke, acting 'in character' but more incompetent than they have been stablished to be.

Tsukasa op moment doesn't make me go "wow he is so cool" it made me look at the clock keepers and go "You are all are stupid"

Cause Tsukasa has the judgment seal?? And he was already sentenced as guilty??? There are three clock keepers in the room too? So why not... you know... restrict him again...?

The clock keepers is a school rumor that was introduced all the way back in chapter 23. Like you said they are supposed to be super op! They are a mystery so hyped up that just Mirai's power (who isn't the strongest keeper) can throw the intire school into chaos in the Near Shore, where supernaturals are debuffed.

Even before Tsukasa attacked he made the clock keepers act incompetent, to make him look more mysterious and cool in comparison.

These very old and supposedly op school mysteries know Yugi Amane is Hanako, but they don't know who Amane's twin brother 'Tsukasa' is, they also don't refer to him as a yorishiro despite the seal being in his face, and use titles for every other character (Leader of the school mysteries. Kannagi. Student Body Representative)

Which might look like a small thing, silly nitpick, but it shows the favoritism isn't just for a twist. Aidairo naturally likes Tsukasa more than his own narrative, and is willing to make others be less competent for the sake of it.

I don't think Kako will die. That would objectively be bad writing at this point. He'll probably be back in the next chap, a la "teru got fucked up by No.6" and "Akane got stabbed by Aoi but he lives bitch" or even "i always had a ton of clones, like Mei of the art room" but it is still disappointing to see him and Mirai get fucked up in their own boundary after all the hype they have accumulated through the story.

There is a hint Akane can be a yorishiro at the end of the chapter, and that is cool, genuinely really cool, but I am tired of getting excited over possibilities and 'promises for the future'. I want something concrete.

Speaking of which, I don't think Akane will die. This is just another bait to keep reading like when No.6 slashed Teru, Kou, and Akane and we didn't get any answers for a few months before 'oh well nothing happened :) no consequences to be had here folks!'

"But Tsukasa has always killed everyone that he pulled the heart of! there is Mitsuba, and The puffer fish of the mermaid, and the previous No.3 (the bird)" And to that I say I trust Akane's ability to say fuck to fate.

My boy gets new death flags every year, he collects them like pokemon cards, you all should have gotten used to it.

He also survived his bae stabbing him, this isn't new. Sucks to be Tsukasa and die by a stab in the gut and all but Akane is built differently (quite literally with two bodies).

He is also in his own boundary, so if Aoi doesn't kill him while in the territory of another mystery, but he dies in No.1's boundary I will... idk probably just sigh.

In short, Aidairo treated this as joke, so I will treat their cliffhanger as one too. Give me reasons to care in chapter 110. Cause at the moment? I don't.

[onceonafullmoon]

A Marionette's Ball

Yan! Chevalier x Fem! Reader x Yan! Gilbert

Tw!! Manipulation, threats of violence, implied captivity, period typical misogyny and Gilbert Von Obsidian himself

You didn’t tame shit; you were at best, a sacrificial lamb sent to curb the hunger of a ravenous tiger, only to end up becoming a plaything instead of a meal.  And now you were here, having somehow fooled another apex predator into thinking you were some sort of beast in your own right.

-----

You need to stop fiddling with your necklace.

You know you need to calm down, but doing so is another story; you can practically feel the weight of everyone’s stares on you, not malicious, but prying still in their curiosity.

And it’s tough fighting the urge to snatch one of the champagne flutes off of the waiter's plates and down it in one gulp, but the subtle warning of Chevalier’s fingers pressing at your waist helps you forget the idea.

Right.

Just make a good impression and then you’ll get to go back to your own schedule with only one scrutinizing set of eyes on you.

It’s almost impossible to mess this up anyways, with all the effort Sariel has been putting into making you a “true lady befitting of a prince”.

Ha.

The audacity of that claim makes you laugh. 

As if you had a choice in any of this. 

As if you were something more than a puppet on a string pulled by the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Nevertheless, you pushed through the lessons easily enough, it was, at the very least, an escape from Chevalier’s smothering presence, although you would rather have buried your nose into a good book instead.

At any rate, it doesn’t seem like much of your work will be put into play considering the way that Chevalier has you glued to his side.

You suppose you get the hostility, he’s always been a touch smothering even before… this, and it doesn’t help that princes from other nations are currently visiting too.

Not that you would have the opportunity to meet any of them considering how anal Chevalier was about your “safety”.

In fact, if it were a year ago when you were still “unruly” he would have probably kept you chained in his room the whole time.

