#And sometimes it's not an appropriate moment and there's no struggle to resist;

[classicintp]

being chosen as the dedicated sadist because you're actually a masochist and know the best techniques

[sleepwithgiggli]

What Are Post-Hypnotic Suggestions?

There's an idea that a hypnotist can put you in a trance, then give you a suggestion to cluck like a chicken, forget a number when counting your fingers, or orgasm when they say the word.

These are things that can and do happen, but such suggestions are not as mysterious or magical as they seem.

What is a Suggestion?

Imagine you have a friend over. You are eating together and they say "pass the salt". You then realise you have passed them the salt without thinking about it.

Or you are watching TV and your dad says, "Give me the remote," and you think, "Not this time! I'm going to change the channel dammit" and after a little internal struggle, you reluctantly pass them the remote.

In both of these cases, and countless others, you responded to a suggestion.

You might reject this idea - "These aren't suggestions, I did what I wanted to do!" There are at least two misunderstandings in this statement. First, the easy one:

Whenever you respond to a suggestion, you are doing what you want to do. When a hypnotist gives you the suggestion to cluck like a chicken, at that moment you wanted to please them or the audience, and accepted the suggestion.

This opens the question of what does you mean in the statement, "what you wanted to do". It's really not as straightfoward as it appears, but just accept it for now. (That might be a suggestion.)

Authority and Suggestions

Secondly, a suggestion is not some magical command (well, at least it doesn't have to be). It can be something extremely mundane. There's a statement: "Hypnosis cannot make you do anything that you would not already do through persuasion."

Remember that statement, and think about what it means. It appears to be talking about hypnosis, but it is also talking about persuasion and everything associated with it, and also of free will.

When Suggestions Don't Work

You can refuse a suggestion. Many people think post-hypnotic suggestions don't work on them because it doesn't feel like that are being forced to do something. They think the suggestion hasn't worked, so they unconsciously refuse it, and it doesn't work. This is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Suggestions can be that fragile.

Suggestions can look magical (having a trigger to orgasm on command can feel pretty magical!) but they really aren't - they are just the normal functioning of the brain.

Here's another slightly esoteric example. Imagine you are in a BDSM relationship and are out to lunch with your dominant. While eating, they tell you, "Go to the restroom, take off your panties, and when you return, hand them over to me, my pet".

You might decide, "I'm not doing that, that's kind of sexual and we agreed not to do anythign sexual."

Or you might find yourself doing it, and feeling embarrassed about it, but you have agreed to obey, and feel kinda compelled to do it.

Or you might do it because you have an exhibitionist streak, and you really didn't need the dominant to instruct you - you love it anyway.

Now imagine that dominant was also a hypnotist and earlier gave you the post-hypnotic suggestion, "When I give you a command ending with the word pet, you will be unable to resist. You will obey."

With all these in mind, which of the above responses was an appropriate response to this post-hypnotic suggestion: 1, 2, or 3 ?

The correct answer is all of them.

Take #2 for example. You might respond because the post-hypnotic suggestion is that strong, or you might respond because you have accepted the dominant's authority over you and don't want to displease them - their authority compels you.

But also look at #1: refusing a suggestion is a perfectly valid response to a suggestion. We might sometimes wish otherwise, but hypnosis is not mind-control.

And for #3, the dominant's suggestion might just give you permission to do what you wanted to do anyway. Perhaps you felt inhibitions were stopping you, but now you are unleashed.

Also, imagine: if you do as commanded, how do you know you were not following a suggestion?

The Limits of a Suggestion

Whenever you accept a suggestion, you are accepting the authority of someone else in a context where it's appropriate to accept that suggestion.

Look again at the moment where you are enjoying a meal with a friend and they ask you to pass the salt. In that context, you might pass them the salt without thinking about it. Because that's a situation where you are already conditioned to do that kind of thing, so you don't think about it.

In another situation, you might look at them weirdly and say, "What?"

Your mind is full of suggestions that you just aren't aware of, that are triggered under certain situations and in certain context. You can always refuse them, but you may feel it's wrong to do so without really understanding why (that example of giving the remote to a parent who is overbearing about the TV remote highlights this sense of wrongness perfectly).

When a hypnotist gives you a hypnotic suggestion, all they are doing is adding to the suggestions you already have in your mind. The trance creates a context for you to accept such suggestions, so you do - if you are so inclined.

Lots of things can interfere with this process. First, you have to believe that it's possible. And you also need to trust the hypnotist. (This might exist in different degrees: you might trust a hypnotist to give you suggestions regrding what you wear or whether you do acceptable things in front of a live audience, but you might not trust them - or yourself - to do "naughty" things with you in private).

Final Thoughts (For Now)

There's a lot more that can be said about suggestions, like how and why reinforcement is sometimes necessary, and when it isn't, and what shape it takes.

But this post is already long enough for now. The main point is, suggestions are not as strange as you might think. They are a natural part of life, and hypnosis is simply hijacking a very normal behaviour.

[daistea]

this is kind of different from your normal asks, but i wanted to ask you this!

you’re a very amazing writer and i was wondering if there are ways that you’ve improved your writing over time? i want to get better and i thought i’d ask you since you’re one of my favorite writers and i love your style! 💚

!!! Thank you my friend!!! You’re too sweet, I really appreciate it 💖

I think you’re a good writer already! Not to be cliche, but keep practicing! There’s a reason why that advice is said so often lol

For me, the way my brain works is by learning what not to do. KrimsonRogue’s book reviews on youtube are spectacular (and funny). He’s taught me a lot about what makes a good story and character.

As for the technical aspect of writing, develop a love for and understanding of words! When using verbs and adjectives, put thought behind their meanings and implications. I once saw a guy write:

“He tripped on the stairs and impaled his leg, then got back up and kept running.”

First of all, they’re stairs. Assuming he hit the middle part, he didn’t impale his leg. Being impaled is a specific kind of injury that doesn’t describe what happened there. Maybe he hit the corner of the stair and it dug into his skin? If so, that detail should be mentioned, but I still wouldn’t consider impale to be appropriate. Also… him getting right up and running again is just silly. Let’s be real here.

Try to avoid using things like ‘angrily said’ or ‘sadly said’. Nope nope. Instead, try to use ‘grumbled, hissed, etc.’ and ‘murmured, lamented, pleaded’

There are exceptions to that rule, I think. ‘Softly said’ is common and describes the emotion just fine. You can also use ‘he said, his voice terse’ just don’t rely on that too much. It’s okay to use ‘said’! But again, dont rely on it. This also plays into the rule of not using too many adjectives. You don’t need to describe the color of her eyes and her delicate features all at once.

On that subject, instead of flat out telling us what she’s wearing or what she looks like, use actions to tell us!

Instead of “she wore long, jangly earrings”

Try “her earrings brushed against her jawline as she bent over.” Or “she shook her head, making her earrings jingle.”

This goes for everything! Show, not tell. Sometimes it’s necessary to just tell, I think. But as you focus on this subject more, you’ll learn when to break the rules lol

Ok so, each paragraph has a structure! Here’s one of my fav thoughts on that subject ⬇️

That has helped me so much!! It’ll get easier the more you pay attention to this, to the point where it becomes second nature. And editing afterwards also helps.

On the subject of editing, try to not edit as you write, resist that urge

For a while, I just collected metaphors and similes I liked. Creating them on my own became easier, though. You can play with already existing metaphors ofc. But think of the emotion you want to convey and how you’d experience it. When you’re stressed, do you connect with the idea that the world is on your shoulders? When you’re mad, how does that manifest? Like a fire in your gut, or like a slow spreading poison injected into your veins? How would it go for your character’s personality? I like to add physical reactions on top of that, another way you can show not tell.

