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bayjaruchel · 6 months

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Underneath The Strobe Light

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Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

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You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces.

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie.

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically.

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined.

However— needing and wanting are two very different things.

And you want. So, so much.

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch.

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel.

World News Now?

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences.

Yeah, no.

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way.

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway.

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips.

It couldn't be anyone else.

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly.

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest.

"Hey," you offer.

"Hi," he obliges.

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?"

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes.

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest."

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls."

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously."

"And yet … "

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

You don't want to let the silence set in.

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay."

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you."

"Asshole."

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?"

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too."

"Oh, really?"

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor."

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later."

He's almost cheeky when he speaks.

"It's life-changing."

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict."

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—"

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—"

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder."

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh.

"It's getting really late."

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?"

"Are you gonna head home?"

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like—

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you.

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—"

"It's not."

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city.

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual."

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring.

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual."

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before:

"Why don't you stay?"

Your own breath stutters in your chest.

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself.

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't."

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—"

"Why are you here, anyway?"

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—"

"It's not!" You exclaim.

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice.

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—"

You stop yourself.

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently.

Might as well, huh?

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead.

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes.

Then:

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense.

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters.

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less.

"Yeah?" You dare to ask.

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes.

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him.

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor.

You reach out.

He lets you lace your fingers through his.

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should.

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely.

"... Can I?"

His reply is almost instantaneous.

"Please."

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead.

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit!

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere.

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you.

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise.

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips.

He moans.

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part.

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—"

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay."

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more.

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his.

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone.

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans.

"Should I—"

"Yeah—"

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least.

All you want to do is keep going.

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—"

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?"

"Yes —"

"You want me to take 'em off?"

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure.

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down.

"Go on," you encourage.

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur.

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you.

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you.

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—"

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs.

"Mike —"

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position.

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—"

"Oh —"

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied.

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you.

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down.

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand—

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist.

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you.

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now.

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck.

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity.

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck."

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut—

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts— you swear you hear him whimper . His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth.

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him.

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum."

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him.

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down.

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face.

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on."

"Yeah, okay."

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail.

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet.

"For what?"

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess."

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile.

"You're welcome."

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut

3K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 5 months

Note

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, reader pining on gojo, mentions of injury, comfort

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

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unexpectedbrickattack · 1 year

Text

Hiding the rest of this HUGE comic behind a readmore for ur sanity

Hes got the keenest eye for these things!

Now that this is hiding behind a readmore i can justify writing an essay in here. Nothing big tho i am just very chatty :)!

Postgame where Peppino still gets visits every now and again from the bosses of the tower. I already drew one for the noise (lmao) but i wanted to draw each of the main four interacting with him in some way.

Pepperman is a refined and well renowned artist. His art is highly sought after and his advice is not taken lightly. He has many MANY fortunes to pull from to make his visions a reality and to influence anyone to do anything. Except for Peppino.

From the very first fight, Pepperman is immediately, overwhelmingly obsessed with this stout little brawler. He is much much more than what meets the eyes. He is initially extremely offput and annoyed that a human so boldly decided to waltz into his domain, and he expects to be able to steamroll and bully this…beast…out of his place of work. He is refined when he wants to be, but he is quick to use his brute strength to get what he wants if only bc he knows he can do it

And so when he decides to fully charge and thrash this little trembling human, expecting him to skitter away the second he gets struck, he is completely unprepared for when he gets launched to the other end of this room. The human looks so incredibly PISSED, like a bull seeing red, and suddenly this little altercation suddenly became a real actual ‘knock your teeth out’ brawl. This human is only like half his height, but his punches and bashes fucking knock the wind out of him.

And like ! To add insult to injury!!! After he wins the fight! He visibly deflates, the adrenaline seemingly wearing off. Hes just this trembling fuckin whelp again !!! Whimpering as he fucking runs back out through the portal to do god knows what. And Pepperman could not be any more fucking intrigued. Like this no name came in, whooped his fuckin ass, and went about his day. Its unreal

While Peppino is running around climbing the tower, Pepperman is in his room losing his mind. Hes obsessed. No one has challenged him in this way. No one has fought him and WON. He is ALWAYS able to bully people into submission either through brute force or with money, and he got his ass handed to him !! He needs to know more. Its quite literally consuming him.

Cut to the final fight, set up for a rematch; and he knows he is going to get steamrolled again but it is SO exhilarating to get another chance to see this humans form up close again. This time he can try to commit everything to memory. Its all such a blur though, and in a quarter of the time it took to end their first fight, its over. He gets to watch the human fight the gunslinger with his bare hands, no gun necessary, and he doesnt even bat an eye at what looks to be a clone of himself. He is a force of nature tearing through every single defense, and when Pepperman watches the actual final fight with the bizarre little pizza man, its like hes caught in a movie. The rain, the storm, the atmosphere. He wishes he could burn the entire scene into his mind.

So when everything returns to normal, he takes the time to travel for days to come and find this little human named Peppino. The memory is still strong and vivid but eventually, details will start to slip his mind. He needs to find this human, convince him to sit and do some still life sessions with him to help cement the humans appearance in his head. He hasnt had to resort to…asking for permission for anything in a loooong time…he bullies people into doing what he wants but Peppino is not your average person, and if he wants something from this man, he’ll have to meet him at his level.

He...can make an exception for Peppino...he supposes.

#pizza tower #peppino spaghetti #peppino #pepperman #i love love love how this little comic turned out #esp with how peppino came out in so many panels #esp the one w pepperman holding peppino close: that one is the best i think #anyway #yeah #heehee #this is not intended to be shippy but do as u please #pepperman is just an artist that appreciates beautiful BEAUTIFUL forms #and people who defy him #and he has No filter #peppino is like oh my god #hes eccentric…the worst kind of person….#but like #no one has tried to fight him since the tower collapsed #and everyone seems peaceful enough now #so if this weirdo thinks hes ‘beautiful’ and ‘exquisite’ and ONLY wants to spend some time to draw him #well thats better than fighting again; hell take it #also #heehee yes; peppino is using a walkman #hes been holding onto that shit for decades its his ol reliable

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lazycats-stuff · 2 months

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Artist toddler batbro! Can't help but draw/ paint at least once a day and at the end of the day batfam is anticipating who will be the lucky family member that'll receive which ever art piece their youngest has created that day (sometimes the art piece is on the walls or floor of the mansion but no one has the heart to be angry when little batbro is just proudly presenting his art)

Toddler batbro *leaves a paint covered tiny handprint on the wall*

Bruce: alfred, frame that

Oh my, that's cute. Oh my God... Aww. Also, I know it's short, but this is all my inspiration is willing to give at this moment. Next time, I'll try to write more.

Summary: (Y/N) is an artist.

Warnings: None, really fluffy

Every child has a talent. Whether that be in sports or arts, every child has a hidden talent for something. Even if some kids are average, there is nothing wrong with it. Bruce, amongst his four older sons, had a toddler. Yes, a toddler.

How did it happen?

A one night stand. The mom couldn't take care of (Y/N) and Bruce took him in and the other 4 accepted (Y/N) as if he was their blood brother and Bruce was grateful that they did it. Of course, they had to change their schedules to accommodate to make sure that (Y/N) was a priority. Of course, no one minded to do that.

And speak of talents? While his four older sons had their own specialties. Damian had his knowledge of blades and martial arts, Tim for his hacking and detective skills, Jason for his accuracy with guns and other firearms and Dick with his acrobatic skills.

(Y/N) was an artistic child. He didn't show it at first, but as he got more comfortable, he started asking for paper and crayons. Crayons slowly evolved into something more and (Y/N) would draw daily. It could be anything. It could be a couch or even Titus. Maybe it would be one of the boys too.

And, at the moment, there was a big honor in the house. What that honor may be? (Y/N) handing you his own artwork. It became a tradition and sort of a competition between everyone. Everyone wanted to see what (Y/N) has created that day.

It was considered the biggest honor in the manor, to get a piece of paper, created by (Y/N). It makes everyone's day when they get an artwork. Dick nearly cried. Damian was close to crying too. Alfred and Bruce got one too and the two grown men, who have seen stuff... Safe to say, they nearly broke down into tears and shambles.

Nearly.

But there was a one problem in this entire story. (Y/N) wouldn't limit himself to drawing on paper. Oh no. Many parents would punish the child if the child drew on the walls or floor. Right? Well... Not if you are (Y/N) Wayne who is clearly artistically talented.

(Y/N) would often draw whenever he could, even if that meant on the wall or the floor. And whoever saw (Y/N) drawing on the floor or the wall, didn't have a heart to even yell or be remotely angry, especially since (Y/N) had that shine in his eyes when he was showing them their art.

Bruce wasn't supposed allow (Y/N) to paint over the walls or the floor. That's what Bruce was supposed to correct. A correct thing to do... Right? Well, Bruce didn't know. Parenting doesn't have a book and a set of rules, but Bruce wished he had some sort of rules so he could solve this.

He can keep on dreaming when it comes to universal rules for a perfect parenting style.

But he has actually decided what he was going to do, without a doubt. (Y/N) was allowed to doddle and draw wherever he wanted. That was something that was relayed to all the other members, whoever, they put certain restrictions.

No drawing in their rooms without supervision. Bruce's study was also off limits if there is no supervision. And only at home is doodling and drawing allowed.

Because Bruce is just ready to frame it all. Alfred already has frames ready to go.

It was always fun.

As of now, (Y/N) was doodling on the wall, just sitting on the floor, without a care in the world. Bruce and Alfred were walking by, stopping when they saw (Y/N) drawing. This time, it was just a simple handprint.

Bruce was smiling and instructed (Y/N) to go wash his hands and then eat. Bruce and Alfred looked at the handprint on the wall.

" Alfred, frame that. " Bruce said and Alfred did just that. Took out a frame and made sure that handprint was framed. And it looked adorable.

" He is growing up too quickly, Master Bruce. " Alfred said said as he looked at the little handprint.

" I agree Alfred. " Bruce said sadly.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader

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charlotteharlatan · 10 months

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Do you ever think about what would have happened if Mary Hodges (formerly Mary Loquacious) hadn’t interrupted Crowley and Aziraphale’s “intimate moment”?

Because I do. I think about it a lot.

First off, the way that this shot is set up is perfect. Mary - Mary who had a key role in the whole “Antichrist shuffle” fiasco, and who is a walking reminder of the approaching apocalypse that will separate Aziraphale and Crowley - is literally coming between them. The show is full of these beautifully simple, yet easy-to-miss moments that only last a few frames.

Now, on its surface, this part of the scene mostly plays as humorous because Crowley and Aziraphale are sexless-by-default, non-human entities who just happen to come across to most humans as a very aesthetic queer couple. So naturally, Mary makes the same assumption as every other human that so much as glances in their direction, and isn’t that a laugh?

Except that…she’s not actually wrong about it being an intimate moment. Not just in the physical sense, although I think this is the closest we see them physically get in the whole first season (not counting being literally inside each other’s corporations, I suppose).