Well, if all good behavior amounted to was this then you probably could have thrown a fit to get yourself locked up again. Now it was too late, and you were stuck smiling fakely at some random noble who came to give his greetings. 

“My, my, if it isn’t the mystery woman that everyone’s been wondering about. Everyone’s been wondering about the one who stole the Chevalier Micheal’s heart, it's a pleasure to finally be able to meet you.” The nobleman, who you recall vaguely being named Lord Wessley, greets you with a certain, subtle prying look on his face as he studies you.

“Oh, you flatter me, but I’m afraid I’m not much to speak of. Any compliments should be redirected towards my fiancé.” You smile, cringing at the use of the word fiancé but happy enough with the way Chevalier’s brow furrows ever so slightly in annoyance.

You can almost hear his voice ringing out in your ears.

“If you have enough time to dish out praise, then you have enough time to do something useful with yourself, simpleton.”

“Praise worthy indeed!” Another man cuts in, rudely, albeit he’s possibly a bit drunk already. “An arsenal of military feats, a genius intellect that only appears once a century, and now a bride to be, you’re truly something else Prince Chevalier!”

You have to try your hardest to bite back the laugh bubbling up in you and Chevalier slightly grimaces.

Wessley furrows his eyebrows slightly at the intrusion but doesn’t comment, or rather, doesn’t get the chance to comment as he’s interrupted again. 

“And what a beauty she is, I can see why you’ve kept her locked up away from the rest of us!”

And now you are no longer smiling.

Karma really is a bitch.

The grip around your waist tightens and you find yourself conflicted about whether to celebrate the (hopefully only) verbal lashing this misogynistic bastard will get or to intervene for the sake of this very clearly drunk man.

Empathy wins out in the end, but also because you don’t trust Chevalier not to immediately jump at the chance to “incidentally” find this man charged with treason.

“I’m flattered by praise, truly, but you look a bit sickly to me, are you feeling alright?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you cut him off smoothly.

“Poor thing, I bet you can hardly stand, much less answer coherently, but there are several couches in the foyer for you to rest at. I’d escort you myself but, considering the circumstances, perhaps Lord Wessley can escort you instead?”

Of course, Wessley himself isn’t too keen on leaving the conversation, seeing as he probably started it to discuss his own business. But when you phrase it in such a way of offering good will, he can’t refuse. 

With a furrowed brow he replies in kind and leaves.

Perhaps Sariel’s lessons did come in handy, you think as you find yourself alone again.

A sigh from Chevalier has you mending your thoughts, not completely alone, unfortunately.

“How bothersome.” He grumbles, finally letting his arm drop from your waist.

“Yeah, being stuck around someone you can’t stand, tell me about it.” 

He gives you a look which would scare the living daylights out of even a battle hardened soldier, to which you innocently smile at.

You know him well enough to know when you’re actually in trouble.

“What? Just offering some words of support in your trying times Prince Chevalier, now wipe that look of murder off before our guests get any ideas.”

Your smile dips into a frown when instead of falling for the taunt he smirks at you.

“Prince Chevalier? I recall being referred to as fiancé earlier.”

You narrow your gaze, regretting your earlier decision to speak.

“Don’t read much into it, you’ll strain your eyes trying to find nothing.”

He simply smirks again.

“Complacency is a dangerous thing isn’t it?”

He leans in closer, tilting your head up, sending roils of annoyance and slight embarrassment through you as you fix your eyes on his face, unwavering from his.

“...It’d be a shame for you, if all your efforts were for naught.”

He chuckles derisively, letting you go. 

“Now, wipe that look of murder off before our guests get any ideas.”

You glare at him, annoyed that he used your words against you, before deciding to make a tactful retreat.

“Now that I’ve taken care of your nuisances, I’m taking care of mine for a bit and freshening up. Does that please your highness, or should I stay tethered to your side for another hour?” 

He scoffs. 

“Just don’t get lost, simpleton.”

To use Clavis’s terminology, the Cheva translation of that would mean: “Go ahead, but if you aren’t back in 10 minutes I will find you and there will be consequences.”

“...Whatever your highness wishes.”

—

You supposed Chevalier already knew that you weren’t going to the bathroom to freshen up, rather instead to find a private area to ruminate at being bested by him once more, and that almost made you even more upset.

It’s stupid that you’re even angry, you know that there's no winning a fight against him. It was already a given that he would twist your words around in an attempt to make you succumb to him, and yet…

You furrow your brow as you turn the corner.