I recommend looking into passive vs active voice! That’s something I still struggle with tbh. But writing actively makes your story clearer.

Try not to use auxiliary verbs too often! Instead of “she could see him gasp.” Try: “she saw him gasp” or even better: “he gasped”

I can’t think of anything else at the moment.. 🤔 I’m here if you have anymore questions or want info on a specific thing!

[psalacanthea]

this is an old thing, a little during DAI Solas-perspective Solavellan for anyone needing something sweet this Saturday.  For all my ‘nah, they totally boned there’ Solavellans.  NSFW at the end.  2.8k.  (i might put in on AO3 later, unless I forget [i will forget])

...

Solas had a feeling that if he asked Ellana to stop, she would.  No, it was more than a feeling.  A certainty.  Whenever he paused, she pulled back, whenever he resisted, she stopped.  To the outside it might look as if she was aggressively pursuing him, but he knew she would cease in a split second if he asked her to.

And yet, he did not.

It was a surprisingly pleasant thing, to be hunted in this manner.  He knew she was skilled, but the talent extended to other areas besides her grace and the deadliness of her bow.  After the kiss in the fade - still a sweet, stomach-clenching memory – she had allowed him all the distance he desired without a word of complaint.

Then she started courting him.

It was merely small things at first; she would see Leliana and afterwards bring down the books he'd asked for from the library.  Cakes pilfered from the kitchen with an impish child's humor were presented to him proudly.  They would have given them to her if she'd asked, but she seemed to find endless delight in thievery.  

Her unflagging brightness, her sheer determination to find joy in her circumstances was admirable, and it amused him as well.

That alone was a revelation, the way she brought a smile to his lips even when she was absent.  He would find a small note she'd written him slipped between the pages of a book, generally biting, witty commentary about the tome itself.  She was sharper than the edges of her arrows, and he found it endlessly fascinating.  The way she'd laugh and charm the people they met and then turn around and make some sort of sly, dark comment about it all.  

There was no naivete in her humor, no denial; she saw her circumstances for the great and terrifying farce that they were.

Sometimes flashes of vulnerability would show through it all, depths of sorrow that she hid behind a smile.  He could see how much she hated it all, the titles, the worship of the Andrastians.  She flinched, every time someone called her Herald.

At first, in her posture, and then when she tempered that, he could still see it in her eyes.

Self-mockery and pain, and a bitter resignation.

He understood.

She kept it from him apart from the occasional dark and sarcastic joke, until the first note appeared anywhere but a book, left inside his bedroll as they camped at the outskirts of Crestwood.  It had been folded into a small bird, and he smiled and admired it for a moment before carefully unfolding it.  It almost seemed a shame to do so.

The words within were a shocking vulnerability, a heartbreaking confession.

Sometimes I wonder if they know how terrifying they are.  How horrifyingly cruel and brutal.  They say to me, 'You are the Herald of our greatest martyr', and they expect me, her victim, to be glad of it.  I should be honored to be raised so far above my people, to be allowed to murder for them instead of being murdered by them.  I laugh because it is easier than crying, or screaming.  I wonder if they will burn me, too, when they are done with me.

I hope they choke on my ashes.

That was the first night he wrote her a note in return.  He folded his into a star.  It seemed appropriate.  Not that the new vulnerability meant she had stopped pursuing him.  If anything, she grew all the more flirtatious.  

And indiscreet.

Solas became intensely aware that Dorian and Sera were very tired of her sighing about him over her drinks.  Gossip traveled, and quickly.  He struggled to hide his flushes as Dorian complained at him about it over the railing, reciting some of her more choice phrases with absolutely no shame whatsoever.  It seemed she was very fond of his legs and had waxed poetic about them.  At length.  And his jaw, apparently, and nose, freckles, eyes, lips...it was getting to be a bit much, but the second-hand flattery was undeniably pleasant to hear.  If embarrassing.

He did not ask her to stop, though Josephine did.  Repeatedly.

After a week of this new assault, the next letter appeared, on his pillow in his chamber.  

No one had seen her enter or leave, but his window had been open.

They say I should behave.  But I will not, until you tell me to.  Is it inappropriate?  I wonder. They need me, so I will keep doing as I like.  Dorian says that you smile, and so I think that you don't mind, even if you haven't said anything to me.  I wonder about a lot of things.  What your lips would taste like if I kissed you, what sort of sounds you would make if I snuck up behind you as you stand at your desk and slid my hands down the front of your pants.  Do you moan?  Would you say my name? You kiss as if you might.  You kiss as if you might suck all the air out of my lungs, and make me glad to die of suffocation.  I will remember it tonight, when I touch myself.  Sleep well.

That note, he kept in a book next to the bed.  

And then, for the next week, she had the oddest habit of popping up behind him while he was working.  Innocent, oh so innocent her expressions, asking curious questions, smiling winsomely.  There was absolutely no one who wasn't aware now that she was interested in him by then.  Of all people, Cassandra seemed utterly invested in it all.  She would ask the most prying questions, watch them with a hawk's gaze when they were in the field.  It was not a threatening gaze, if anything it seemed soft.

Hopeful.

All of her wicked machinations, all of this playful and overt courtship, and she had yet to even touch him.  If she was planning to drive him mad, she was doing a rather good job of it.  She chipped at the edges of his restraint, slowly whittling it away.  Eventually it was curiosity, more than anything else, that kept him from saying anything about it all.  What would she do next?

She, apparently, asked him to dance.

He did not know she would have handled the Winter Palace with such grace.  Knowing her fear and hatred, he was staggered at how flawlessly she had navigated it.  When she stopped to speak with him, he could feel the tension in her, the exhaustion and wariness that she let show in her eyes.  He wanted nothing more than to sweep her away to a quiet corner and let her relax, but they both knew he couldn't.  That such luxuries could not be afforded.  Instead they shared quiet, wry words about the artifice and intrigue, enjoyed what there was to be enjoyed.  She made some cutting remarks about a some particularly egregious gowns, just to make him chuckle.

He saw her shoulders relax as he laughed for her.

Later, leaning against the railing of the balcony outside, he watched her slump as Morrigan swept away, releasing it all.  It was then that he finally broke that distance between them, in the only way he could think of at that moment.  The first time they had touched, apart from accidental brushes in the heat of battle, or when he healed her wounds.  He gently placed a hand on her back, offering comfort in that moment when she let her vulnerability show in more than little hidden notes.

It was if that single touch, and then the dance that followed had broken some wall inside of her.

Suddenly her hands were everywhere, when she had been so careful not to intrude on his space before.  Pressing too close when she passed him in a cave, the curve of her hip nudging between his thighs, making his breath catch. She'd smile in the low light, and then move on before he could decide if he would reach for her.  She sat next to him around the fire, thighs touching, arm brushing against him when she leaned forward.  

Large things, small things.  Light touches on his arm when they spoke, a playful push against his shoulder when he offered a sly joke.  And then, one particularly pulse-pounding afternoon at the base of a circular stairwell, when she poured herself against his chest to whisper a message from Josephine in his ear.  Utterly ordinary, that little report, something that could have been sent with any servant in the fortress.  Instead, she lazily murmured the status of his book requisition in his ear, a hand to either side of his chest, voice a breathy little sigh.  