But it’s intimate in the emotional sense too, because Crowley is worried and stressed about having lost the Antichrist, and now on top of everything else he’s got Aziraphale calling him “nice” and poking at some very old wounds (if he’s so “nice” then why did he Fall?). And Crowley is also probably *frightened* - they’re inside a former Satanic convent that kept regular contact with not just Crowley himself, but also Hastur, and probably other demons too. For all Crowley knows, someone from his side could still be lurking about; they could overhear and get them both in big trouble.

And as if all that weren’t enough, I don’t think I’m imagining a healthy dose of frustration with Aziraphale in the mix either. Just a few minutes prior, the angel essentially tempted Crowley into miracling the paint stain out of his coat, and then broke their rules by saying “thank you” for it. Aziraphale has spent at least the last few centuries sending him some very mixed signals and we can see that Crowley is done with them dancing around each other. That game was more or less fine before, they had time, all the time in the world. But now, in just a few days, all the time in the world will be ENDING. And yet here’s Aziraphale, playing the same game as always, acting like nothing between them has changed, even though they both know better.

So yeah, it all comes to a head in that moment, and Crowley (sort of understandably) loses it a bit. He won’t actually hurt Aziraphale and they both know that, but he has to get across to the angel SOMEHOW that he’s experiencing some Big Feelings. And he doesn’t have a whole lot of options as to how to do that. He’s too worked up to communicate effectively. So he goes with the wall slam. This causes an emotionally charged situation which we’re primed to think will have an emotional payoff - the camera pulls in close, a dramatic transition, drawing us in to the tension of the moment right along with Crowley and Aziraphale.

And then there’s Aziraphale, who…doesn’t defend himself at all. Aziraphale, who is kind but far from defenseless, who used to guard the gate of Eden with a flaming sword, who was supposed to fight in a platoon of angels in the final battle. He’s no pushover, and yet he lets himself get literally pushed over. It doesn’t even seem to occur to him to stop Crowley, not even as he’s wrinkling his precious coat.

And maybe this is just my read of this scene, but Aziraphale’s reaction to Crowley coming into his personal space is interesting in and of itself. He doesn’t act as if this is the first instance of Crowley being that close to him - and it is CLOSE. Their lips are centimeters apart. Their noses are touching.

And one might well say that all of it happens so fast that Aziraphale is caught off guard and freezes up, but as so many have already pointed out about this scene, just after Mary interrupts he looks…blatantly longing, and then more than a bit put out.

And after Crowley lets him go, he casually fixes his clothes and goes straight back to bickering. Which may be partially a defense mechanism, because they don’t have time to talk about what just happened, there clearly won’t be any emotional resolution right now. But really, wouldn’t “you go too fast for me” Aziraphale be more rattled if that were truly the first time they had crossed that physical boundary and shared space like this? He looks affected, certainly, but quickly shakes it off.

And, to take it one step further: Aziraphale knows Crowley. He knows what words are likely to set him off. He has an established pattern of having Crowley do things for him, based on Aziraphale’s own prompting (see also: wordlessly asking Crowley to help Hamlet become a hit). Aziraphale does as much tempting to get Crowley to do “nice” things as Crowley does to get him to do “naughty” things. All of which is to say, Aziraphale may have actually been baiting Crowley here, but the bait is just a little too effective, and Aziraphale isn’t fully prepared for the intensity of the response he gets. But there’s a strong case to be made that by calling the demon “nice,” he’s looking to get a specific reaction out of Crowley. Again, not the healthiest form of communication, but it’s what they have in this context, because honesty would be too dangerous.

Which brings me back to my point: it IS an intimate moment, in more ways than Mary could have possibly realized, and what if she hadn’t walked in on them? How would Crowley have finished his sentence that got cut off, and how would Aziraphale have responded to it, to Crowley’s outburst of emotion, or to their proximity?

Maybe he would have gently and politely pushed Crowley away - but to me, something about his expression and body language says he wouldn’t have. Because Aziraphale is tired of dancing around this too, actually, and in the heat of the moment, he may just have closed the distance. Especially if they’ve had “intimate moments” before this one.

And between you and me, I think they did, and I think it was after Crowley saved Aziraphale and his books during the Blitz. It’s a solid explanation for the increased tension between them in the holy water scene.

Anyway. This meta has been sitting in my drafts since before the first trailer came out, S2 is only nine days away, and I’m clearly very normal about all of this.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go meta #meta #analysis #scene analysis

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sweetiecutie · 7 months

Note

AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

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birdy-bat-writes · 1 year

Text

Coffee for Mrs. Seresin?

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Content warnings: Pining, fluff, and uh.... caffeine? Mild swears, Maybe some banter. I have no clue what qualifies as a warning anymore, I'm so sorry, y'all:') Also, sorry for the spelling, grammar, and punctuation errors.

A/n: Should I be doing math right now? Should I actually be sleeping right now? Yes and yes, BUT no one can blame me. I was reading an adorable Jake Seresin Fanfic by @roosterbruiser (everyone go read Millie's work, it's gold) and I got an idea and I had to write it somewhere so here:D

You were pretty used to people assuming you and Jake were an item. When an attractive guy and an attractive girl have been friends since college and spend as much time together as you both do, you suppose it's a fair conclusion for people to draw, but an incorrect one, nonetheless. And you really wish people would stop asking because every time you had to explain to someone how you were "just friends," it ate you a little more inside.

The fact of the matter was this: you were in love with your best friend. And it sucked.

You stepped out of your car and strode along the stone walkway amidst the grass up to Rooster's door and rang the bell. It was a cute little townhouse with a blue exterior and you often poked fun at him for how much it resembled a little wooden birdhouse with its colorful walls and white wood-rimmed windows. You suppose it's fitting since Rooster lives there and yes, he hates that gag. It also serves as your group's prime hang-out spot, which is why you're here now.

The door opened to reveal Natasha, wrapped up in an oversized sweatshirt with her hair thrown up in a claw clip. "Yes, you brought chips!"

"Yeah, you didn't really specify which flavor so I just got them all." You said, walking in. "Guests should start coming in an hour, right?"

"Mmm-hmm." The 7 of you were throwing a casual party to celebrate Jake's promotion to Lieutenant-Commander. You saw Nat lift her eyes and smirk. "And there he is, the man of the hour." You turned around to see Jake at the end of the staircase.

"Well, hello, Mr. Man-of-the-hour," you teased, setting down the numerous bags of chips you were holding.

"Glad you're finally here, N/N. I was starting to think you were going to leave me here to fend for myself against Rooster's ABBA medley." Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. It was always like this. Him giving you butterflies you had to ignore because there was inevitably some other girl.

"Oh please, I would never leave you to fend for yourself against Rooster. I would join him and together, we'd overpower you and make you listen to ABBA forever." You grinned up at him and he narrowed his eyes, lips quirking up at the corners.

"Betrayal never comes from an enemy, I see," he shook his head at you. "I will leave you, lovely ladies, to yourselves. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen." You watched Jake walk away and disappear around the corner. When you turned back, Natasha was still wearing that smug smile she always did when she saw you two. You knew it was coming.

"Nix, I'm telling you, if you say it, I'm salting your coffee." She knew you were messing with her but one of these days, you might just do it.

"All I'm saying is, shoot your shot! Come on, just once before you go settle for this rando."

"Mark is not a rando. We know him from accounting!"

"Exactly, Y/N, we know him from accounting. You don't even like the guy, heck you hardly know him."

"Exactly. That's why we're going to get to know each other at this party. I need to get over this crush, now. I can't keep pining for a guy who has no interest in me," you saw Natasha's mouth open as if to say something and you quickly jumped in, "And don't say he's interested. He's been with other girls multiple times and never once looked at me like that."

"True, I won't argue there. He's never looked at any of those girls the way he was just looking at you either." She took her hair out of her claw clip and it fell onto her shoulders in soft waves. "And ever since we all got back from that mission 3 months ago, he hasn't been with anyone. I really think he's got a thing for you but you're right. You should give this Mark guy a shot if you think he'd be good for you."

You smiled softly. You met Jake's friends when you were in San Diego a few years back. About a year ago, you were permanently stationed here and luckily for you, Jake was too. He settled here about 4 months before you. All his friends became your friends, and you've truly never known a better group of people. And they'd never known someone who could wrangle Hangman, so you were quite quickly welcomed to the group.

You and Pheonix tossed your sweatshirts upstairs and fixed up the last bits of your outfits just in time for guests to start arriving. You even managed to slip in a game of cards with Fanboy, Bob, and Payback before you joined a crowd in the living room. You barely felt the tap on your shoulder. If it wasn't followed by your name, you surely would have missed it. You turned on your heel to see Mark from accounting, facing you with a hand in his pocket.

"Mark, hi!"

"Hey. How are you?" His voice was almost monotone. His eyes roamed the room rather than meeting yours. He had just gotten here and he already sounded like he wanted to be somewhere else. You could have sworn he sounded more lively when you met.

"I'm good. I thought you weren't coming till later."

"I got off work early."

"Ah, well that's great." This guy really wasn't giving you much to work with. "Can I get you something to drink? There are drinks and food in the kitchen." That actually went somewhere. You headed to the kitchen where the conversation just barely picked up.

In the distance, Jake noticed your prolonged absence. As silly as it was, Jake liked knowing you were near him. You didn't have to be attached at the hip but he liked knowing he could saunter over to you and escape into your laugh when you came up in his mind. Which was a lot.

He scanned the room for you and stopped when he caught your frame in the kitchen...with some guy? Who the hell was that?

"Damn, if looks could kill...," Rooster muttered. "Do you not like that dude or something?"

"I don't even know who he is," Jake said through gritted teeth. "What's his name?"

"No clue. Pheonix?"

As if on cue, Natasha spoke up. "That, my friends, is Mark from accounting." Both the boys looked at her with questioning eyes.

"Okay, but who is he?" Something in Jake's voice was different now. Both of them looked at him.

"Careful there, Bagman, you almost sound jealous. He's some guy Y/N knows and I think she likes him." Phoenix was searching Jake's face for any sign that she was right about his feelings for you, and he never noticed because his eyes were trained on you like a hawk.

"I'm not jealous, Pheonix."

"You kinda sound jealous, Hangman," Rooster added, earning a glare from Jake.

"Okay, when we first met and you told me about her, you sounded so lovesick, I thought she was your wife. Cut to, you introduce us all and it turns out you're not married, or dating, but friends? I'm sorry, I do not believe that you two don't have feelings for each other." Natasha's remark sparked something in Jake. She watched the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk so small, she almost missed it.

"I'll be right back." Jake stated, already pacing away. Rooster and Pheonix watched Jake make his way into the kitchen.

"She likes him too right?" Rooster asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Pheonix responded.

"You know, Fanboy has a betting pool on them."

"What? Get me on this, I have a feeling we'll make some money tonight."

Jake entered the kitchen to see you sitting alone at the table. "Got room for one more?"

"I don't see why not. Shouldn't you be mingling with everyone out there?"

"Well, the person I want to mingle with is in here." You smiled at him. There it was again, that smile that always left him utterly defenseless. "Who's the guy?"

You don't know why you felt your cheeks heat up when Jake asked about him. "His name's Mark. I met him when I was sorting reports last week."