It was all you could do, if you could annoy him, even just a bit then that would be victory enough… 

At least it should be, if you didn’t get carried away with it.

But damn you for having a competitive streak and damn him for pointing out the one idea that would make you sick to your stomach.

(Although, maybe if you thought about it more, you would find it was only his own sick desires taking form in his words.)

“Complacency, my ass.” You mutter, as you push open the door to the library.

Despite this being originally Chevalier’s domain, you’ve also been quite the avid reader, and so any time alone with books was welcome. And even if you weren’t alone… well at least he had the sense not to disturb you, outside of his general presence.

Scanning the room when you enter, you find your eyes catching on the rows of bookshelves before halting when you see the shape of a figure, dimly lit by a candle.

You frown slightly.

While there were no set rules against entering a host’s library, it was still considered bad taste to enter rooms you weren’t explicitly given access to. Not that this person seemed unaware of it, judging by the lofty coat you could make out they seemed to be born into wealth.

Well, you weren’t exactly a shining beacon of manners either, considering that you were ditching your debut ball in order to sulk in the corner of a dark room because your captor/fiancé bested you in a game of wits.

Although, when you put it that way, your life does sound significantly more ridiculous.

You, albeit hesitantly, decide to give the person the benefit of the doubt and approach them to direct them back to the ball.

“Excuse me?” You call out, nearing the figure. “Are you lost?”

They turn around, and it becomes apparent that they’re a man. But not just any man, you realize, as a few more details come to light that have you suddenly freezing in place.

First, the dark crimson eye that gazes upon you while the other hides behind a black eye patch.

Second, the black cane who’s shiny finish glints in the candle light.

And lastly, the golden encrusted emblem, signature of an Obsidianite.

“Oh no, I’m exactly where I need to be.” Gilbert Von Obsidian responds cheerfully.

…

You suddenly have the sense that you’ve, to use words that Chevalier claims are “crude and boorish”, absolutely fucked up.

To be fair to you, you hadn’t been able to see even a glimpse of any foreign princes, much less would you have predicted that the damn Prince of Obsidian was going to be there, or more accurately here, in your lovely library safe space. 

It’s not often that anyone other than Chevalier makes you stumped on what to do these days, but that goes to show how dangerous complacency really is.

“Prince Gilbert.” You finally manage to greet, falling into a practiced curtsey. 

When you pull your head back up, he has an innocuous smile on his face, eyes crinkled slightly.

“No need to lower yourself, (Name) (Last Name), soon enough we’ll be on the same social standing won’t we?”

Oh, of course he knows who you are, couldn’t make it any less difficult for you could he? Still, the provocation (actually, whether he knew it as a provocation or not was a matter to be unseen yet) of your future engagement has you irritated as well as afraid.

“You never know what might happen.” You respond neutrally. “I’d hate to offend because I grew cocky.”

“Cautious, aren’t you?” He questions.

“That’s a good trait to have, although, I can’t say I would’ve thought the woman who tamed the Brutal Beast would be so meek.”

You want to laugh at his attempt at a jab, because he couldn’t be closer to the truth.

You didn’t tame shit; you were at best, a sacrificial lamb sent to curb the hunger of a ravenous tiger, only to end up becoming a plaything instead of a meal. 

And now you were here, having somehow fooled another apex predator into thinking you were some sort of beast in your own right.

But even still, you couldn’t help the words that poured out of your mouth.

“I would argue that being meek and being cautious are entirely different, but it must be difficult to understand from your perspective.”

“That so?” He hums. “What’s your view then?”

“That you can’t tell the difference, because for you, someone who has been powerful and feared for so long, there’s hardly any need for subtlety when dealing with others. For people like me, discretion is a necessary tool.”

A tinge of bitterness seeps into your tone as you respond, or maybe it's jealousy; you can’t tell. 

But it’s enough to make Gilbert pause, facing you, seemingly looking at you like he hasn’t seen you before, his eye glinting with something akin to interest. 

Oh.

Shit.

You’ve always had a bad habit of overplaying your hand during your time with Chevalier, possibly because you were so used to a lack of consequences due to his soft spot. It would’ve been better and safer for him to believe you were Chevalier’s little trophy wife and suffer the stab it would take to your ego. 

“...I suppose that “genius’s thinking alike” must be true, for you to be able to make such a succinct assumption about me.” He smiles, this time his eyes glinting with something darker.

“...I wouldn’t go so far as to imply that Prince Gilbert.” You say, desperate in your attempt to backtrack.