He nearly grabbed her by the thighs and pushed her up against the wall right then and there.

When it had turned to love, he didn't know, but he recognized it at some point when he was watching her, so serious and calm, lean over the war table with her braid spilling over her shoulder.  Or maybe it was when he'd caught her delaying their departure from Skyhold to indulge in a game of chase and catch with the small gaggle of children that belonged to the servants.  She looked so happy then, free, free of the weight of their titles and expectations, free of his mark that burned like a brand in her palm and poisoned her veins.

It made his heart ache, the knowledge of it, and then the acknowledgment of those feelings.  It was the most unwise thing he ever could have done, falling in love with her, but how could he avoid it?  She was...everything.

He hadn't known what he was going to say until they were on the balcony, but he knew he had to say something.  Something to express even a fraction of the change she had wrought in his life.  And again, she charmed him, until he almost found himself saying what he had decided halfway through their conversation not to.  He simply couldn't.  It wasn't right, it wasn't wise...

“Don't go.”

Her fingers caught in the curve of his elbow, a beckon that only asked, didn't demand. Never had she demanded anything of him in all this time, but nor had she stopped pursuing.  He hadn't stopped her.

He wouldn't stop her.

The inevitability washed over him, the weight and knowledge of it crashing down on him as he turned and drew her in to him.  He knew then, at last, how her lips tasted, how it felt for her to be as desperate as he had been all this time.  The crush of her body, the way she gasped in against his lips as he pulled at her, her hands against his back.  It was...

His body pulled back, but his heart stayed, escaping his lips in a confession of what she doubtless already knew.

He loved her.

Space.  Time.  He needed both, to try and decide what this all meant.  The kiss had roused something in him, young and impulsive, and it was nearly impossible to cross those few feet to the stairs, especially with her bed out of the corner of his vision, inviting.  A constant invitation, never withdrawn.  An offering of comfort and peace for both of them.  Even if only for a moment.

And then he made the greatest miscalculation in all of this, a mistake that would haunt him every night thereafter.

He looked back over his shoulder.

Ellana stood there, a hand on her hip, leaning against the door with the smuggest expression on her flushed face.  Hair tousled, lips swollen and ruddy, the feline satisfaction in the look she was giving him was unmistakable.

She'd won.

He'd made the first move.

How had she tricked him?  It left his mind blank for a moment, a laugh startled from the depths of his chest at being outmaneuvered by her, trapped into a corner until he had no choice but to react.  What could he do now? She hunted, and he had been caught.

The fragility, the melancholy of his feelings for her shattered, leaving behind a fierce and uninhibited affection.

What a horrible vixen she was.

It was as if a dam had burst, as he succumbed to it, to her.  She was so sweet under his lips, under his hands, and he took it all.  There would be time for tenderness later, for now there was only the frantic need she'd been forging for ages now, that she'd sharpened to a hunger so acute that he was starving for her.  

It was unwise to fill a starving belly too quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Somehow they found the bed, leaving tangled clothing behind, both of them tripping at one point or another.  They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs, her with her shirt still half on, him in his leggings, pulled partway down his hips.  They were laying the wrong way across the bed, but it was big enough not to matter, though his feet dangled down as he bit a line up her breastbone, making her back arch.  She whimpered, and he found it absolutely fascinating.

Suddenly, his own need wasn't so intense.  He heard say his name in protest, but breathy and moaning, token noises and not any desire for him to stop. His hands slid up the underside of her thighs, feeling the muscles shift under his palms, before he pushed her knees up, and then up again, letting them spread to either side of her chest, her stomach rolling in a smooth arch.

He knew she was flexible, he'd seen her fight.  It was hard not to gloat over her like this, his torturer, all red cheeks and hazy eyes.  Exposed, with her swollen, slick arousal so plain to see.

“You had to know...” he murmured to her, words breathed out between her thighs. “That you would eventually pay for all your wickedness, vhenan.”

And then, with tongue and lips, and his fingers firm around her knees, he found just what sorts of noises she could make.  It was very little surprise that he found them all as captivating as her whimpers, especially when they involved his name.

He loved the way it slid off of her tongue, sinuous and breathy, preceded by a quavering intake of air.  The way it became more and more frantic, until she lost the syllables in a cry of ecstasy, whole body shuddering.  The strength in her lithe frame was astounding, the spasm of her hips so dangerous that he was forced to pull back.

How could he resist it?  

She was so close, so exquisite, on his tongue and under his hands.  Her hands were pulling down his leggings as his own slid over the curves of her calves, moving for her ankles, encircling them.  He held her legs to his chest as he felt her fingers slide along the length of him, guiding him to her.

And then he took her, claimed what she'd been offering, sinking deep into her in triumph and surrender.  There would be regret, and he didn't care in that moment, she was too wet and warm and alive, her vitality setting his nerves afire.  She was all smooth, toned lines, but he could make her shiver and squirm, and so he did, watching the tumble of her hair, the bounce of her breasts.

It was over too quickly, greedy thrusts that made that fascinating rear end slap against his thighs, hunger that had settled too deep for anything but devouring satiation.  Her sweat-slicked, supple body folded under his as he pressed over her, hilting deep, his hands finding hers and pinning them against the bed as he shuddered and let his hips grind against her.

The satisfaction that followed had been worth it all, he decided, as he tried to catch his breath while she nuzzled against him.  He would have been content to hold her then, savor it all, try to understand just what was happening and what it meant...but he learned then, as he would learn in the weeks to come...

He had taken a step that there was no coming back from.  She only gave him fifteen minutes to kiss and caress her before she pushed him on his back and kissed down his stomach.  That night he learned a very sobering lesson, that he wished he had known before he'd looked over his shoulder that day in her chambers.

There was no escape now that he'd let her in.  She was irresistible.

And she was insatiable.

[n-evermores]

Clothes Make the Man

Pairing: Alden Parker x Fem!Reader

Genre/warnings: Romance, fluff, spicy, mild sensual language, mild sexual themes: Implied oral (male receiving), implied age gap.

Summary: You and Parker are trying to keep your relationship a secret, but it's not easy when he walks in dressed like that. (Inspired by the last episode 20x15 "Unusual Suspects")

Word count: 2,600+

A/N: I honestly hate this and rewrote it like twelve times because it was a struggle. (okay so I exaggerate, but I did scrap it like twice) Anyway, I can't be the only one who thought Parker looked like a whole snack the entire episode.

Parker was trying to murder you.

The moment he turned the corner, and you saw what he was wearing, you had to resist the urge to leap over your desk, grab the lapels of his coat and crash your lips to his. The turtleneck and blazer was a look, and it looked good.

Your relationship was new but exciting. Honestly, you never thought he would return your feelings. He scoffed when you told him how you felt, thinking you were joking with him. He went silent when you told him you were serious and comically avoided you the rest of the day. You left him alone, knowing he had to stew in his thoughts. Considering his behavior, you assumed he didn't feel the same way until he texted you that night inviting you over to his apartment.

He usually went for women closer to his age. He had apprehensions, but in the end, the connection between you outweighed the concerns. And now you were trying to keep your relationship on the down low. It wasn't easy, especially at times like this, when you felt the overwhelming need to kiss him in front of everyone. Appropriate wasn't the word you would use to describe sleeping with your boss, and the simple fact that he was older than you made it a little taboo. 

But you didn't care. 