"Okay. So, why do you sound so upset?"

"Because he said he was going to get us drinks 5 minutes ago and I just saw him leave with Commander Reeves' daughter." Honestly, you weren't upset because he left. You were upset because you were glad he did. He was boring you out of your mind and you two absolutely did not click, but it was still disheartening to know that this is what it was going to be like. No guy was going to measure up to the one you wished you were with. The one who was at this table with you now.

Jake was seething. What kind of idiot comes to a party and leaves you for some other girl? "You wanna get out of here?"

"What?"

"Let's leave. I'm bored."

"It's your party, you dork, you can't just leave!" You were giggling at a feeling somewhere in between confusion and disbelief.

"Yeah, it is my party so I say, you and I get out of here." He took you by the hand and walked you out through the back door to his car. And you let him. The chilly air swept you both up.

The drive was pretty calm. You didn't know where Jake was going but you didn't care either. This reminded you of when you two were younger. The long quiet rides in the car with no one but each other for company. He'd put on some cheesy 80's power ballad and you'd both laugh at it until you'd give in and belt it out at the top of your lungs.

"If you don't mind my asking, what did you see in him?"

"I don't really even remember. I think I just wanted to try and get myself out there. I haven't been on a date in literally years."

Jake hesitated before he asked. "So... what made you want to start now?" You felt the words catch in your throat.

"I'm not sure." you lied. You. I'm in love with you and I can't take it.

You felt the car slow down. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even see where Jake parked. A cute little coffee shop and patisserie. Jake got out of his car and rounded the front to open the door for you. He already had you head over heels for him and he didn't even know it. Did he have to be such a gentleman? You weren't sure that you could fall even harder for this man but you really didn't want to find out.

"Why don't you get us a table and I'll get us something to drink. Don't worry, I remember what you like." You nodded and found a two-seat table by the french windows overlooking the city. On the left, in the distance, the last light of sunset was hitting the water and the top of the sky had started to go dark. Little stars twinkled above you. You wondered what it would be like to always be like this? Evenings with you and Jake, running off alone together from places and people you didn't really want to see. Taking comfort in each other's presence because it felt like home. Just then, Jake sat down in front of you. It almost hurt knowing he was right in front of you and you couldn't have him.

"Screw stupid Mark from accounting. He was not worth your time."

"Thanks. It's fine really, I'll find someone else. Someone less boring." When you met Jake's eyes, he looked as if he had something to say. Something he was holding back. "What is it?"

"Don't find someone else."

Did he just- Did you hear him right?

"What? Why?"

"Because-"

"I have a coffee and a latte for Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" The barista called. You actually felt your heart skip a beat. Your eyebrows scrunched together and you looked to Jake for answers.

"Well, I think that's us." He blurted like it answered all your questions, a smile heard in his voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" You queried, rising out of your seat in tandem with him. "Why'd you tell her we were 'Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?!'"

"Because you looked so down and I thought I'd get a reaction from you! And it's not all my fault, Pheonix gave me the idea." Jake stated, matter-of-factly. How could he say that so casually?! "And you're still looking red so I guess it worked."

You both grabbed your coffees and sat down once again. It was dark out now. Once your laughs and giggles over your reaction were out, you remembered where your last conversation left off.

"Jake, why'd you tell me not to find someone?" You didn't force the question too hard into the conversation. You asked softly, not knowing how or if he would answer. He sighed before he spoke like he was preparing himself.

"Because...because I can't ask you out if you're dating someone else." The emotions hit you like a bombshell.

"You want to ask me out?" You weren't sure this was real. You were really about to pinch yourself before he stopped you in your tracks.

"I've been meaning to for months. Y/N, we've been friends forever, and I didn't want to ruin what we have. I know I should have told you before because I've liked you for as long as- Why are you smiling?"

"Because, you big dummy, I like you too." You couldn't hold it back. You were beaming. You felt butterflies and fireworks all at once just because the man of your dreams just made it all a reality. Jake held your eyes in his and smiled ear-to-ear. You swore you saw his ears go red but if you asked him, you doubt he’d admit it. "I'm really happy right now but I have no clue what to do next."

"I've got it from here," Jake reaches out and takes your hand in both of his. It feels like electricity is coursing through your veins. "Y/N L/N, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

It took everything in you not to squeal in this coffee shop. "Yes, I will do you that honor, Bagman." You responded. He chuckled at you.

"Every now and again, I feel like introducing you to Pheonix was a mistake."

"Speaking of which, I really want to tell her about this but she'll get all smug because she was right."

"You're right. As far as people we don't have to tell yet go, Fanboy and Rooster have been betting on us. We can just keep it from them for now too."

"Deal." A laugh bubbled out of you as you thought about how the squad would react. And then a knock sounded directly next to you on the french window.

"Aww, cute," Rooster noted, his voice muffled by the glass, but still clear enough for you to hear his teasing tone.

"Left your own party so soon?" There stood Pheonix. Along with the rest of the squad leaning against Bradley's bronco.

"Shit." you commented.

"So much for keeping it secret."

———————————————————————

Tag list:

@glorified-red

#rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #hangman drabble #rooster top gun #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun fluff #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #fluff #jake hangman x reader

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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 6

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

A/N: Are things really getting better?

Warnings: honestly I don’t think this one’s that bad—comparatively, nodding instead of communicating, progression that I was not emotionally prepared for.

Word Count: 5,528

-Part 5- -Part 7-

“You could move in with me.”

Golden eyes meet your own, shining with sincerity. Maybe that’s the sunset.

Lips quirk, attention returning to the Sidra. Marking the small diamonds of teal and turquoise that gleam between the multitude of reds and yellows. A beautiful rainbow of colours. “Funny, Bas.”

“I’m serious,” he says, eyes weighing on your cheek. “You could help out, if you’re worried about being a burden. You’ve got the brains for it—it’d barely take any effort.”

You shake your head, firmly dismissing the idea, “it’s not that… I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, clothing shifting as he readjusts himself. You peer down into the river, allowing the breeze to push and play with your feet—hanging over the ledge. Beneath you, Bas has laid a picnic blanket, the two of you sat cozily, side by side.

“It would be too much,” you reply, looking down the river. Peering at the restaurants that line it’s bank, preparing for the influx of customers that sweep in around this time. Eager to watch the colours flicker and dance. “I can’t ask that from you.”

Bas blows out a deep breath, the air bubbling from his lips. Laughter creeps into your eyes as they flick to him. He raises a single, dark brow, amusement gleaming in his gaze. “You know you sound like a horse when you do that.” Bas grins, full lips pressing together as he repeats the sound. Your own hurt as they stretch into a smile, “stop it. This is supposed to be a serious conversation.”

Amusement dances in his eyes as he takes in your feigned glare. “You didn’t seem to be taking it particularly seriously,” he counters, tucking one knee beneath his chin, propping it on his forearm as he watches you. Locks obscure some of the gold in his eyes as he peers at you from beneath a raised brow. “And your solution was to whinny like you were sulking?” You shoot back, smiling faintly.

“Well, maybe if you actually rode your horse from time to time, he wouldn’t be so grumpy,” he mutters playfully. A surprised laugh bursts from your lips, landing a knock to his shoulder in chastisement. He doesn’t so much as budge—merely smiles, propping his jaw on his arm instead of keeping the lower portion of his features obscured.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” he grins, watching the Sidra reflect in your eyes. “I’m laughing at the fact you would willing compare yourself to a horse,” you return. “Why not something more majestic? Like a lion?”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a lion?” You try to suppress your smile—why do you even bother when you’re around him? “Would you rather I compare you to a rat?” Bas barks a laugh, loud enough to draw a few sets of eyes, your own widening at the volume.

“Your flattery could use some work,” he says, still smiling. Tension releases your shoulders, breath easing from your lungs. A cool breeze flutters by, making you shiver. He shifts closer.

“What’s stopping you?” He asks gently, allowing the quiet to calm the two of you. Lips purse, teeth prodding your lower one. “I just couldn’t,” you murmur, “like I said: it would be too much.” His brow narrows, attention remaining solely on you.

“How?” He asks. “It would just be for a little, yeah? Until you find something to do.”

“But what if I don’t find something to do? Then I’d just be a dead weight, and I’d have to go back without having done anything,” you say, softly. “I wouldn’t be able to face them.”

Bas shifts again, lowering both legs over the edge, his thigh pressing to your own. “You’re smart. You’ll find something.” You roll your eyes at his false confidence. “You have nothing to base that on,” you smile, attention briefly flicking to him. “But I appreciate the reassurance.”

“Nothing to base it on,” he scoffs. “You read essays for fun. What other sources do I need?” You release an indignant huff, stubbornly setting your gaze back on the river.

When he figures you’re ignoring him, his hand darts behind you, quickly pinching your backside, before returning to his lap. You start, then turn to glare at him, “Bas.” He gives you one of his grins, and you falter. Heat settles in your lower belly. “I think it would be a nice arrangement, don’t you?” He drawls, roughly. “You wouldn’t have to sneak around as much. Could just roll out of bed and straight into mine.”

Something dark and syrupy gathers between your legs and you glare at him harder, heat warming your skin. “We’re in public, Bas,” you chastise, eyes darting around to make sure no one detects the shift in your scent. No one except for the male who’s leaning in a little closer now, nosing at your throat with interest. “Then maybe we should go somewhere else, yeah?”

Golden eyes lock with your own, darkened with hunger. It hits you like a kick in the stomach; muscles practically melt. “You’re way too good at that for my liking,” you breathe, already having trouble looking away from his mouth. Lips lift into a smirk, sharp eyes gleaming, “well I get a lot of practice, don’t I?”

Teeth push into your lower lip, and all it takes is the few seconds you look away from him to make up your mind.

You need a night to empty your head. To feel again.

And Bas is the perfect relief.

————

The story repeats itself, more familiar to you than anything else in your life.

Hot breath tickles the nape of your neck, lips lifting into a helpless smile as you attempt to move out of the way. Arms wrap snugly around your waist, dragging you across the mattress, back flush to his naked front. Hair brushes against you, clean and rough, making you squirm in his grip. Vaguely trying not to wake him.

It’s over when he huffs a soft laugh onto your skin, and you lightly elbow him in the ribs. “Bas…” you laugh quietly, rolling over to face him. Golden eyes cut into your own, already clear despite sleep weighing his lids. “Trying to sneak away?” He asks, mouth quirked in a faint grin. You roll your eyes, noting the beams of sunlight streaming in from the circular skylight. Brow furrows, “what time is it?”

His expression mirrors your own, raising to peer over your head at the old clock mounted on the opposite wall. “It’s eleven thirty. About.”

You groan into his chest, ducking back beneath the covers. Count to seven. Pop back out. “I should be going, shouldn’t I?”

Bas quirks a brow, watching you fondly, well-accustomed to the questions you ask yourself. Watches as you sigh again, then roll over, allowing you to leave. Especially when it gives him a view of your lovely body, softened by sleep as you move lethargically to find your clothes. Pick them up. Set them on the bed. Move for the washroom. He uses the time to steady himself.