“Oh? Cowering now, are we?” He asks, the smile on his face growing more predatory. “And here I thought you’d be more vicious.”

He’s clearly trying to pry at you, to goad you into snapping at him, but you’ve since realized that the playing field had favored him from the start and you’d do better to avoid the trap he’d set for you.

“...I think you have rather high expectations, that you might think of me similar to the company I keep.”

“And you’d be right.” He says, drawing himself closer to you, even more empowering as he draws near, his red eye glistening like the blade of a knife.

You find yourself wanting to run, like the terrified lamb you are in the face of the threatening jaws of the beast in front of you.

But you don’t.

Because these damn beasts are always just toying with you, never daring to go for the killing blow.

He towers over you, clearly trying to get a reaction out of you, but you find that you can’t quite summon up the effort to change your expression.

“…”

“…”

Moments pass and his eye widens a bit, seemingly shocked at your lack of expression.

“You aren’t scared, are you?” He states, more as a fact than a question as he pulls himself away to an appropriate distance.

You shrug as if to say you don’t quite care, but you felt like laughing.

The truth is, he’s wrong. 

You’re constantly scared, every single day of your life.

When you wake up, when you go to sleep, you’re filled with horror constantly, terrified by the man who lays beside you. Every move you make is calculated and stuff, made in fear of the blades, not set to cut you, but rather everything you know and love.

Even now you’re scared, not quite by the prospect of death, but by the fact that it doesn’t scare you.

The fact that you would rather accept freedom in the form of being removed from your earthly ties than to live another life being tethered to this life scares you, because you know death is the only way you’ll be safe from him.

It brings you only slight ease that despite his best efforts of chasing perfection, Chevalier still only amounts to a man.

Gilbert’s laugh snaps you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the man in front of you.

“That’s excellent!” He says, toothy grin lighting up his face, eye lighting up like he’s a child who’s found a new toy to play with.

Somewhere deep down you can feel a familiar sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach that only comes with Chevalier, almost like deja vu.

It shouldn’t surprise you, after all it’s said that the prince of Obsidian is a genius only the likes of Chevalier could rival. It’s the type of gossip you used to absentmindedly listen to while busying yourself walking down the streets.

Still, you’ve survived Chevalier, albeit with your share of scars, you can handle at least one chance meeting with another snobby prince.

“Are you done threatening me then Prince Gilbert? I believe my fiancé is looking for me.” You say, keeping your tone neutral.

He chuckles, that wide, creepily childlike smile still on his face as he hears you speak.

“Of course. Tell Prince Chevalier that I congratulate him on finding such an interesting toy.”

“Of course.” You mimic, turning on your heel to leave. “Perhaps next time we can meet in a more fitting setting rather than the library, Prince Gilbert.”

Petty, yes, but he doesn’t seem affected by the rebuttal you throw his way judging by the small laugh he lets out as you leave.

Toy, huh?

You think, as you find yourself retracing your steps back to the ballroom. 

More fitting than lover that’s for sure, but you doubt even a genius like Gilbert would understand from just a glance that that was the case, rather he meant it in a dismissive manner.

But still, you can’t help the bitter smile that appears on your face at the statement.

Because you would end up back at Chevalier’s side, and either through your expressions or through his own logic system that you couldn’t possibly fathom, he would understand everything that happened. And then, like always, you would end up locked up in a cage while, ironically, the beast who should be locked in there would prowl around, growling at anyone who came close, possessive of his toy.

And the worst part is, even though you could see the path paved for you, leading you to your own demise, you still had to follow it, like written in a story, like fate.

And maybe that’s why you smile instead of frown when you see your beloved captor’s face twist into a look of grim understanding as he sees you again, wordlessly gesturing you to draw nearer with his gaze.

Because ironically enough, the only person even close enough to understanding or even changing your situation was the same breed as the monster that possessed you.

And it’s an amusing thought to you.

But if you could see the expression of a certain dark haired man, thinking almost fondly on your interaction, you wouldn’t find it half as funny.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT → I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 3.9k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

a/n. and fifty eight chapters later...

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Rays of setting sunlight poured through the open window of Sunshine’s bedroom, bathing everything inside in a soft, golden glow. A light breeze fluttered the curtains, letting in the smell of freshly cut grass. Sunshine absentmindedly toyed with her necklace as she watched the tree leaves sway gently, sitting in her bed with her legs stretched out over her comforter. In her lap rested Max’s head. She was quiet, too quiet, as Sunshine brushed her fingers through the redhead’s waving locks in an attempt to ease some of the hurt that was wound up so tightly inside of Max. She looked so small curled up on Sunshine’s bed, wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts that Sunshine had stolen a while ago; it fell just above Max’s knees and the sleeves covered her hands. 