You were into him more than any other man you've ever dated, and he couldn't get enough of you either. The connection was intense but also sweet. It wasn't a relationship merely built on sex. It was a mental bond that allowed you to spend hours talking in his greenhouse. He was easy to talk to and more open than you thought he'd be. He was funny and kind and took care in the way he treated you. However, he was almost too careful with you, as if he was afraid to scare you away--because why would someone like you want someone like him? If only you could make him realize how silly that was. 

Sometimes you found yourself tangled with him on the couch, your hands threading through his hair while you desperately explored each other's mouths. But then his endeavors would become more languid and sweeter, and he'd pull away and give you that adorable smile. Those moments didn't always lead to the bedroom. Sometimes, they led to Parker showing you a new song he learned on the piano or going out for pastries together. Your relationship with him was as reposeful as it was fiery, but there were times like this the need for him was like an uncontrolled fire, and you could feel wanton desire burning through your veins.

He halted, eyeing the three oblivious agents before him. They thought it was Parker's birthday and were making complete fools of themselves. You thought to correct them, but letting them run wild was more amusing. He turned to look at you, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. You gave him a once over, biting your lip almost promiscuously. Honestly, you didn't have to seduce your boyfriend. He'd gladly have you without trying, but you couldn't help yourself.

 Parker tore his gaze from you and started ranting about his dad getting kicked out of his retirement home. You cracked a smile, listening as he complained about his father. You knew deep down he absolutely adored Roman, but he'd much rather keep up the façade that the man was a nuisance to him. 

The familiar buzz of the bandium app vibrated from your phones, and you averted your gaze from Parker to look at the screen.

"Fatal car crash, Rock Creek Park. Let's roll." Parker said as he grabbed his coat. You stood from your desk, briskly following behind him. You caught up to him, reaching out to touch his lower back. He turned and smiled. "What was that look for a moment ago?" He murmured, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your insides flutter.

You released a shaky breath and touched his hand, gliding your fingers across his palm. "Nothing. You just look really nice today." You said, leaning closer to place a quick kiss against his jaw.

Parker grinned, lopsided and devilish, and winked. Your heart skipped, and you internally groaned. He was so distractingly handsome. You almost hated him for it. 

-

You could hardly stand it at this point. Parker knew it too. You were standing in the bullpen, reviewing the case, and your eyes continuously crossed to him. You jumped slightly when your phone buzzed inside your pocket. You checked to see a text from Parker. 

Stop being so obvious. 

Your brows creased, and you refused to meet his gaze. Instead, your thumbs moved deftly over the keypad. 

                Take off those clothes, and maybe I will

😳 y/n. 

               Don't act so surprised, Alden. 

You can't text me things like that while at work.

😘 what are you going to do about it?

He stole a glance your way, and you winked at him. He chuckled, reaching out to brush his hand against yours as he passed you on the way to his desk. You felt the weight of someone's gaze and noticed Jess giving you a curious look. You felt your body flush and offered her an uneasy smile. But judging by the look she gave you, you could tell you would get bombarded with questions later. 

"I'm going to check in on Kasie," Parker informed, and you watched him leave quicker than your brain had time to process that he was nearly halfway to the elevator. 

"Wait. I'm coming with you." You ignored the look from Jess and hurried after Parker. You slipped into the elevator with him just as the doors closed behind you.

He turned to look at you with sparkling eyes.  "Following me?" He asked, pressing the button and leaning back against the wall as he waited.

"I want to know if Kasie has anything." You responded with a shrug. 

Parker chuckled at this. "What's gotten into you? The looks, the text messages–" 

"Those clothes." You gave him another once over. "They look so good on you." You hummed, watching his Adam's apple bob at your words. 

Something about his demeanor changed, and he stepped toward you, but not before reaching out to stop the elevator. It shook, coming to a halt as the lights dimmed. "You've seen me wear something similar before." 

"Not since we've been together." You retorted lightly. You liked how Parker dressed most days, but today's outfit looked extra good on him.

Parker brushed a strand of hair from your face. You felt your skin tingle as his finger swiped over your cheek. "Now you see how I feel whenever I look at you." He murmured before wrapping his hands around your upper arms. Parker gently pressed you into the wall, and your heart began to pound inside your chest. You exhaled a sigh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his facial hair lightly graze your skin, causing goosebumps to form across your arms and chest. You've been thinking about this all day, and now that you had him so close to you, your head was reeling with thoughts better left for later.

"You don't want to play this game with me." He said, pressing his lips against your flushed skin.

"No, I think I do." You said, coaxing him further. 

Your fingers pressed into his scalp as he placed openmouthed kisses against your throat. Your head lolled back against the wall, and a small whimper escaped your lips. "Alden." You whispered his name like an incantation. Your fingers tangled into his hair as his lips traveled across your neck, his tongue licking the hollow of your throat before gliding over your jawline and reaching the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You pressed your body into him, and his hands slid from your arms to your waist immediately, and he pulled you flush against his chest. 

He kissed the corner of your mouth and lingered there a moment. You could feel his breath fan against your lips, and his heart beat in time with yours. "You're naughty for doing this to me while we're on a case," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered at how close he was to kissing you, wishing he'd stop teasing you and press his lips to yours. "We haven't had any time lately." You defended. Ever since his dad moved in, you didn't spend time with him like you used to. His apartment was no longer your secret oasis.

"I'm sorry." He said, pulling back to look into your eyes. "That'll change soon." He whispered as he thumbed your cheek affectionately. You smiled at the sweet gesture. Parker was always sweet to you. Even when he was rougher in bed, for every dirty word, a sweet one would follow soon after. 

"I just miss you." You said, passing your hand over his face, searching his eyes. 

"Hmm. I miss you too." He hummed. The sound was soft and thoughtful. His thumb moved from your cheek to swipe over your bottom lip. His eyes fell on your mouth, but he hesitated, reluctant to start something he couldn't stop. You parted your lips, your mouth closing over the tip of his thumb. 

"Don't do this to me." He almost pleaded, but as if his words meant nothing, all reservations left him, and he gripped the back of your neck and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You grasped at his coat and kissed him back with just as much want and eagerness. You felt chills radiate down the back of your neck and to the soles of your feet, and you pressed closer to him again, inhaling the smell of linen and cologne. His tongue brushed over your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter, and you opened your mouth to him. His tongue met with yours, exploring and tasting you. You moaned into his mouth, wanting more as flames of desire licked at your skin, burning you from the inside out. 

Parker hummed in response and gripped the back of your neck tighter, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss. His free arm held you securely against him, yet you needed him closer. If only you were back at his place, just the two of you without a soul to disturb you.

You could feel him shift, and your fears were recognized when he started to untangle himself from you. You whimpered as his lips left yours, and he opened his eyes slowly. His gaze was gentle yet filled with desire and a yearning that you felt just as equally.

"We really need to stop now." He whispered, his voice hoarse. Despite his words, his finger traced down your face and over your lips again. Your chest rose and fell as the desire to reel him back in nearly won over, but you knew he was right. You took a deep breath, reaching out to run your fingers over the material of his shirt where it covered his neck. You licked your bottom lip, desperate to press your lips there, to taste him, but you didn't. Instead, you dropped your hand and gently pushed him back from you. 

"You're right." You lamented, watching as he began to pace the small space. Your eyes glimmered as Parker started mumbling incoherent sentences, trying to ease the desire he felt, and very obviously showed through his gray trousers. You stifled a chuckle, and he turned to look at you. 

"You think this is funny?"

"A little." You chortled, watching as he inhaled and exhaled. He bounced some, and your eyes fell onto his very obvious arousal. You pressed the back of your head against the wall, crossing your arms in amusement. "Need me to take care of that for you?"