In retrospect, you were pretty quick—the two of you up and out of his house before the hour hand struck one. Walking up the short path through the garden that leads to the River House before half past.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah?” He checks, hands tucked into his pockets. Casual and at ease. Comfortable in his skin.

Lips quirk playfully, “greedy.”

His mouth matches your own, “you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I’m not the one who was at attention first thing in the morning, Bas,” you whisper, smiling as his golden eyes gleam. “I’d be a little confused if you were, dove. Very flattered, though.”

Lips part in a grin, cheeks aching from your time spent with him. “Okay, I’ll drop by in a few days,” you smile, aware of your own reluctance to return to the house. “Try not to lose your head in the meantime.” Hand presses down on the handle, door swinging open, a gust of cool air greeting you.

Bas grins—one of his grins. “I’d be happy to give it to you,” he teases, eyes gleaming with amusement and a drop of sincerity. “Whenever you want, dove. It’s your call.” Heat flushes your skin at his offer—what even sex can’t decriminalise to your mind. He retreats a step, gold flashing in the sun as he grins easily, “you can’t hide from it forever. One day, yeah? I’ll show you how good it can be.”

You want to reply, but he’s already sauntering off, hands still tucked in his pockets, casual and leisurely. Bastard.

His offer repeats, how nonchalantly he regards that particular intimacy. As if it doesn’t go against the very root of human society. The foundations you were brought up on. Highlighting a primary difference between here and where you grew up. Women aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, let alone have it to themselves.

Sighing, shoulders weighed down, you allow the door to close at your back. Already missing him.

Walking into the entrance hall, you spot a parcel sat atop the entrance table, beside the vase filled with flora. Eyes flick about the room, checking no one’s around as you make for the stairs, aiming for your room.

“You aren’t going to take it?” Azriel asks, appearing in the doorway leading to the sitting room. You still, blinking. Turn around warily. “Pardon?” Hazel flicks to the package, “the parcel. Aren’t you going to open it?” Attention moves to the table between you. “That’s not—… I didn’t get anything?” You say, shifting on your feet.

“The note says it’s for you,” he replies, remaining the other side of the room.

Debate your options. Slowly walk forward, picking up the package. The note is indeed carrying your name. Flip it over to read its underside. In a clean, elegant script is scrawled: For your education.

Brows narrow, turning the parcel in your hands. No note saying who it’s from. Maybe it’s a late birthday present? “Thanks…” you murmur, absently, “I would have walked past it.” Eyes squinted in confusion, you make to turn around, interested in unwrapping it. Discoveries to be made.

“Eris left it.” Azriel states quietly. Intrigue vanishes, feeling like you’re holding scorching coals.

Gaze lifts to meet his own. “He did?” It seems he enjoys stirring up chaos.

Azriel nods, attention never leaving you. “Did he mention what’s inside?” You ask hesitantly, loosening your grip on the hard rectangle. He shakes his head in answer, making you sigh.

“And I suppose you want to know what’s inside?” You ask, grim smile on your lips. His throat rolls, eyes flicking away. “I would appreciate it if you let me know once you open it.” Blink away your surprise. Nod slowly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Okay.”

Hastily clear your throat, emotion clogging your chest. Turn to head to your bedroom. “Are you feeling better?” He asks, again causing you to stop. Peer at him close, wary. “I am…” you hedge, watching him closely.

He nods, “good.” Shifts on his feet. “I’m glad.”

Your heart skips a beat, staring at him with poorly concealed surprise. Something flickers in his gaze, eyes briefly flitting away from your own, allowing you to shift your features to cover what you’re feeling.

“Yeah, I had… I had a good morning,” you mumble, peering down at your feet to hide the flush on your cheeks. He hums in acknowledgement, and your toes curl in your shoes, something warm and tender spreading across your breastbone. “Pillage any bookstores while you were out?” He asks, enough sincerity to have your lips stretching wide into a grin, cheeks aching all over again, painful enough you have to try to force it away.

“Not today. I thought I’d leave some for Nesta,” you reply, meeting his gaze. His features are neutral, but the edges of his irises are softer—warmer than normal. You quickly look away, stomach fluttering wildly. Too many butterflies suddenly resurrected for you to handle.

A peaceful quiet calms the room, allowing you some time to temporarily bask in the warmth of his approval.

“About our conversation, a few days ago…” he begins gently. Carefully. You shift on your feet, but don’t flee from the spot.

“I’m sorry for how I went about it,” he settles on. “Eris… There are some awful people in this world, and what he did to Mor…” he blows out a breath, shoulders loosening some of their tension. “I wouldn’t want that happening to you because he’d managed to convince you he could be trusted. I couldn’t forgive myself if that happened,” he admits quietly. “None of us could.”

Your heart rises up into your throat, pounding wildly as your eyes meet. Hazel calm, and steady. Tough and reassuring. You manage a weak nod of your head, fingers tightening on the package. “It’s fine,” you say gently, too overwhelmed to manage much more. “I’d already… You don’t need to apologise,” you reassure, fighting to keep your voice from trembling. “I’d practically forgotten.”

His eyes flicker, then he nods, accepting your assurance. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” You nod back, mirroring the movement, “yeah. Okay.” It takes you a moment to remember yourself, clutching the parcel tighter, “I’ll go open this now, then.” You give him a smile before you turn, managing to ascend the stairs without turning to see if he’s still there.

Lungs hold at full capacity, near bursting with something warm and fuzzy as you peel back the brown paper, removing the string keeping it together. Take a few minutes to scan the pages of the volume, attention flitting mindlessly over diagrams and neatly written essays, quick to reach the end. It looks interesting, titled: Prythian: An Anthology of Discoveries.

While flicking through, you catch glimpses of constellations, depictions of your solar system, detailed illustrations of the planet closest to your own—further from the centre. Near the end, one in particular catches your attention: three overlapping ovals, appearing to make up a six-petaled flower that contains some small dots at its heart. Intriguing. Utterly fascinating.

You reach the final page, and make to flip back to the beginning, intending on reading each passage in detail, but—you’d said you’d let him see. He’s trusting you to follow through, and you’re not going to disappoint. Not now he’s allowing you some leeway.

So you hop to your feet, and make your way to where you saw him last, happily handing it over for inspection. Hazel flicks over the cover, taking in the title, scanning the first few pages in detail before shutting it again. “Thank you,” he says softly, “I’ll go through it quickly and then you’re free to read away.” A smile lifts your mouth, heart fluttering as you nod your head. “It’s fine,” you say, “take your time. I get you’re busy.”

Then you turn, not wanting him to see the deep flush on your cheeks—embarrassingly warm—and hurriedly make your way back to the silence of your bedroom. Clean and tidy, at last.

Heart pounding, you lean against your door. Replaying the gentle talk he’d given you. It’s been too long since he’s acted like that, breathing becoming shallow at the memory alone.

Slowly, you inhale a deep breath, pressing against the wood as you slide down, until you’ve reached the bare floor. Hand slides across your chest, feeling the drum of your pulse. Hold the breath to steady your lungs.

And when that breath releases, relief crushes down with it.

Finally.

Finally, you’ve gotten something right.

————

Days pass in a blur, and you find yourself pondering what to wear.

Bas had told you to find him in a couple of days, and quite frankly, you’re looking forward to it. Azriel will be done with your book soon, too. Probably either today or tomorrow, making your heart flutter. So many exciting things happening all at once! So many things to be happy about! It’s exhilarating.

The sky is clear as usual, sun beating down onto the cobbled streets. The flower baskets hanging either side doors and windows sway, leaves and petals glowing in the warmth, curling at the edges. You should wear something loose, to keep cool.

Before you know it, you’re ready and dressed, descending the staircase when knocks are landed to the front door. Golden eyes gleam with mischief when you answer, refreshing breeze sweeping in, playing with your skirts. He’s in the front garden, dark locks tied back, a few that aren’t long enough to reach framing his features. The carved beauty of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the spark in his eyes…exhilarating.

“Bas,” you greet, smiling. “What are you doing here? Did you miss me?” He rolls his eyes, hands remaining tucked at his back, something rustling as he shifts. “Just making sure you weren’t going to chicken out, dove,” he says cockily, lips parting in a familiar grin. “And, well, I got you these.” From behind his back he pulls out a paper wrapped bouquet, containing pink and white baby’s breath. The flora is dried to keep it preserved, so it will store nicely in your room, without demanding any particular care.

Your can feel your features stretch as a smile overtakes your entire face. “Bas, are you serious?” Tentatively, you accept the menagerie of flowers, eyes gleaming as you peer into the swirl of colour, so complimentary to one another. He shrugs, “you seemed down last time. I thought these might brighten you up a little.” You meet his gaze, gold soft around the edges, and you feel yourself melt a little inside. “Thank you, Bas. You really didn’t need to.” You turn back to the bouquet, smiling.

“I wanted to,” he replies, nonchalantly. “So go put them up in your room, yeah? Then we can go out and have fun.”

You nod absently, making to head back inside, “where did you even find them? These don’t look endemic to the Night Court?”

“New shop,” he calls, “had all these long names in the window. Guessed you’d like stuff like that.” Lip press together in a smile, hurrying into the entrance hall and up the stairs, setting them on the table before returning. “Did you pick these out because they were the nicest or because they had the most complicated name?” You hop down the last step, mindlessly glancing at the table in the centre of the room.

“You couldn’t waterboard the title out of me,” he admits, a smile lighting his eyes. “Something like Gyrophilia Panicrolilia.” A snort bursts from you at the tangle of consonants.

“Gypsophilia Paniculata,” you amend, “from the Caryophyllaceae family. Same as carnations?” Bas sighs, “of course you know the name.”

“No,” you laugh, trying to make it clear you’re being sincere. “I just read a book on botany the other day. Otherwise I swear I wouldn’t have known. It’s a coincidence.” Bas gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you, making you smile wider. “Well, shall we?”

You’re about to cross the threshold when you hear your name being called from the sitting room, boots lightly scuffing on the floor as to not surprise you. Stiffening, you turn to face Azriel, stood in the doorway. Hazel pierces into you, having already marked the guest at the door. A strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. He doesn’t like Bas. “Yes?” You ask, fingers wringing together.

Boots move forward, making you tense as he steps fully into view, coming to stand at your side. Golden eyes flick over the male, his familiar lips quirking and you send him a sharp glance. He barely managed to keep his mouth shut the last time they collided. “Azriel,” he greets, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Bas,” he returns, features neutral. Anxiety swarms the pit of your stomach, turning to fluttering butterflies when his fingertips graze the base of your spine. Tension seeps from your shoulders, attention helplessly attracted to his gravitational pull.

Hazel remains locked on gold for a second longer than necessary, before latching onto you. Skin prickles beneath his focus, features flushing with warmth despite the breeze. “I thought I’d let you know I’m finished with the book,” he says calmly. “Feel free to collect it whenever you want.” Slowly, you nod in acknowledgement. Swallow. “Okay,” you manage, world fading a little around him. “Is there a time that’d be good for you?” You ask, attempting to steady out your heartbeat.

Azriel pauses, thinking. “After dinner would be good,” he settles on, and you nod.