On the edge of the bed sat El and Leia with their fingers working quickly to tie knots in strings to form friendship bracelets for everyone as their going-away gifts. The craft also worked as a nice distraction from the sadness that lingered heavily over all of Hawkins in the wake of Chief Hopper’s death that night at Starcourt. 

Sunshine hadn’t believed it at first; she refused to believe the news her parents broke to her a couple of days following the Fourth of July. It seemed impossible; none of them were supposed to die, not like that and not then. He had three children, a family, and a good life that wasn’t supposed to end so soon. But he was gone, just like that, and his death affected the town deeply, but not as much as it did the group who had been there that night. His children took the news like a dagger to the heart, and they were once again robbed of a promise of new life with Hopper in their little cabin in the woods. The building was in ruins, and he was gone, leaving Joyce to take in the three kids. She insisted that Hopper would have done the same for her boys if their roles were reversed. She brought El and the twins into her home and treated them as if they were her own, despite also reeling from Hopper’s death. The kids lost a father, and Joyce lost another man she loved. Hawkins was thrown completely off its axis.

“Hey, Max?” Leia's voice broke through the stillness of the bedroom. “Can you tell us what California’s like?” 

When the summer came to a close, the Byers-Hopper clan would move across the country and get a fresh start in California, away from all of their ghosts in Hawkins. Sunshine knew it was for the best, but the thought of her siblings being so far away hurt her heart. She kept a brave face for them, though, not wanting them to worry any more than they already did. 

Max shifted slightly and turned her head to look at El and Leia. “You guys will like it, especially if you’re close to the beach,” she said, her voice seemingly stuck somewhere between dreamy and pained. “It’s sunny, almost all of the time, and warm. You guys can learn to surf or skateboard. The people are pretty cool too. It’s…it’s just a lot different than Hawkins.” 

A small frown tugged on El’s lips as she braided her bracelet. “Why can you two just come with us?” 

Sunshine smiled sadly at her sister. “I wish we could, but you know we can’t.” She wasn’t done with Hawkins yet. Her parents were still there, and a single year of high school was waiting for her. Besides, she couldn’t leave Max or the remaining party member until she knew for sure that Hawkins was a safe place for them. There was also Steve and Nancy who would still be there; Sunshine couldn’t leave them either. “But,” she continued. “We’ll come to visit, and you guys will come back to see us. We’ll only be a call or radio away; it won’t even feel like we’re that far apart.”

Seated on the floor, surrounded by a series of journals, Luke and Will paused their reading of the various stories Sunshine had written. She had started writing as a way to cope with everything she had experienced and been through, but it had turned from recanting old horrors to creating alternative endings to the lives of the children from the Lab. She wrote them the happy endings they deserved; it proved to be more therapeutic than digging up bad memories, and according to Luke and Will, they were rather good. 

“The party’s splitting up,” Will said, followed with a heavy sigh. “We’ve never been without each other like that before.” 

“Just because you’re apart doesn’t mean you’ll stop being friends,” Sunshine said. The bond that the party had couldn’t be broken by some distance, not after everything. 

“I know,” said Will, his voice quiet. “I just, I don’t know. It’s scary.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Leia. “Moving is scary. Growing up is scary.” The kids all seemed to agree. 

“But think of it as a good kind of scary,” Sunshine offered. “You guys will get to see new things and meet new people. You’re not replacing us here, you’re just moving on, right? And then you’ll call us and tell us about all of it.” She didn’t want them to think that she or anyone who was staying in Hawkins felt like they were getting left behind. She wished that everything was happening under different circumstances, but they’d get through it and a fresh start would be good for them. 

“Are you guys going to be okay here?” asked Luke, looking between Sunshine and Max. The latter didn’t answer, she instead looked up at Sunshine. 

“Yes,” Sunshine said. “We’ll be okay.” 

A beat of silence passed between them. Luke played with the corner of a page from the journal for a moment before he said, “Can I ask you something, Sunshine?” 

“Anything, you know that.” 

He swallowed, dropping his gaze. “When you lost Ivy, how did you make it not hurt so bad?”

Sunshine sucked in a sharp breath. Loss was something that had long been twisted up inside of her, a familiar ache and space craved out of her heart left by Ivy. 