He shot you a hard glare, "Don't." He pointed, reprimanding you like a child. He was trying to gain his composure yet failing miserably. 

"Alden," You move closer to him despite his warnings, and this time you gently pushed him against the wall. Your lips attacked his neck, pulling the collar down for better access. He groaned, his tense muscles relaxing as you nipped and licked at his skin. "Let me take care of you." You murmured into his ear. It's all you wanted to do since you saw him walk in. You would have your turn later, but right now, you wanted to take control and show him just how much you desired him. You never wanted him to doubt your love for him. Ever. 

 He gave you a quick nod of assent, and you kissed him slowly before dropping to your knees. You didn't take long to do away with his belt and unfastened his trousers. Your eyes flickered up to his. You could see the expectancy in his darkened gaze, and you could only imagine how fast his heart was beating just knowing what you were about to do to him.    

Parker was trying not to be loud as you took your time with him. He probably wanted you to hurry along, but you enjoyed teasing him. His breathing was labored, and you could tell it took everything in him to hold back moans. You wished to hear those sounds fill the small space more than anything, but that would only mean someone discovering you. 

Parker wasn't a selfish partner, far from it. He reveled in your pleasure and always made sure you were left utterly sated before ending things. This time you wanted to have the satisfaction of watching him fall apart above you, to hear him plead your name as you left him completely undone.

He was starting to unravel, and your grip on his hips tightened. You marveled at how ardently he moaned your name when you took him over the edge. His fingers threaded through your hair, using you to anchor himself. His chest rose and fell as he came down from his high.

You released him and he stared down at you in awe. "Y/N." He breathed before pulling you into his arms and pressed his lips against yours. He squeezed you tightly, and you felt your heart swell with love. You almost said it. The words nearly slipped from your lips, but you refrained.  

"This isn't over." He murmured into your hair, and you felt desire pool into your center. You helped him tidy his clothes before reaching for the button, and the elevator returned to life. 

The doors swished open, but he stopped you just before you entered Kasie's lab. He gently grabbed your shoulders and turned you toward him. He ran his fingers through your hair, putting stray hairs back into place. "Are you okay?" He asked calmly, his eyes searching yours.

"Don't ask such silly things, Alden. I enjoyed watching you enjoy me." You smiled, your gaze meeting his. The tender way he smiled back warmed your heart. He didn't say it, but you could tell he cared about you a great deal. More than he led on.

 The corner of his eyes crinkled, and he pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. "You're going to be the death of me." He mused before allowing you to enter the lab first. It never failed to amaze you how such small, sweet gestures could bring the most promiscuous thoughts to the surface of your mind. 

You were supposed to be listening to Kasie, but your mind was filled with thoughts of the man standing next to you. Little did he know that he was going to be the death of you. 

[emilemily]

I am exhausted by my own feelings, feelings which I hide. I stuff them down and try to ignore them, yet they claw their way out when I am alone or have too much time to think. I get lost in my own brain. I have existential dread sometimes. I struggle to cope with the fact that I was 14 what feels like 5 years ago, yet I look in the mirror at a 29-year-old woman.

Where did the time go, and why has every risk I’ve taken or decision I’ve made ensured that I learn a tough lesson? Why do other people make big decisions and get the superb outcome that I long for?

Why am I so afraid, and what am I afraid of? Why do I cling to what doesn’t work, or so freely throw myself into something that might not work? And why doesn’t it ever work?

If it’s not because of the actions of others, it is because my brain cannot fully accept and embrace love. Not truly. I’m avoidant, then hot and heavy emotional, then aloof, then I want more. I cannot rely on myself to respond to anything appropriately because no matter what I do, I can only ever go too far. Once that happens, I’m alone contemplating the aftermath.

I look all around me and see so many people who made decisions and enjoyed a wonderful outcome. They still enjoy it. They have these beautiful lives, and yes while I know there’s dark shit underneath every shiny, positive moment people share, that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Because the good outweighed the bad. How is it possible to make a decision and have such a spectacular outcome? What is the criteria that constitutes a good decision? I’ve made decisions that met what a lot of people would consider the criteria to be, yet the results were overwhelmingly negative.

I make bad decisions. That is a fact. But my intentions are always good, and I truly believe in the moment that things will go well. Or at least, I used to. I think my thought process has changed quite a lot. My decisions now are rooted in my own safety, self preservation.

I’ve been burned so many times that I’m terrified to disrupt my comfort level. I resist doing so to the point that I remain stagnant in some ways. There was a time when I was wild as the day is long. I would throw myself into any decision that made me feel like I was going somewhere.

But I am going to be 30 in December, and here I am once again very recently starting over again in Washington state. How many times does one have to start over before they find where they’re supposed to be? When do they know that they’ve found it?

Who is this woman with bags under her eyes that is staring back at me in the mirror? What happened to that teenager I once was and sometimes still very much feel like? How is it fair that we get only 12 months before we add a year to our age?

12 months isn’t enough time to exist and flourish, or for me it doesn’t feel like it is. I feel as if the concept of time and aging terrifies me, mostly because I’m not anywhere close to where I want to be. All of my major goals that I’ve had planned for years are nowhere near being accomplished.

No matter how I’ve tried to further my career, it’s as if I’m never making the progress others around me do. I’m not working in fields that I feel passionately for because I do not feel passionately about anything.

I envy the young girl I once was. I envy her ability to love hard, and love deeply. I long for just a smidge of her beautiful, fierce spirit. She persisted and kept moving through so many tragedies and unexpected outcomes. Did she keep it moving for so long that it’s all I know how to do?

Her heart was huge and she loved with everything. She felt everything so very deeply. But she is gone and I am here, and I feel nothing.

[knitmeapony]

I want to reiterate something that I saw on Twitter. I'd love to share the actual Twitter thread but of course I already can't find it in the massive swamp of stuff going on right now.

The urge to create new organizations is probably pretty strong in most Center to left Americans right now. To work as an individual, finding ways to help that you can do individually , perhaps even visibly. Somehow doing all the ground-up organizational work feels like doing more than joining the organizations that already exist. I'm here to tell you to resist that urge. This is one of those you are not immune to propaganda moments.

There is a fairly pervasive disease, particularly among folks who have protested and donated but not gotten into the nitty-gritty work yet. It's a very well intentioned instinct that you, personally, can do more to fix things as a leader than as a participant. The more privileged you are, the more you are going to believe this. (White Americans, we are very very susceptible to this, and it is a flavor of white supremacy it can be damn hard to unpack.)

You're going to want to join untested Auntie Networks and say individually that you are willing to help your friends/people you know without engaging in the already massive, already well-established, often led by BIPOC reproductive health organizations that already exist.

Your local abortion access organization, whether it is a mutual aid organization run on Instagram or a registered Foundation/charity with a significant web presence is already doing the work that you think needs to be done. There are already networks of people willing to open their homes, cars, and lives to people who need abortion care, organizations that provide money for travel, organizations that lobby heavily in Washington and even in corporate halls for Reproductive Rights.

The best thing you can do to help right now is to join an organization that already exists. To join up with your community, as locally as you possibly can, and let them tell you what work needs to be done. If you are brand new to this, if you are just now raging and you have energy to burn, it may feel like these organizations don't understand and they are not doing enough. But I assure you, they're working their asses off and they have for years.