“Okay,” you answer, “I’ll knock after dinner, then.” His eyes flick to Bas briefly, and you tense. Are either of them going to clash? “Well,” you break the silence, not waiting to find out. “I’ll see you later.” You offer one of your better smiles. He nods, still watching Bas. Step forward, falling into pace beside him, heading out into the bright sun-warmed streets of Velaris.

“You heave really questionable taste, you know that?” Bas states once you’re both down the street, out of ear-shot. Smile, and roll your eyes. “Isn’t that obvious? I spend so much time with you.” He snorts, shoving you lightly. “I’m serious,” he says, eyes gleaming, “you looked like you were about to start glowing.” The laughter stumbles in your chest, coming out a little strained, but you manage to persevere. “Very funny, Bas. Now can we change the subject?” You offer, glaring at him playfully.

“All I’m saying is you picked a difficult guy,” he comments, eyes scanning the shops. Sighing, your attention flits into different windows, picking out all sorts of items and antiquities. “Why don’t you two get on?” You subvert, trying not to peer at him to mark his reaction, “I’ve never seen you quarrel with anyone else?”

Bas shrugs, “how should I know. We’ve barely ever spoken before.” Your brow dips, but he finally seems content to let the subject drop. You’re more than happy to let it slip away.

————

“Come in.”

Toes curl at the sound of his voice, but you gently push away the heat, stepping into his office, scanning the room curiously. He’s sat at his desk, piles of paper neatly stacked a few inches from the edges, ink pots and quills as well as a few daggers litter the remaining space. Typical decoration for him. The room is fairly sparse of personal touch, save for a rug laying atop the floor, muffling to step of your feet.

“Hi,” you say quietly, smiling as hazel latches onto you. Giddiness warms your heart, melting your bones to soft liquid. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

Azriel straightens in his chair, setting aside whatever report he was inevitably filing, giving you his full attention. “No, actually. Perfect timing—I was just finishing.” A sigh breathes from your lips, tension seeping from your shoulders as you step further into the room. “Was everything okay? With the book, I mean,” you ask, automatically seeking out the neatly bound volume.

He nods, standing as he picks it up, handing it over. “Do you know why he gave it to you?” Blink once. Redirect your attention to the anthology, gently plying it from his hands, bringing it to rest against your torso. Like a strange, make-shift shield. “Not really,” you admit. “We had a brief talk about my orrery, but he seemed fairly disinterested.”

“Your orrery?” He asks. “Like the one Rhys has?” Your head raises by itself, meeting his piercing gaze. Eyes sparkle as you nod, grinning, “mine’s a little smaller—by quite a bit, actually. But ‘Lain got it for me and” —you shift the volume into one of your arms, Azriel’s hands flexing at his sides as if you might drop it— “it’s the most beautiful creation I’ve ever seen. It’s utterly incredible. I’d love to show you sometime—it’s so intricately carved, and the texture is rendered so lovingly.” You stop momentarily to ease in breath. “But really, it’s utterly incredible.”

Azriel looks vaguely surprised. “I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever heard you speak,” he comments, gaze flitting to the book, “I didn’t realise you had an interest in science.” Heat flushes your cheeks, torn between clarifying that you aren’t trying to disprove the existence of the Mother, and telling him more about the worlds and the universe. Telling him everything you can think of regarding the subject, actually. It’s all perched on the tip of your tongue, ready to be recited with perfect accuracy.

“Did you have a good day today?” He asks instead, knocking you off your feet. Memories of the stars vanish, replaced by a blank space. Blink once. Twice. Nod slowly. “Yeah…I did,” you answer softly, unaccustomed to being asked after. Clear your throat. “What about you?” You fumble out, “have fun doing your” —peer at the stack of reports on his desk, wincing— “…work?” He nods back, “I suppose. It’s out of the way, now.” You nod in acknowledgement, fingers itching to tangle with one another.

“Okay,” you say, softly, “remember not to overwork yourself…” You chicken out, unable to finish with his name. Toes curl in your shoes. Just the two of you. Two people in one room. Two people alone. Alone together. Heartbeat spikes. Book shifts in your arms. Deep breath.

“I—… There’s something…you might…” you fumble, skin flushing, unsure what to say. “I mean, it might not— You might not need to know, but maybe it would be better to tell you? But I don’t…” Embarrassment weighs in your gut, numbness gliding down your back. His attention weighs into you, making you shift to your other foot, resting the heavy book on your hip. He holds out an offering hand and you mindlessly return the volume, wringing your fingers. Deep breath.

“I…sometimes glow.”

He blinks. Nods for you to continue. Bite your lip.

“It’s only really been my hands…” you say quietly, “but they glow, quite brightly, sometimes. It’s kind of green…maybe a bit yellow? —like Starfall.” He nods again, silently telling you to continue. Tongue flicks out to lick your lips, finding them dry. “That’s…it.” Shift on your feet.

“When did it first happen?” He asks, causing you to perk up again.

“Maybe a month…” —his brows narrow— “or a fortnight ago? I’m sorry, I can’t really…” He nods in understanding. “That’s fine,” he reassures, easily sustaining the weight of the thick volume. Gestures to his desk. You follow him around the furniture obediently. Heart flutters when he motions for you to sit in the chair. His chair.

“Do you remember what you were doing when you first started glowing?” He asks, though his voice is a distant pleasure in your mind. Attempting not to lose your mind as his warmth wraps around you, his scent seeping into your clothing, seeping into your skin.

Your name sounds on his tongue, and you blink, looking up at him. Blink away the fogginess. “Would it be easier to talk elsewhere?” He suggests, gently. Shoulders a little stiff. You swallow, hurriedly shaking your head, “no, I’m fine…just remembering.”

He nods, “if you want to move, that’s fine.” You nod back. Pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “It was when we went to the… With Elain? To…” Lips press together. She was going to see Lucien. Hazel flickers briefly, but he waves it off, gesturing for you to continue. Heart flutters. Swallow again.

“And…you know I ended up in the river?” You ask, gently. Dips his head in response. Bite your lip in embarrassment. “Well, I got…quite angry about it.” Surprise lights his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut, allowing you to finish speaking. Nod to yourself slowly, “and I got back up onto the path and…hit…him.” Dip your head, peering down at your feet, anxiety twisting sharply in your gut. Nausea rising. “Please don’t let him know I told you. He’ll probably be furious if—”

A surprised laugh cuts you off, making you look up at him.

There’s a dimple to one corner of his lips, the edges curved upward, and he’s laughing. Hand covering his mouth, attempting to quiet himself. You stare.

Air ceases flowing.

Mirth dances in his hazel gaze, while the laughter stops as quickly as it started, but… You stare. Eyes lock. You can’t look away.

Azriel gestures for you to carry on. “Go ahead.”

“That was” —clear your throat of the sudden raspiness— “that was the first time it happened.”

“Did Eris see?” He asks, making you stiffen. Yes, he definitely saw.

“I’m not sure…” you hedge, shifting in the seat. “It happened quite quickly, so maybe not?”

“If there was enough time for you to notice, it’s more than likely he did, too,” Azriel reasons steadily, settling back into a strategising mindset. Hard eyes flick to you, “you should have told me this earlier. Why didn’t you say anything on the way back?”

“I was scared,” you whisper. The words out before you can stop them. Humiliation burns through your stomach lining. “Anyway,” you murmur, softly, trying to tuck deeper into the chair. To take up less space in his office. “I only noticed because of the feeling. Not particularly the colour.” Burning is quite difficult to ignore.

Quiet stretches between you, making your nerves wriggle.

“Please don’t be angry,” you manage, looking up at his unreadable features. “I know I should have said something, but I just— There wasn’t a good time,” you finish quietly. Duck your head. You should have told them sooner. “A good time,” he repeats slowly. Processing your excuse.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. Unable to look at him.

Azriel sighs deeply. Flexes his hands. Folds his arms. “You know you should have said something,” he says at last. Bite the inside of your lip. Nod your head. Quiet stretches. “Any information regarding your magic,” he begins, “is information you should not be giving out. It jeopardises our unified front. Imagine if he had brought it up during a meeting without us knowing. Can you see how that would have gone?” You nod your head again.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Head hanging between your shoulders.

He sighs, weight settling in your stomach. “Better now than later,” he says at last, and relief crushes into your bones. Shoulder slumping as you settle back into his chair. “You should tell Rhys, or Feyre, whoever you’d prefer, and we can start figuring out what’s going on with your magic. Okay?”

You stare at him. Slowly shake your head. His eyes narrow.

“No,” you mange. “No, I don’t— I’m not telling them.”

“You can’t hide your powers,” he chides, giving you a look that doesn’t settle well in your stomach. “You’ve told me. It’s no different.”

“No,” you repeat. Still shaking your head.

“Then I’ll have to tell them.”

“No,” you say, panic working its way into your throat. “No, you can’t.”

“I can,” he counters, “it’s the right thing to do.” Eyes narrow, “why are you against it?”

“I was there, you know,” you remind, gripping tight to the chair. “When Nesta—” Cut yourself off. Try again, softer. “When she was deteriorating.”

“I can promise you won’t be forced to train relentlessly every morning. That was solely to give her something to latch onto.” His brow narrows, watching you intently. “And she’s done well. Very well. You shouldn’t be scared of becoming like her.”

“Give me a month,” you ask, hands gripping the arm rests either side of the chair. “Give me a month, and if I haven’t worked anything out, I’ll tell them.” Azriel pauses, marking the trembling of your fingers.

“A week,” he offers.

“A fortnight,” you counter, joints practically splintering in your knuckles.

Hazel glitters in the low light. Then he nods, reluctantly. “A fortnight.”

————

Arms ache from the bound volume. Dust motes shooting out as it thumps on your desk—pushed up against the wall.

Cough, waving away the particles. Sit down. Stare at the anthology with dull eyes.

It’ll be exciting once you start. Just open the first page, and you’ll be alight again.

(A fortnight.)

Spine creaks as you flip open the book; your brow dips. There should be a stamp of some kind—an indentation to say where to return it to. It’s always right on the inside, yet there’s nothing here.

Frown deepens, running fingers over its insides, tracing the ribbing. It’s thicker than you’re accustomed to. Nails catch a the edges; you blink. Slide deeper, carefully prying the paper from the edge, as if it’s been stuck down from age.

A dull smile dusts your lips, spotting the stamp you’d been searching for. Triumph sparks and dies in the blink of an eye as you pull the paper from the book—clearly misplaced.

Ink catches you attention. Probably an annotation from some past scholar. Raise it to the light to see clearly.

Heart stutters. Take in the clean, elegant script.

Hello, cygnet.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

#CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #CBMTHY Part 6 #Azriel #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader #Azriel x reader angst #Eris #Eris Vanserra #Night Court #Autumn Court #acotar #acosf

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the-boy-meets-evil · 5 months

Text

all i want for christmas - xmh (the8)

(where you want minghao for secret santa so you can prove he's not really that hard to buy something for.)

pairing: minghao (the8) x gn!reader genre: friends to lovers | fluff rating: sfw (but i still don't want minors interacting) word count: ~1.8k warnings: none, really. this is just fluff and a secret santa exchange. no pronouns used for reader.

a/n: this is for @k-vanity's 25 tips for surviving the holidays. day 14 - secret santa 💕 i'm also counting this as a drabble.