“I don’t think you ever make all of the hurt go away, not completely. That’s not really how it works.” And it shouldn’t work that way, she had come to realize. The loss of someone who showed you so much love and care was something you carried around close to your chest after they had left. “But you try to remember the good memories you had with them. Even though the Lab was scary, wherever I was with Ivy, it made it feel a lot less scary; that’s what I remember the most about her. That’s what I choose to keep with me.” That’s the version of Ivy Sunshine wanted to remember, the girl who wiped her tears away. 

“It was less scary with Hopper,” El whispered, looking down at the blue bracelet on her wrist that he had given her. 

“He loved you guys, you know that, right?” 

Leia nodded, but her face began to contort in anger. Her emotions sparked, causing Sunshine’s bedside lamp to flicker a couple of times. “We should have gotten more time with him. It’s not fair.” 

It wasn’t, and Sunshine wished she had all of the answers and the power to take away all of their pain and sadness that burned inside the kids, that burned through Hawkins. The town still smelled like sulfur and tragedy. 

“No, it’s not fair,” Sunshine sighed. “But if anyone can get through this and be okay, it’s all of you. And now you all have each other.” 

Will perked up slightly. “It’s like we’re all siblings now.” 

El held the faint glow of a smile on her lips. “Siblings.” 

Standing up abruptly from the bed, Max let out something between a cry and a groan of frustration. Sunshine reached for the girl, calling out her name softly, but Max staggered backward with a frantic shake of her head. 

“Hey,” Sunshine said. “It’s alright-”

“Not it’s not.” Max cut her off, choking on a sob. “It’s not! It’s not the same. Hopper was a good person. Billy wasn’t. I shouldn’t…I don’t…Ugh!” She ran her hands down the length of her face as tears pooled in her eyes. 

In the couple of month Sunshine had known Max, she learned Max was the kind of person to keep all of their feels close to their chest until she couldn’t handle it anymore. Max thought she could handle everything alone, but Sunshine wanted to know she didn’t have to do that. 

Sunshine scooted to the edge of her bed, in front of where Max stood. “It’s okay it be upset.” 

Grief was complicated. Billy had been a terrible person, even before the Mind Flayer infiltrated his brain. He had hurt Max, scared her too. But the death he suffered in front of all of their eyes was hard to grapple with. Sunshine didn’t know what had happened to him until days later, when she was in a slightly better condition. Billy had died at the hands of the monster, trying to come back to his uncontrolled self. The second she passed out, the Mind Flayer jutted towards El but Billy had been standing in its way and tried to hold it off for just a second before the Gate was closed and it was all over. Max had watched her stepbrother die, brutally, and no matter what kind of person he had been, it still had to hurt.

“That’s the problem,” Max cried. “I don’t think I’m as upset as I should be. I don’t know. It’s like I feel…I feel kind of relieved but not in a good way, exactly. I just…I don’t know what or how to feel.” She wiped the tears on her cheeks away with the sleeves of the hoodie before she hugged her arms close to her chest, curling into herself. “He tried to kill all of us.” 

“When he was possessed,” Will reminded her, knowing the best out of everyone what Billy had gone through. 

Max shook her head. “He was shitty before that when he wasn’t. But now he’s dead and…and I…” 

“Max,” Sunshine said. A couple more tears slid down the girl’s cheeks before she broke down and fell back onto the bed, wrapping her arms around Sunshine and burying her head in the older girl’s chest. Sunshine held her tightly as El and Leia joined them. All four girls laid in a pile of sniffles and warm embraces. 

None of the kids deserved to spend the last few weeks of summer in mourning. They deserved to be outside, enjoying the warmth and freedom of summer before fall stepped in and they started in the uncharted waters of high school. Instead, they all were teary-eyed and more lost than they had ever been before. Sunshine could fight monsters and bad men all she wanted, but she couldn’t stop the pain that all of the kids felt; she couldn’t go back in time and stop it from ever happening in the first place. All she could do was be there to remind them that they weren’t alone in the world. 

They stayed huddled together until Max’s tears dried up and Sunshine’s arms went numb. Between the soft music that played from Sunshine’s radio and the gentle breeze that washed over them, the girls nearly dozed off until a soft knock came from the door, and in came Sunshine’s mom. The woman wore a small smile as she took in the scene before she said, “Walter just got home with the pizza if you guys are hungry.”

Luke and Will were quick to abandon the journals they were reading and stood to their feet at the mention of food. “Thanks again, Mrs. Torres, for letting us hang out here,” Will said. 