There are huge groups of people that even before the overturn of Roe struggled to access reproductive health care of all kinds. Poor folks, indigenous communities, rural communities, black and brown folks, people living in abusive situations, disabled folks, they have all been denied appropriate Healthcare over and over and over again and the organizations they have already created and set up know how to do their best to access all the resources that are available, know how to build on their own scaffolding to extend resources, and are your best bet to do real good.

This is a lot like those can drives every year at Thanksgiving and christmas. It feels good to give these big tangible tins and boxes of food, but just writing a check does so much more than you could imagine. 10, 50, sometimes even a hundred times as much food, and of the types and varieties that people are actually looking for, accounting for communities and cultural values and health conditions. But still every year people love to give 50 packs of ramen noodles, rather than $50, because we have this belief that our individual decisions are somehow more valuable than the community decisions made by those actually working and living directly in the community. We are wrong. Please understand that while this Instinct to be a hero and leader on an individual basis is very well intentioned and understandable, it's a bad instinct put in our heads by years and years and years of stories about just one Renegade somehow being the key to saving the world rather than the diligent work of an entire community.

Here are the best things that you can do right now, even though they will not feel as satisfying as running as fast as you can to try to be a hero:

Stop

You're having a lot of feelings right now. Those feelings are utterly, completely valid. But when you are running entirely on adrenaline, on grief or anger or spite, you're going to run out of fuel pretty fast. The best thing you can do is take a beat to live in your feelings and then turn to do what you can thoughtfully and deliberately. It took the right about 40 to 50 years of slowly, pointedly, doggedly working local elections, working individual candidates, building communities and organizations, to overturn Roe. There is a non-zero chance that it is going to take just as long to turn it back again. Prepare yourself for that. Prepare for a long road. Be ready to put your shoulder in it, over and over. Be ready to take breaks while other people push, but without losing your own hope and determination. Then when others are running out of steam, put your shoulder to the work again.

Look

Search for organizations as local as possible. You're going to want to donate national. You're going to want to feel like you're doing the most good in the widest area. Your local community is what needs you most. Big organizations whose names end up on the news will have tons of donations right now. Search for organizations in your neighborhood, city, township, county, and state.

Listen

When you find those organizations, you're going to have a lot of ideas. Spend at least a month or a few meetings listening to what they are already doing. Check out their websites or social media presences and respond to their direct appeals as best as you can. You will often find that your mind changes once you are actually in the community, doing the work. You will often find that your well-intentioned ideas have often already been tried and may even be already in place in a slightly different manner than you expected.

You will also often find that you are going to need to confront your own privilege, over and over. To listen to the people doing the work often means you need to stop talking. There is nothing wrong with having good ideas, but when you are walking in from the outside you need to have the humbling moment of realizing you may not be as much of an expert as you think you are.

Stay

As I previously mentioned, this is not going to be a few weeks work. It's unlikely it's going to be a few months work. This is going to take years. It's going to take election cycles.

Don't burn yourself out. Don't work furiously for a few weeks, give up, and never return. Work this kind of stuff into your regular schedule. Make this a daily or weekly or monthly commitment. As someone with ADHD, I know damn well it can be hard to set a new routine, but it's better for you to work one day a month for 2 years then it would be to work everyday for one month and then never return.

If you need a break, decide when you're going to come back when you take the break and commit to returning to the work. You can always change your mind. But consistency will be a powerful tool in both building communities and doing the work of making real change.

This is the hardest piece of it. It's easy to settle back into a life of privilege where you can choose to no longer think about such things. This happened with an awful lot of white activists after the summer of BLM. I admit I am as guilty as the next person of getting overwhelmed and never returning to some of the organizations I used to help. We are all human and some people will fall away, but those who have prepared to be out there in the long term will fall away less, encourage others to return more often, and keep the fires burning on our long slow walk back.

[blueparadis]

Mikey and the reader inside a toman meeting however mikey has a vibrator remote in his pocket teasing you while ur struggling to keep ur moans in pls!!

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 ; 𝐌.𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎

+. CWs—› afab-reader, established relationship; edging, implied exhibitionism & corruption kink, use of vibrator, overstimulation, virgin!sub!reader, service dom!mikey. word count —1k

+. notes —› we're doing this right off the bat :> i leaped with joy because og timeline mikey with blonde hair and that dragon tattoo makes me so lovesick.

+. tagging - @fueledbysano

+. tap here to view my works !

Accident, Coincidence or a miracle.

Mikey didn't know which one would be the most appropriate word for this situation. For him, this was just a game. This meeting wasn't in his schedule. His schedule was full of trying out new things with his beautiful wife, y/n.

But unfortunately, Kisaki and Hanma dropped by to update the status of the dealings up in the north. The others had to join. In a moment of such haste, Mikey slipped the controller of the vibrator into his pocket; a little mistake.

Boredom crept into his skin as the clock kept ticking. It was almost more than thirty minutes, he was getting restless with each tick of the clock. You could tell by the way his pitch-black pupils were switching from Kisaki to the clock and then finally to you.

Mikey is a very private man but when you appeared in your thin silk gown to serve snacks and tea he couldn't help but notice your pebbled nipples and ask you to sit in the meeting. Hanma didn't miss the glint in Mikey's eyes when you looked at him and smiled. And Kisaki? he knew Mikey was happy, even though Kisaki thought of this marriage as a peace-keeping alliance.

You sat in front of the three men, opposite Kisaki and beside Hanma; away from your husband's mischievous range. There was Takemichi, Chifuyu, Hakkai. A room full of men discussing such urgent affairs of business yet Mikey's rapt attention was only on you. Sometimes, Kisaki regretted convincing Mikey to get married.

And, no man in the world could resist the charms of a freshly bloomed flower. The aroma of your body, the tenderness of your soft skin — Mikey couldn't wait to deflower you, to fuck you in all positions so that his is the only name that seeps into your soul.

Of all times, Kisaki had to turn up now when he was having heavenly moments with his wife. He slipped his hands into his pocket and bingo. Realization struck him but he pondered if you'd like it or not. There was only one way to find out.

As soon as he switched on the controller, your eyes widened since you realized that you forgot to take it off before coming here. It was momentary but it was there. An eye contact. He turned it off immediately.

He hasn't touched you properly, the way you wanted, not even on your wedding night. He said that he wanted to take it slow but the way he stared at you during meetings and dinners you knew he craved you just as much as you did.

You left your seat and with quick short steps, you walked towards him. As you sat beside him, his arm went over the headrest brushing your nape. His other hand went inside the pocket. You crossed your legs waiting to feel the same heat coiling inside your tummy again. But the wait was getting longer. He was definitely doing it on purpose.

Mikey took your palm playfully and intertwined his fingers with yours as Hanma kept talking. He shot you an odd look, a look that sought permission as well as submission. Your abrupt gasp was loud enough to draw everyone's attention and make Hanma pause.

“You ’kay love?”, Mikey gawked at your cherry-tainted cheeks as you nod rashly.

“Hanma, continue. I think Kisaki's proposal would be easy to execute...

His voice became slurred as he raised the regulator of the controller. The vibrator inside you wasn't that audible. It was masked by the voices of those males in the room but you felt that everyone could hear it, hear you, watch your slightest irregularity in your behavior.

Mikey was blithely sitting. The only thing he did was to pull you a little close to his body as you struggled to keep yourself steady, as you licked and bit your lips constantly to keep your voice down. You crossed your legs keeping the interlaced hands intact.

While everyone was voicing their opinions and discussing Mikey leaned to whisper. “you’re strong.”, cheking you out, your feeble body as he eyed your grip on his hand.