“Are you sure you want to trade for him?” Mingyu asks, eyeing you suspiciously.

“For the last time, yes,” you huff out.

Are you actually sure? No. But, this plan has to work. Every year you and your whole friend group draw names for Secret Santa. This year, you were really hoping to get Minghao. For a lot of reasons you’re not trying to share with Mingyu. Thankfully, he’s terrible at keeping secrets from you and had instantly whined about getting the hardest friend. He’s relieved you want to trade, even if he’s also a little suspicious. Not suspicious enough to hold onto the most difficult person to buy for, though.

“Your funeral,” he says with a shrug. “Who’d you have again?”

“Seulgi,” you remind him.

“Oh that’s so easy. She leaves notes about what she wants everywhere,” he says, satisfaction plain on his face.

“So does Minghao, if you know where to look,” you add, keeping it a little vague.

“If you so say,” he says.

Mingyu’s not suspicious enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. Literally. Minghao is famous in your friend group for being difficult to buy presents for. Famous for not even pretending to like a present. You wonder how many presents he’s taken back in exchange for something that he wants more. Which does make the whole thing a little more daunting, especially because you’re not supposed to spend over a certain amount. That’s the whole premise of doing a Secret Santa with your friends. It’s so that you don’t have to go broke buying presents because you have a lot of friends. Of course, you’re all older now than when you started as broke university students. Still, it’s nice to hold onto the tradition.

Now that you’ve switched, you’re nervous. Everything in your plan got you to the point of switching (and kind of how to pull off the perfect gift within your budget). You haven’t considered what he’ll say or what you’re going to say to him. Or if you’re even going to admit what you went through to make sure you had him in the exchange. You know you should just rip the band-aid off. Easier said than done, though.

The reality is that you want to be the one to give Minghao a present for a lot of reasons. You want to be able to get him something he’ll actually like. To show him that you listen to him and you know him. To show him that he’s not actually that bad to buy for, because you can tell it gets to him sometimes. That he thinks he’s just difficult, which he definitely is, but there’s more to him than that. There’s also the biggest reason you wanted to pull his name. That you have a giant crush on him. One you’re shocked he hasn’t picked up on and just as shocked other friends haven’t seemed to pick up on, either. Well, except for Seulgi. Then again, she never misses a beat. It’s useful that she knows, too, since you’re planning to ask her for help in securing the perfect gift.

(Seulgi comes through, like the actual best friend in the world, with a killer discount on a beautiful designer scarf. Minghao hasn’t eyed that exact one, but you think you know him well enough to know that it’s still something he’ll like. It fits seamlessly into his style and it’s the kind of thing you can easily see him buying for himself. True to her word and the plan, Seulgi set aside several pieces that were returned because the brand had really weird rules about reselling things that left the store. They take returns because of the goodwill with customers, but never resell the items even close to full price.)

When it comes time to actually exchange gifts, you’re a little nervous again. Didn’t think it through that you do this as a group, so everyone will see what everyone else got. Including the care put into your present for Minghao and the obvious, at least to you, significance. As if sensing your nerves, Seulgi shoots you a warm smile, then directs you to take a couple breaths.

“I get to open my present first, right?” Soonyoung calls out. He’s already looking through the presents on the table.

“You go first every year,” Seungcheol points out.

“Right, so it’s tradition,” Soonyoung agrees.

“Or maybe someone else could go…” Seungcheol starts.

“Got it!” Soonyoung calls.

“Just let him have it,” Seulgi laughs out.

As it turns out, she had him and got him a silly tiger plush and also a ticket to go to a drive through safari experience where they had tigers. Unsurprisingly, it’s a strong start and Soonyoung is thrilled. Seulgi opens her present next and it carries on just as well. It seems that everyone likes their presents, at least so far. Though, someone makes a joke that Minghao hasn’t gotten his yet. You’re still deep in thought and worry when you finally realize that your friends are trying to get your attention. It seems like it’s your turn to go next. Still somewhat lost in thought, you find your present. It’s easier because there aren’t many left and one of them is the one you bought.

The second you open your present, it’s all you can think about. It’s a beautifully decorated scrapbook, so carefully put together that it almost makes you want to tear up. You start flipping through the pages and it’s like walking through all your favorite memories with your closest friends. The road trips and the sporting events. Concerts and beach days. Bonfires and drunken parties. A complete catalog of your best memories, without you even having to tell whoever made it. Each page is uniquely decorated without it being overdone. As you’re flipping through each page, you notice that there’s one person in more pictures than anyone else. Minghao. Is it that obvious to whoever made this that you have feelings for him?

“I hope you like it,” Minghao says and he actually sounds nervous.

You look up at him, surprised. “You did this?”

“Yeah, I realized after I wrapped it that I forgot to include a card,” he admits.

“This is honestly the best gift I’ve ever gotten, thank you,” you say sincerely.

Seungcheol breaks the moment with a laugh. “Looks like you’re up next, Hao.”

“Right, yeah,” Minghao says. He clears his throat as he stands up.

It’s a little hard for you to figure out where to look. You’re so enamored with the present you got from Minghao that you want to keep looking through it and appreciating the little details he put in. You find yourself aimlessly running your fingers over the pages. But, you also want to know what he thinks of your present. The real reaction as he opens it. Which does win out as he sits back down with his present on his lap. He’s careful as he unwraps it, almost like he’s preparing for whatever is inside. Over the years, he’s definitely been a little better about reacting to presents. Maybe he’s worried this will be another present like that. You know watching his reaction was absolutely the right choice when his eyes go wide and his mouth opens a little in shock. His fingers run over the fabric carefully before he reaches for the card. The smile when he reads the card is so genuine that your heart melts into a puddle. Maybe it’s more than a crush.

“I don’t know how you did this and stayed under budget, but thank you,” Minghao says with more emotion than you’re expecting.

“Hey, yeah, that’s a foul! You can’t go over our budget just to get him something he wants,” Mingyu argues.

“It wasn’t over budget, I sold the scarf. I have the receipt still,” Seulgi says.

“That’s even worse!” Mingyu argues with a pout.

“You’re just mad that someone finally got Minghao the perfect present,” Seungcheol teases.

“I hate it here,” Mingyu says.

The conversation turns back to the remaining presents. Nobody really seems to have another comment on the moment that passed between you and Minghao over the presents. Neither of you has ever gotten the other for Secret Santa like this and it’s gone much differently than you expected. Instead of feeling nervous, you’re feeling a little hopeful. At least if your present is anything to go off. Minghao’s never put this much effort into a present. Not that you can remember, at least. Maybe, you’re not trying to get ahead of yourself, but maybe he feels a little something more for you as well.

You’re a pretty disengaged from the conversation, especially once everyone finishes opening their presents and things turn to what movie to watch. Instead, you head into the kitchen to get someone to drink, missing the way Minghao’s eyes follow your movement. A little surprised when he appears in the kitchen with you.

“Thank you again,” he says quietly. It still makes you jump a bit.

“Oh!” you gasp. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad you liked it. I know it’s kind of simple.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Minghao disagrees. “How did you manage?”

“I told Seulgi that I had you and roughly what I wanted, so she set aside some returns. Only ones that came back immediately and clearly hadn’t been worn,” you rush out.

Minghao’s touch on your arm is gentle, instantly calming. “I’m so thankful you got me.”

“Me too,” you agree. “Well, I didn’t, actually. I traded with Mingyu.”

“You did?” Minghao asks, seeming surprised but also pleased.

“Yeah, I wanted to get you something,” you say.

“I did, too,” he answers softly. “But, I was lucky enough to just draw your name.”

“Your present was amazing. I meant it, it’s one of the best I’ve ever gotten,” you whisper.

“It’s what you deserve. I know I didn’t spend much,” Minghao starts.

“No, it’s everything. I can’t imagine how much time you must’ve put into this. I’m not sure anyone’s ever done anything so thoughtful for me,” you assure him, eyes soft on his.

“You deserve only thoughtful things,” he tells you.

“You, too,” is all you can say.

“Do you think, well, would it be weird if we got dinner sometime?” he asks and you can’t hide the shock.

“Let’s go, you two!” Seungcheol calls.

“Like a date?” you ask, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“Forget it, it’s weird,” he backtracks. When he starts to leave, you grab his arm.

“Yeah, I’d love to, but only if it’s actually a date,” you tell him. If you thought the smile over his present was big, this is infinitely bigger.

“How about right now?” he presses.

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” you agree.

“Then, let’s go,” he says, hand held out for you.

And you take it. It’s one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made. You didn’t even have to tell him that you’d been thinking of asking him the same thing. The holidays truly can be so magical.

i hope you liked it! please let me know your thoughts or give it a reblog if you enjoyed it 💕

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bogleech · 4 months

Note

i keep wanting to draw anthro maggots but they end up looking like beetle larvae instead- any ideas on how one might stylize a maggot person to make it a little more distinctly A Maggot? it's especially hard to me bc maggots are like THE MOST featureless insect larvae.... which i suppose counts as a defining feature in and of itself- but i dunno. im mostly just curious to hear your approach!!!

Yeah beetle grubs, caterpillars and a lot of other insect larvae have armored heads with complete jaws structures as well as six little legs, plus they often have a defined looking "top" and "bottom" with ridged and wrinkles almost like they got soft armored down their back

But maggots are weird! They streamlined EVERYTHING down to where they have no legs at all, not even vestigial ones, and their body segments almost evolved towards something like radial symmetry by being the same all the way around!

Then there's the fact that they sort of lost most of a "head." Not only is there no exoskeletal cranial case (bug skull) to protect it but there are no jaws and never any eyes; there's just a little hole for drinking liquefied food, a pair of tusk-like hooks for gripping surfaces, and a pair of eye-like knobs that are actually chemosensory (noses)

The weird, tiny walrus-face is totally unique! They don't have any chewing mouthparts because they only need to "drink" the particles of rotting matter they live on, and like adult flies, they help this along by secreting digestive enzymes!

Maggots also have these very distinct, furry looking bands at every segment, which help them grip surfaces like a tire tread or the sole of a shoe. If you compare this photo with the one above you'll also notice how the segments can retract in and out like a telescope!

The last special thing about common maggot anatomy is that they are technically semi-aquatic animals, because maggots evolved to be buried head-first completely in their own food as much as possible and rotten corpses are WET. In order to breathe, maggots have a pair of breathing spiracles on their rear ends, which they try to keep exposed to the air!

There are exceptions to all of this, though; there are species that can be fully aquatic, fully terrestrial, herbivorous, parasitic or predatory, and some ancient fly groups (including mosquitoes!) whose larvae still have fully armored heads and even eyes. Everything above is universal to the maggots you find in rotten stuff though, so what most people think of when they hear the term :) When I designed a hybrid human and blowfly maggot for the Mortasheen setting I deliberately made it look like a doofy cartoon Walrus, and I gave its segments large spines that can be seen in some parasitic maggots, including botflies:

And when I made a maggot character for my webcomic Awful Hospital I designed her like a little spacesuit or a parka (the resemblance to Kenny was an accident)

Actually I don't think I ever shared this most recent "main artwork" of Maggie. I don't know what idea inspiration any of this might provide but basically a maggot is a prickly living sock with fangs. Or I guess from a design and engineering perspective, a maggot is a biological drill. The tiny end starts a hole, the rest of the body is just a flaring cone perfectly equipped to keep making the hole deeper.