“It’s no trouble at all, sweetie. Anything to help out your mother.” Mary-Jane’s smile faltered at the mention of Ms. Byers. “You tell her that you’re always welcome here, and if she needs anything at all, to just give me a call, okay?” 

Will nodded and the boys slipped out of the bedroom to eat and probably have a long-winded conversation with Walter about anything and everything. He loved his daughter dearly, but he was outnumbered by women in his home, so when Will and Luke started to come around more to give Joyce some space to get everything in order for their move, Walter was overjoyed getting to converse with a couple of boys. 

“Someone stopped by to say hi,” Mary-Jane said, causing Sunshine to furrow her brows. From beside her mom, a familiar face popped into view with an arm full of flowers and a cheeky grin. 

“Steve?” Sunshine said in surprise. She sat up straighter in her bed and tried to brush down the frizzy pieces of white hair that stuck out in different directions. 

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping into her bedroom. “These are for you guys.” He passed out three different bouquets of flowers to all of the girls. The younger girls all took them with surprised faces and slightly rosy cheeks.

“You got these for us?” Max asked. Her voice was still watery and eyes rimmed red, and by the way Steve looked at her, he picked up on it. 

He smiled softly and said, “Of course, red. I thought they might cheer you guys up a little bit.” 

“Thank you,” Leia said as she stuck her nose into the bouquet.

“Pretty.” El smiled brightly. 

“Come on, girls, before the boys eat all of the pizza.” Mary-Jane ushered the younger girls out before she turned to Steve. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner, honey.” 

“Thank you. I just, um…” Steve trailed off, glancing over at Sunshine. 

Mary-Jane’s lips quirked upwards in a smile as she said, “I’ll leave you two,” and left Sunshine’s bedroom, leaving Steve and Sunshine alone for the first time since that night at Starcourt. They had seen each other since, but not without the company of one of the kids or at one of the many funerals for the people they lost that night. Sunshine had been put on house arrest. Her parents didn’t know the extent to which she was banged up, aside from the ugly bruises that decorated her face and neck. She tried to not let it show that there was a constant ringing in her ears and her mind felt even more battered than her face. There was a relentless pressure that continued to drum against her temples, and it sometimes caused her vision to swarm. She knew it would take longer than ever before to heal after her fight with the Mind Flayer, but she didn’t know how much longer she’d have to deal with the troubling after-effects. 

“These are for you.” Steve held out a bunch of roses tied together with a little white bow. They were beautiful and unexpected. She felt that familiar flutter inside her stomach that only ever happened around Steve, and a warmth that spread across her cheeks. “I was going to get you sunflowers, but that felt a little too on the nose.” 

She laughed and rested the flower on the nightstand, making a mental note to use one of the pretty crystal vases her mom kept stored in one of the kitchen cabinets. When the sunlight hit the vase, it reflected a rainbow. 

“Thank you.” She pulled her legs up to sit crisscross before she padded the space beside her. Steve took a seat, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, totally,” he replied, not so convincingly. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at Sunshine. “How are you feeling? I was talking to your dad, and he said you seemed a little better since the kids were hanging around.” 

She sighed softly and shrugged. She didn’t feel great, but she also didn’t necessarily feel sickly. Sunshine felt weird, that was the only word that seemed to describe it correctly. Weird. It was like something inside her mind was thrown off or knocked loose during her fight with the Mind Flayer. Ever since that night, she felt flighty, as if she was watching herself from outside her body; there was a disconnect somewhere inside of her that she couldn't quite explain. 

“I’m okay. Better than I was.” Glancing off to the side, she caught sight of herself in her mirror over her vanity. There were muddled green and blue bruises covering her nose and cheeks. The dark blotches contrasted harshly with her newly white hair that had no proper explanation. Dr. Owens had some of his medical professionals check out Sunshine, El, Leia, and Luke a couple of days later and found no direct diagnosis for how El’s abilities stopped working, Luke’s visions of the past, or Sunshine’s white hair. They were awfully unhelpful, deeming it as stress, which only really made sense of Sunshine, not her siblings. Something else was up with El and Luke, but they had enough on their plate, and subjecting them to more tests would only stress them out even more. So, Sunshine tried to get used to her new look, along with the fading bruises across her face and neck from where Billy had choked her. 

“I guess I don’t really look like it, huh?” 

“What’re you talking about? You almost look as good as me,” Steve said, gesturing his to own collections of bruises around his eye. 