“please...stop...it”, your other hand kept tapping on the smooth skin of the sofa.

“but you're enjoying this aren't you?”, Mikey leaned closer and turned his head slightly away from the view of all his subordinates.

“I can see it!”, he trailed placing a soft dry kiss on the nook of your nape.

Your eyes searched every pair that was present in the room until you noticed Matsuno’s emerald eyes noticing your uneasiness.

“Mike...”, you mumbled too meekly for it to reach him.

“Hanma, it's nearly eight. We've another briefing to do.”Chifuyu cleared his throat.

Hanma’s skeptical stare fell on you and he immediately picked up the cue.

“Dismissed already?”, Mikey asked with an amused look as your grip on his palm became hard , strong enough to leave marks on his palm. The fingertips that pressed against eacthother seemed like tiny rose buds.

“Well, we all have someone waiting for us at home”, Hanma mused as he left the room. The door clicked and Mikey immediately shifted you onto his lap in a very swift motion.

“Just hold on to me, a-all right y/n?”, he muttered as he kept the controller beside him where you were seated a moment ago. The leather sofa glistened with your arousal yet the controller had two more ups to reach.

“Mike...please... no more. ”, he seemed offended by your plea but he simply smiled. Anchoring an arm around your waist his other hand went towards the remote. Your eyes flared in excitement as he increased it up to the highest limit.

“It’s okay... it's ’okay I'm right here”, he whispered against your ears as you tightly wrapped your arms around him in a flash.

He was hard. His tip was slick alone from watching you cum on his lap. He landed a sharp hit on your ass cheek over the cloth making you moan loud enough to reach the whole base.

He wanted you, wanted you to crave for him but a little birdie like you didn't had any idea of the nectar, let alone ask for it. Mikey was becoming restless but when you declined to let go of him his hands slipped under your dress.

Mikey pulled your flushed body against his silencing your moans with a fervent kiss while his cock rubbed against your clit. His hands clamped your under thighs as he made you glide against him, making you cum right away.

He pulled away from the kiss with a pop. His eyes bored into you as you slowly adjusted yourself to look at him.

“told you it's okay.” you nodded. Biting your lip you coyly exclaimed, “I wa- want this", your hand grazed his aroused length, “you.” making his shudder.

Mikey placed you on the tabletop saying, "we need to eat love. I'm hungry.” pinching your nose.

networks — @tokyometronetwork

[writingdotcoffee]

#240: The Physics of Writing

Perseverance is key to success, or so they say. You win when everyone else gives up. I've been thinking about that a lot. How can I keep creating sustainably? How do I not give up?

The thing is, quitting is a lot more insidious than it seems. There isn't a moment when you throw your arms up and say, "Screw this writing thing! I'm done."

It's gradual. Life gets in the way. You don't write as much as you used to. Then you open your WIP and realise that the last time you did that was two years ago.

Most people don't even realise that they've quit.

Powering Through

Nobody said it'd be easy, right? Just keep hustling. Keep showing up. Work hard, stay motivated and power through.

We've heard this before. It certainly is necessary to power through sometimes, but you can't sustain a writing habit for 40 years on pure willpower.

These things work sometimes, when you're not feeling like it, or when you have to hit a deadline. But if you're constantly stretching yourself, you will eventually run your passion for writing to the ground.

Some writers struggle to make it work for a long, long time. They get psyched up for a bit (usually around NaNoWriMo) and start working at an unsustainable speed only to burn out shortly after.

It's a frustrating cycle of failure that no amount of hard work will resolve. To change it, you have to change what you're working on.

The Physics of Writing

I often talk about the physical limits of writing. When it comes to other disciplines, physical limitations are pretty well understood. Nobody expects to run a mile in under 5 minutes without the appropriate athletic training.

When it comes to writing, the lines are a lot more blurry. Almost everyone learns to write at school. Somehow, that gives people instant confidence that they could write a book — if they had the time, of course.

The physical limits of what you can do as a writer are less apparent, but they're there nonetheless.

Depending on what's going on in your life at the time and what "writing shape" you're in, you may struggle to keep your writing projects on track. This manifests as a lack of focus, resistance, procrastination and many other things. Powering through those things isn't sustainable. You'll burn out.

Imagine that you want to get into running. Instead of taking your time and slowly ramping up your training, you start going for two runs per day. You sprint as fast as you can and power through each 3-5 mile run. If you want something, you have to work hard, man, innit?

You'd quit on day three, sore all over and covered in blisters. Well, at least I would. And I'd hate running for the rest of my life.

How to Keep Going?

Don't constantly beat yourself up for not being able to keep up your writing habit. Look at the "writing shape" that you're in and work your way up slowly. Maybe start by writing little stories based on prompts. Do some writing exercises. Dabble in fan fiction. Whatever you like.

Give yourself a chance to succeed.

About the Author

Hi, I’m Radek 👋. I’m a writer, software engineer and the founder of Writing Analytics — an editor and writing tracker designed to help you beat writer’s block and create a sustainable writing routine.

I publish a post like this every week. Want to know when the next one comes out? Sign up for my email list below to get it right in your inbox.

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Past Editions

#239: Writing for Fun and Profit, March 2022

#238: Should You Write a Novel?, March 2022

#237: The Paradox of Overthinking Things, March 2022

#236: Personal Writing Challenges, March 2022

#235: Setting Goals as a Writer, February 2022

[mrs-march-ahs]

Hiii 🥺 so..i can’t believe what I’m about to ask for but..more FrankenKyle pls?

Teaching Franken Kyle About Pleasure

Another request was-  ok, I'm sorry if this is weird but I want a whole fanfic about Franken Kyle humping stuff. like you're hanging out with him and he starts rubbing against your thigh or something, so you jerk him off?? Not weird at all! I loved it! I love Franken Kyle<3

Summary- When Franken Kyle learns the pleasure of grinding his boner against you, you show him how to pleasure himself. 

Words- 1.4k

This has a slow build to it, but I hope you enjoy! <3

-----

The kitchen is filled with sizzles and the sound of plates clattering as you prepare a meal for Kyle, and sit him down for dinner. With your thick oven mitts, you carefully take out the dish out of the oven and place it on the table while Kyle watches closely, already excited for his favorite meal: mac n cheese. As he stands up slightly from his chair and leans towards the hot dish in the center of the table, you quickly grab hold of both his wrists to make sure he doesn’t touch it.

“Kyle, that’s hot, remember?”. Teaching Kyle new things about the world on a daily basis may sound exhausting to some, but to you it became the norm. But even though it was hard to admit sometimes, Kyle’s progress was getting slower. After months of teaching him new vocabulary and new concepts and him grasping them immediately, you got to a standpoint where his memory didn’t catch up with his needs. Although it broke your heart everyday to see him struggle to communicate, the idea of your sweet boyfriend being trapped inside under this goofy shell gave you hope.

“HOT”, you annunciate. “Hot is bad, don’t touch”. You explain, and put Kyle’s hands on his lap. He obediently keeps them there, closely looking at the burning cheese and breathing it in.

“Mmm”, Kyle hums, making you smile. You walk over to him and place a towel over his lap gently, so it can catch all the pasta that will inevitably fall out of his mouth when he tries to eat. He attempts to straighten out the towel, by tugging at the bottom edges, but instead makes it fall to the floor. Just as you’re walking back to the counter, out of the corner of your eye, you see it fall and look over at Kyle. You pick it up and put it back on his lap, but within a few seconds, he pulls it to the floor again. You try to look at him with a disapproving look, but he looks up at you smiling innocently, and you can’t help but melt.