#biology #animals #nature #science

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skittlesfics · 3 months

Text

something soft

name: something soft

pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader

word count: 1212

summary: Settling down in Jackson has given you and Joel back a lot of things.

content/warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, vague references to outbreak difficulties, unbetad

author's note: OMG, so I have been writing Joel fics/Pedro character fics for over a year now and have been too much of a coward to actually post anything. I decided to finally suck it up and join an event so that I was forced to post. This is a valentine for @beskarandblasters . Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. -

Joel’s hand was warm where it wrapped around your ankle, his thumb stroking idly at the skin just below the joint as he turned to the next page of his book. It was a large-type Western that you had looted from an old library as a joke – but one that he became more appreciative of as the strain of years on alert made it harder and harder to focus on smaller script at night.

Many things were different now that you were settled into Jackson proper, but this was definitely one of your favorites.

Quiet moments out on the road meant that Joel was planning your next move or that all three of you were gathering energy for whatever horror was to come next. There was no space for leisure or relaxation in that quiet, even if there were rare moments of levity dappled into the shadows of survival. Here, though, in Jackson, you were both learning to let the quiet in.

Joel pushed his thumb into your ankle a little harder, just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Those memories were a dangerous path that you both had trodden too many times; He could see the spiral starting in your expression even before you knew it was there. When you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze, he smiled, sliding the bookmark Ellie had drawn for him as a Christmas gift into place. (Holidays were another thing that Jackson had given back to the three of you.) You let your eyes get drawn to the sketch of the astronaut floating over something that vaguely resembled the moon. I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down!

“Got something to show you, if you’re amenable.” He said after setting the book down carefully on the fraying arm of the couch. His voice was rich and low, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes seeking something in yours. If you didn’t know any better, you might have said that Joel Miller was nervous.

You couldn’t hold back your own soft smile, swinging one leg off of Joel’s lap in an attempt to sit up. He held onto your other ankle for a moment, tracing idle circles into your flesh with his thumb before realizing his error and releasing you.

You sat up and bookmarked your own novel. Well Read Mother Clucker is what yours said, with a drawing of what you supposed must be yourself as a chicken. “I suppose I’m amenable.” You answered, nudging his shoulder as you stretched to loosen your taught muscles.

He huffed, fond smile still crooked on his lips, and stood.

“You stay right here and close those pretty eyes. Give me a minute.” He commanded. He pushed himself up with an audible complaint from his knees, a soft grunt marking the effort in the motion that he had hidden from you for so long before Jackson. You bit back your giggle, letting him believe that the sound blended in with the staccato crackles from the wood in the fireplace.

With your eyes closed, you tried to map Joel’s path through the room. You could hear his footsteps leading away towards the kitchen, the board next to the dining table groaning in protest. He didn’t say it, but you could already hear his grumble. Gotta fix that come springtime. That was a new thing in Jackson as well, planning for the future in this one place. Building a home. The thought brought a warmth to your chest that distracted you from his next movements.

Firelight danced behind your eyelids, and you let yourself sink back into the couch, shifting into the pocket of warmth Joel had abandoned as you heard him open a cabinet door. It creaked only slightly – the China cabinet perhaps? You wondered if he had finally listened to your complaints about chipped plates and managed to loot something whole to eat off of. Or maybe he’d managed to find another bag of stale coffee out there somewhere to replenish your dwindling supply. Practicalities that felt like luxuries.

Joel didn’t leave you waiting long. You followed the path of his footsteps back to you, tilting your head towards him even with your eyes closed. He leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss against your forehead, reaching out to cup your cheek before straightening again and placing something on the coffee table in front of you with a heavy clunk. The plates then?

“You can open.” He said, sinking into the seat you had abandoned in pursuit of his warmth. “It’s not much, but…”

You weren’t sure if he trailed off or if your brain simply stopped processing sound as you opened your eyes to reveal a small red crock speckled with white and black spots. There was a clumsy ribbon tied out of strips of sun-bleached red fabric from God-knows-where around it, but inside. Delicate, carefully crafted roses were arranged in an explosion of natural wood tones. If it weren’t for the colors, they would have appeared lifelike, almost. You reached out, carefully stroking one of the petals. It was nearly translucent, but undoubtably wood. He had made them.

When you looked over at him it was through watery eyes. He was watching you, expression impassive, betrayed only by the slightest quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“You made these?” You asked, breathless.

“’s hard to get fresh flowers in February up here.” He explained with a shrug, like that explained it. Like it hadn’t taken hours of painstaking labor to shave each individual petal out of wood that he had cut down and prepared with his own hands. Like he hadn’t filled your heart to bursting.

He opened his arms and you slid into his lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight, like he might try to get away. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as you rained kisses across his face, one large hand finding your hip and resting there, the other finding your chin to pull you in and kiss you properly. It was a slow kiss, soft and reverent, like he wanted to memorize the press of your lips against his, the soft sigh you let out against his mouth, the way your body relaxed into the warmth of him.

“They’re beautiful, Joel, they’re everything.” You whispered finally, dropping your head down to rest against his strong shoulder.

“They’re alright.” He deflected, cradling you against his chest, “Next Valentine’s Day, I’ll get you something nicer.”

It struck you then, the date. Another thing that Jackson had given back to you was a calendar to go by. You hadn’t gotten used to tracking the days as the passed yet, more focused on the weather than a number. But of course Joel would notice, especially after he saw what Christmas had done for you and for Ellie. Valentine’s Day here, after the end of the world.

You burrowed your face into the warm cotton of his shirt, knowing that he would feel the wetness of your happy tears against his chest and not caring. He held you there, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. Something simple, something soft, something yours.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel Miller Fluff #Last of Us Fluff #Joel Miller Imagine #PPCU Fluff

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sage-nebula · 5 months

Text

I've seen some people surprised that Kit feels murderous toward Tails in the newest issue, but honestly? I really think this tracks. Setting aside his original programming to kill Tails, let's look at their relationship in chronological order, shall we?

As we know, they met in Eggperial City, where Kit tried to do his job and kill Tails. Tails quickly set to work on talking Kit down, which he did mostly successfully (mostly, because it all went to pot the instant Tails suggested they find Sonic). The thing is, if he has taken the time to look back on it (and I'm sure he has for reasons I'll get to), I don't think Kit sees Tails as really being kind in retrospect. I think he sees Tails as having manipulated him.

And the thing is: he's right.

Look at Tails's smirk after Kit shows surprise that Tails likes his gear. That's a got him smirk if I've ever seen one. Tails has clued into a vulnerability of Kit's that he can use to his advantage.

He further tries to draw similarities between them ("I'm different too and people didn't like that either") and asks leading questions ("you don't get support huh?") to get the result he wants. We have further confirmation that this is deliberate manipulation on Tails's part by his internal monologue about Kit's emotional instability.

Now, none of this is to say Tails is a bad person. Kit was genuinely trying to murder him and Tails was trying to de-escalate the situation to save his own life, without physically harming Kit if possible. As funny as memes about Tails murdering the Kukku Army are, generally he tries to avoid hurting others if he can. He's a nice boy.

But what happened after this?

Well, more specifically: Tails mentioned wanting to find Sonic for help, Kit attacked again, Tails knocked Kit out, and then after Kit comes to and they all leave the city . . .

. . . he's told that Surge died.

Surge was his one reason for living thanks to Starline's programming, and she died while Kit was unconscious because Kit fell for Tails's manipulation and then was overpowered. We don't get a look inside his head during the time when he believes Surge has died, but there is a strong possibility that he blamed himself, because if he had drowned Tails right away like he was supposed to, he could have gone to help Surge. But he didn't, so he couldn't, so she's dead. That's mostly on him, but he could easily resent Tails for it, too.

And speaking of resentment:

Kit finds out Surge is alive, and of course his first instinct is to think Sonic lied so that he could kill Surge off for good. So he goes to get revenge, only to be blocked by Tails. And that's when we get that gem of a line: "Why would you bother with me? You already have him."

Remember that, when he thought Surge was dead, he figured he could be used by Sonic instead:

But while he of course doesn't want to serve Sonic now, he has also realized that if Surge HAD actually died, Sonic would still have no use for him, because Sonic already has Tails. Tails, who can break his water tails easily. Tails, who easily manipulated him in Eggperial City. Tails, who disabled his water pack and knocked him out.

So far, Tails has bested Kit at every turn, leaving Kit to feel inferior and worthless by comparison.

The next time they meet, it is a trap where Kit is again supposed to kill Tails. And once more Tails is able to manipulate Kit into temporarily backing down:

Tails thinks Kit has gone back to being, if not friendly, then reasonable. But he hasn't. Kit stops specifically when Tails says Surge is hurting herself, because he doesn't want Surge to be hurt. And I think Tails knows that, and that's why he said it. But Kit also knows that he is being manipulated here, and his silence is him watching for his opportunity. Such as here:

Peep Kit in the second panel. He watches as Tails dives after Sonic. Had Tails hit the water, he would have been fried right along Sonic. But did Kit care? No. He watched. Surge could have easily killed Tails just as she (temporarily) killed Sonic, and Kit would not have cared at all, because at this point he does not see Tails as a friend: he sees him as a manipulative enemy.

This is further cemented by what he says and does at the end of the issue.

He uses his water tails to grab Tails and move him out of the way in the very same way that he does to Sonic. And he says, "I'll bury you all here." All, including Tails. While the focus is put on Sonic's anger because he is the main character, that doesn't change the fact that he is including Tails when he says that he will bury them all. He sees Tails as no different from Sonic, Starline, or Eggman. Tails manipulated and used him, just as the rest did. He just pretended to be nice while he did it.

So when he finally comes back in this most recent issue, it comes as no surprise to me that this is his attitude:

His history with Tails is extremely personal, and not in a good way. It can be easy to miss because most of the focus on Kit has been on his codependent relationship with Surge, and he hasn't openly voiced how he feels about Tails until this particular issue. But when you piece together every step of their relationship (Tails manipulating him, Tails overpowering him, Kit saying Sonic has no use for him because he has Tails), it paints a very clear picture that Kit feels every bit as suffering in Tails's shadow as Surge does in Sonic's. The only reasons why Kit isn't more proactive about it is because of his programming as a support figure. Supporting Surge comes before all else, so if Surge is hurting herself it's best to hang back. And if Surge doesn't want to go after the Restoration because it's a losing battle with just the two of them, then he needs to follow her lead.

But those feelings of resentment are still boiling under his surface. And now that he has the opportunity to unleash them, he won't miss the chance to strike.