Sunshine laughed lightly, unwinding some of the heaviness that weighed on her chest. A short beat of comfortable silence passed between them before Steve cleared his throat. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” 

He looked nervous, toying with the fabric of her comforter under his hands and flickering his gaze between her and anywhere else in the room. “Well, you know how we had to cancel our date because of…well, everything?” Sunshine nodded. “I meant it when I said that I would make it up to you if we ever got out of that elevator.” 

Sunshine raised her brows in question. “Are you asking me out?” 

“Second time's a charm, I hope.” He chuckled but it faded quickly from his lips and his expression shifted into something a little more serious. “I realized something when I was hopped up on Russian drugs.” She winced as he hung his head. The doctors had found nothing seriously threatening in both Steve and Robin’s systems from the drugs the Russians gave them, but Sunshine still worried that there would be some kind of bad side-effects in the long run. He seemed fine, but she could tell there was still an air of slight panic whenever he or someone brought up the Russians. 

Steve shook his head. “No, that’s…that’s not how I wanted to start this. Forget I said that.” She said nothing, patiently waiting for him to find the right words. He sucked in a deep breath and started again. “When Robin and I ran off to the bathroom, we talked for a while, just about life and stuff. And when I was talking, everything just kind of tumbled out, stuff that didn’t fully realize until that moment. But then everything else happened so fast. We got split up. Then Billy and the Mind Flayer and you…” He trailed off, gazing intently at his lap for a moment before he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. Sunshine scooted closer and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and encouraging him to continue. 

“You were just lying there, and it was like, all of that stuff I realized hit me, hard. I thought I wouldn’t get the chance to tell you. I mean, you were…we thought you were…” Dead, she finished inside her head. Either one of them said it aloud, but it was what they both were thinking. Sunshine thought she died too, by the way she felt. But she hadn’t; she had been one of the lucky ones that night, all things considered. 

Still holding his hand, Sunshine leaned forward just slightly, getting him to meet her eyes. “I’m right here, Steve,” she reminded him. “You can tell me now.” 

He stared at her, eyes swarmed with something she didn’t quite know. “You’re my best friend,” he said in a rushed breath like he’d been holding it back for so long it hurt. “You were my best friend when we were little, and you still are now. And even when you were gone, I felt like something important was missing from my life, but I couldn’t figure it out. Then you came back, and even with all of the crazy shit that’s happened, it was like everything made scene again with you here.

“I should have told you how important you were to me a long time ago, but I was scared because I didn’t know how you felt, or if I did, that I would lose you again. But then, that night, I thought we did lose you, and I was never going to get the chance to tell you any of it. I thought I wouldn’t get to tell you how much I like you, Sunshine. But I do. I really, really like you.” 

Sunshine sat speechless for a moment. Her heart felt like it was going to spring from her chest. Her face felt hot, and no proper words came to her mind. In all honesty, she had no idea what was doing until she began to do it, burning with emotions that made her brain feel fuzzy. Her next movements were fast, not very well planned, and clumsy. She leaned forward even more, quickly grasping the sides of Steve’s face, and pulling him close until her lips met his. She tried to remember every romantic movie El made her watch, but the second Steve’s surprise faded, his hands found her waist, and he kissed her back, everything in her brain melted.

There wasn’t some intense explosion like fireworks that ignited inside of her; it was softer than that, sweeter even. The kiss felt like the sun that set warmly outside, slow and in no rush but still bright and illuminating. Unlike all of the fights they endured and the complicated nature of their lives, in that moment, everything felt very simple and easy. It was only the two of them, together, and that was more than enough. 

After a couple of seconds, they pulled back, coming up for air and resting their foreheads together in a fit of smiles. 

“I really like you too,” Sunshine whispered. 

“I’m not totally convinced. You might have to kiss me again, you know, to really prove it.” 

She laughed but was swiftly cut off by Steve closing the small gap between them again. That kiss was still slow, but they were a little surer of themselves. They fit together with ease after an entire summer spent in a limbo of feelings and plenty of ‘almosts.’ Sunshine felt lighter; he was a bright spot in the dreary town, her own sunshine. 

Maybe nothing would ever be normal for them, as if it had ever been in the first place. But her siblings weren’t the only ones who would be getting a fresh start. 

Sunshine thought back to the girl she had been in the Lab, and how she wished she could have seen what the future had in store for her. At eighteen, years older than Subject Seven thought she’d live to, in a home with parents who loved her, siblings safe, and in front of a boy who made her feel wanted in ways the little girl never would have believed. Things were far from perfect, but her life was hers. 

Tagged. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @two-sides-samecoin