#sth #idw sonic #idw sonic spoilers #kit the fennec #kitsunami the fennec #miles tails prower #meta #again Tails wasn't being evil or anything like that #he was literally just trying to not be murdered while also not hurting Kit any more than he absolutely had to #but Kit has every reason (narratively) to not see it that way #unfortunately bc Kit has been programmed to believe his own feelings and thoughts don't matter we don't get a lot of it either #but i think it's there if you read between the lines #Tails honey you've got a big storm comin #but so does everyone else in the Restoration bc Whisper is the only one with a healthy sense of mistrust lol

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stop-talking · 2 months

Text

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 2)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.2k words

Tags: 18+, mike x fem reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, fluff, babysitting Abby. (no smut... yet.)

Part 1 Part 3

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Mike calls you up to ask a favor for the 2nd night in a row. He hates having to resort to you, his ex for Christ's sake, but he has no other choice. Besides, after last night... maybe he doesn't hate it so much.

"Again?" You ask, feigning annoyance. "What, did your usual babysitter fuck off and die?"

Mike winces at that. "I hope not. I can't really afford anyone else right now."

"And why do you expect me to come be your free labor, Schmidt?"

"Because I'll owe ya one?"

"You already owe me one from last night."

"..."

"I'll owe you two."

You scoff in an attempt to cover a laugh. Damnit. Why did he have to be so charming?

"Fine. But we are not making a habit of this."

"We aren't. I promise. I'll look for a new babysitter this weekend. I just can't leave Abby alone overnight."

"That's a strange way of saying you can't go another minute without me."

"You're delusional, woman."

"A delusional woman you owe two favors, Mikey. Be careful throwing insults."

Now it's Mike's turn to stifle a laugh. He coughs in a feeble attempt at covering it up.

"What, catching a cold?"

"No. You just make me sick."

"Stop flirting with me and hang up already."

Mike does just that, slamming the corded landline phone back into it's holster. The little smiley face sticker Abby stuck to it years ago seems to taunt him almost as much as you just did. He sighs, leaning against the counter and wondering how he got himself into this mess. He shouldn't enjoy it so much when you toy with him like this. That's all it was, he was being played with. But damn it, after being lonely so long... he'd take what he could get.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You arrive at his house around half an hour later, annoyed at the prospect of crashing on his couch for the 2nd night in a row. You try to make your displeasure evident with a scowl as he opens the door, but when you see the way he's gawking at you...

"Stop staring. It's rude." You can't help but smirk slightly as you scold him, he's just so easy to mess with.

"Did you really have to dress like a slut just to babysit?" Mike hisses as you set down your things, taking in your outfit. A pair of shorts that you'd definitely be cold in, and a white tank top. Of course, you had a hoodie too, but it was unzipped, and he was more focused on what it didn't cover.

"Hey, last time you said..." Mike nods to the kitchen, and you trail off as you notice the girl sitting and coloring at the table. Abby. Oh. Right.

"You're not in any position to judge my clothing choices, Mikey."

Mike shivers as you whisper in his ear. What exactly is that supposed to mean? His clothes are fine, right? He studies his hoodie and jeans, then shakes himself and grits his teeth as he follows you into the kitchen.

"Look! Mike drew this one!" Abby excitedly shoves a piece of paper in your face as you sit down at the kitchen table with her. It's a sketch of a forest, pine trees and shrubs. It's actually rather well drawn, and you take a minute to look over it.

"It's nice, but you're the better artist for sure." You slide the paper back over to her and give Mike a teasing smile as he sits down across from you, on the other side of Abby.

"Oh, I know." She turns her attention back to her own drawing, another one of Mike. And... wait, was that...? No, it couldn't be...?

"Abby, what are you drawing?" Mike asks the question before you can, craning his neck to get a better look at her paper.

"You." She responds vaguely, still scribbling away.

"Okay, but what exactly is he doing?" You ask, scooting closer to her for a better look.

"And what am I wearing?"

"A suit. It's your wedding." Abby casually drops a bomb on you both, still not even bothering to look up from her paper. Wedding? Mike?

"You're engaged?" You turn to the dumbfounded older Schmidt, and discreetly scan his hands, looking for a ring.

"N-no? What? Abby, I'm not getting married." He finally sputters, face flushed a light shade of pink.

Abby doesn't respond, still focused on her drawing. Now that you're sure what it is, you can totally see it. The red isle. The benches. Mike, wearing... something that sort of resembles a suit, if you squint. And... a bride. You nearly choke when you spot her.

"Abbs, who's that?" You ask, pointing a shaky finger at the bride, who almost looks familiar...

"You."

"..."

Mike gives you a look, and you both quickly excuse yourselves from the table.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Seriously, Mike? First you tell her I'm a witch, then you tell her I'm your fiancé? Make up your goddamn mind." You scowl at him and zip up your hoodie as he closes the door behind you. The night air is chilly, and you're almost starting to regret the shorts. Almost.

Mike returns your scowl as he leans against a wall. His porch isn't exactly the best hang out spot, but you two needed to speak privately after Abby's little comment.

"I didn't tell her you're my fiancé." He growls, speaking firmly. Must be trying to make up for the way he was totally blushing earlier.

"So what, then? She just made it up?"

"Come on..." He groans, burying his face in his hands and letting the tough act fall for a moment. "You know how she is..."

It was true, his sister was... weird. He still loved her obviously, more than anyone, especially his stupid ex-girlfriend. But she was certainty different from other kids, made evident by the fact she spent more time talking to imaginary people than Mike.

"Seriously... I didn't fuckin' say that..." Mike wasn't a very good liar. But this wasn't lying, right? He'd never explicitly told Abby he was going to marry you, but he definitely humored her when she asked about it way back when you two were dating. He'd told her maybe. Maybe. To a kid, that meant yes.

"You sure, Mikey? Don't have a ring hidden away somewhere, waiting to pop the question?" You cross your arms and scoff, but it's hard to be angry when this whole thing is so amusing. Abby definitely had a wild imagination, but she wouldn't just make up something like that out of nowhere. There had to be more to this.

"Hell no. I'd rather die alone than marry a witch." He practically spits in anger, but he's more angry at himself than you or Abby. He should have shut Abby down immediately when she asked about marriage... especially considering the relationship hardly lasted 3 months. But, well, he was a lovesick fool. Way back then. Not anymore.

"Pfft. Fine. Have fun at work, Honey." You taunt him as you head back inside, and you can hear him grumble more than a few curses in response.

Little sisters and ex-girlfriends, man. Mike wanted to scream.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You nearly choke on your glass of water as Abby drops yet another bomb on you.

"C-can you repeat that?" You ask, coughing.

"Will you teach me witch stuff? You know, cursing people?" Abby blinks up at you innocently. Damn these Schmidts and their big brown puppy eyes.

"Please? When you lifted the curse from Mike, it really worked!" She insists eagerly. "He colored with me!"

You watch as she proudly holds up Mike's drawing of a forest. She must really treasure it.

"I... uh... why do you want to learn witchcraft, Abby?"

Abby cocks her head at the question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Fair enough." You laugh and shake your head. This kid.

"Alright... but we can't do witchery on empty stomachs. What do you want to eat?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike quietly slips back into the house at the crack of dawn, he nearly trips over his own feet when he sees the state of his kitchen table.

"The fuck happened here?" He mutters, picking up one of the many papers strewn across the table. The weird markings all over it vaguely resembled hieroglyphics, not that he was an expert on those. The part that really concerned him, though, was the circle of candles in the center of the table.

They weren't lit, thankfully, but they looked like they had been. Damn it. Those were for emergencies. Like the time he forgot to pay the power bill.

"Too tired for this shit." He gives up on trying to decipher whatever-the-fuck you and Abby did, and makes his way into the living room. He pauses yet again when he sees you sleeping on the couch. Was that his blanket? And pillow? From his bed? Damn infuriating woman.

"Get up." He gives your shoulder a shake, not bothering to be gentle. He doesn't have the patience right now.

"Nngh... 5 more minutes." Ugh. You sound just like Abby.

"Don't be a bum." He rips the blanket off of you, then immediately regrets it when he remembers just how little you're wearing. Your tank top had shifted, almost completely exposing your... fuck, he shouldn't stare.

"Don't you have work?" He grumbles, flopping down in his recliner and pointedly looking away from your body.

"Nah... It's my day off." You sit up and stretch, planting your feet on the floor and reaching up to the sky as you lean back against the couch. Either you don't notice that one of your breasts has fallen out of your tiny top, or you just don't care. Mike clears his throat and looks away again. Fuck. He's definitely blushing.

"Oh, shit." With a casual hand, you tuck your breast back into the tank top. Must have moved around a lot. Damn uncomfortable couch.

"You wanna explain why it looks like I hosted a cult meeting in my kitchen?" Mike snaps, finally able to focus.

"Hey, you're the one who convinced Abby I'm a witch. Not my fault the promise of learning a spell is such an effective way of getting her to eat dinner."

Mike furrows his brow at that. You got her to eat dinner? Two nights in a row? That's an accomplishment. "...Fine. But please, clean up your mess next time. I have to take her to school in a couple hours, and if the table is-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll clean it up. Let me get some coffee first, jeez." You brush him off and make your way into the kitchen. He still has the same shitty coffee maker that looks like it belongs in an antique store. And no creamer, because Mike hates joy.

"You want a cup too?"

"I shouldn't. Gotta go to sleep after I drop Abby off at school." He grunts from the other room, and you can hear him getting out of the old creaky recliner he loves so much.

"Ah. Night shift."

"Yeah. Night shift."

Mike shuffles into the kitchen and you both stand there awkwardly for a few moments as the coffee brews.

"You don't really look like you sleep, you know." You remark, taking in his ever-present eyebags for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, well, I do. Sleeping is just so... tiring." He scoffs, making light of the situation. He's telling the truth, though. Sleep for him is more of a project than real rest. His eyes glaze over as he gets lost in thought for a moment.

"You good, Mike?" He flinches as you place a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't expecting that from you.

"Yeah, uh, just..."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

You sigh and decide to let it go, turning your attention to the mess on the kitchen table instead. He didn't owe you an explanation, especially now that you're not together, but it was still frustrating. He's obviously dealing with something, probably a lot of somethings, and he's too stubborn to admit it. That stubbornness is gonna be the end of him, you swear. It was what ended your relationship. Partially.

"Here, I'll help." Mike fumbles to help you pick up papers and crayons, colored pencils and candles. After a few minutes, it doesn't look like such a disaster.

"Oh, by the way." You pour yourself a cup of coffee, and start to stir in a few spoons of sugar. Too much sugar, for Mike's taste. "Abby's little blue dolphin stuffed animal is invisible to you now, got it? As long as it's in the house, grown-ups can't see it. I think she put it in your room to test you. Just ignore it."

"Is that what you two were doing?" Mike leans back against the counter and scoffs, but makes a mental note to ignore the little dolphin from now one. He'd humor her, if it meant she'd eat her dinner.

"I don't know? I panicked, okay? I had to think of something harmless but still believable and exciting for a little kid."

"And 'invisible stuffed animal' was the best you could think of?"

"This is a warning. Find a new goddamn babysitter or I'm teaching her curses next. And you have to play along."

Mike can't help but smile at that. A real smile.

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Already workin' on the next part don't worry <3

Edit: Part 3

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