“What’s with you today, hm? Silly boy”, you try to scold him, but every word drips with love and affection. When you place it back on his lap, hopefully one last time, you pat down his lap to try to make it stay. When you do so and walk back to the kitchen counter to get some plates, something in Kyle switches. As he goes to grab the towel to drop it on the floor, always desperate for your attention, he grabs it by the center, accidentally touching his own pants. He furrows his eyebrows at the feeling and pulls the towel away, to reveal the random semi in his grey sweatpants. He gently places his hand over his rising member and rubs it softly. The completely new feeling intrigues him, awakening the inner teenage boy inside, and he cups his hand over his tent and squeezes it gently. When a soft exhale of satisfaction leaves his lips, you look back at him, and notice the towel back on the floor. You roll your eyes, and go back to washing plates.

“If you’re not gonna use that towel, bring it over here”, you say to him firmly and turn back to face the sink. With Kyle constantly needing your attention, you thought you’d manage to clean a few dishes while the mac and cheese cools down, but apparently Kyle wanted to play around a little. Your words break him from his trance of sexual fascination, and he picks up the towel, before stomping over to you. He stands directly behind you and comes closer, then dropping the towel directly on your hands washing a plate. You sigh at the inconvenient action and put the towel on the counter and try to understand that he meant well and followed instructions. He looks over your shoulder and watches your closely as you scrub the plate, never seeing you do it before. But as he approaches closer to see, the tent in his pants presses against your ass, making him gasp. You immediately understand what’s happening and tense, know that he would figure this out eventually and that his teenager hormones were going to become an issue. You silently pray and hope that this is a blip, but your eyes quickly widen at the feeling of Kyle presses against you again. This time, on purpose.

He puts his hands on your shoulders, and moves his hips up and down, rubbing himself against your ass with his now fully erect cock. As he presses down on you harder, a small grunt leaves his lips and enters directly in your ear. The obscene sound sends a shiver up your spine and a tingle down your thighs. The wetness in your legs is evident proof that you have been waiting for this moment for a long time, desperate to hear those grunts again. Although you knew that Kyle wasn’t going to be exactly the same, you were more than willing to teach him a thing or two and explore this version of him. After taking a breath of confidence, you turn around to face him and interrupt his griding. It turned you on immensely, but you desperately wanted more. Kyle however, was clearly satisfied enough, and returns to grinding against you. When he rubs his hardened buldge directly against your pussy, you let out a soft moan and catch Ky’s attention. He looks at you with the sweetest expression, clearly not aware of the affect he has on you. He continues to hump you, closely watching your face and waiting for another noise to come out. But you can’t resist, and pull down his sweatpants and boxers, making him whine dramatically at the loss of contact. You look at him with a reassuring look, and wrap your fingers slowly around his hard cock. He stiffens at your touch, and furrows his eyebrows looking down. But when you begin to move your hand and stroking him, he softens immediately, and his mouth flies open at the intense feeling. You gently stroke him a few times, flicking your wrist appropriately at the tip. His reaction brings a smile to your face and you take your hand off him, taking hold of his own hand. Kyle once again whines in frustration at the constant abrupt stops, but you whisper ‘shhh’ to him and wrap his own hand around his thick cock. He holds it tightly and moves his stiff hand up and down, trying to find a good pace, and you watch him pleasure his cock. Your pussy tingles at the soft groans coming out of him and at the sight of him mechanically rubbing himself.

But after a few unsatisfactory strokes, he takes hold of your hand and puts it back on his dick, you clearly knowing how to touch him better. He looks at you with pleading eyes and you pull on him slowly, making him closes his eyes in pleasure. After a few more pumps, his body becomes relaxed and he puts his arms on the counter behind you, to prop himself up. With every gentle touch, he grows harder in your hand and despite the mess you know he will make, you speed up the pace. Kyle’s grip on the counter tightens and he grunts louder as you pump him; his once closed eyes open in shock at the feeling of an orgasm building. His jaw drops open and he looks down and exhales in pleasure at you stroking him faster, so you bend down to your knees and look up at him. A look of confused wipes his face as he tries to step away from your touch, the feeling of an impending orgasm proving to be too intense for him. You don’t stop however, knowing that he will enjoy the immense honor of cumming in your mouth, so you wrap your lips around his tip and suck on it. Within a few seconds of you gently suckling on the tip of his dick, Kyle grabs your head and pushes you down further on his cock, and you obediently take him in your mouth. The new feeling on your warm mouth on him brings him over the edge, and he cums in your mouth, yelling out groans carelessly. You swallow everything he drips in you and continue stroking and sucking him until the groans out of his mouth start to sound whiny. His body twitches slightly in aftershocks and he pulls out of your mouth, immediately grabbing back onto the counter to keep steady. He breathes heavily and you stand up to look at him, smiling widely at his reaction and try to put his dick back in his pants, which he refuses.

“Shall we go eat now Ky?”, you ask innocently, and Kyle enthusiastically replies.

“Yes… you eat… again”

[ofhouseadama]

hit us with that unhinged garashir nonsense

Garak's modus operandi as a parent is to take what Tain did and then try to do the opposite of that, which occasionally has some very... interesting results. He's the "do you need me to get you out of this?" parent. He only knows how to express love through acts of service. Or rather, he thinks he only knows how to express love through acts of service. He doesn't see the other things that he does for the children as things that children need and that his children want from him. All he knows is that there's some driving instinct telling him to give them what Tain withheld from him but the only way his broken brain can conceive of security and safety is by providing muscle and the means of extraction. He gives them panic buttons and puts GPS trackers under their skin. There is no where so far from his reach that he won't be able to save them.

When like, yes the children will always know he has their back, it doesn't matter what they did or how much trouble they're in, they know Papa has done worse and will get them out of it. They can always come home. There is nothing they can do that is so bad that they can't be forgiven--something that he learned from Julian, and tried to make apart of himself as he learned how to love in a way that was not to his own detriment or self-injury.

The children know that.

But I'm also imagining the children going off-world for university or work and realizing that clothes off the rack are garbage. The pockets are trash. Zippers? Also trash. Buttons? Terrible quality. What do you mean this fabric isn't 100% organic? And it's not stain resistant? Absolutely grumbling and making Garak teach them how to sew and tailor their own clothes and coming back when they need to Look Right and be Put Together because he just makes their clothes for them their entire childhoods. They've never not looked well-kept and loved and clean and warm. Their hair has always been brushed and braided, their faces and fingernails always scrubbed clean before bed. Garak doesn't necessarily think about all the things Mila did for him, but those are the things he passes down to his children and they're the things they remember the most fondly. The things they miss about him when they're separated.

They miss that he'll never react when they need to have an outburst, or he'll rant and rave with them when they need to rant and rave. They miss their Papa who will always take in a jacket or hem their dress or nip in the waist of their trousers or darn a hole or re-seam a sleeve without asking. Who cooks without asking if they're hungry, who makes them do their homework. Who tells stories and rewrites ugly parts of their personal histories and glances over embarrassing moments. Who lets them play spy games and hides clues around the house and teaches them how to break cyphers and pick his own pockets.

Garak and Julian are constantly trying to regulate between their control issues and enmeshment issues and codependent tendencies because the kind of closeness they were raised with was not safe and was not healthy but no one has ever showed them another way. Babies get worn and toddlers get held and children crawl into bed after nightmares.

Julian has a tendency to shut Garak out and become obsessive when one of the children gets sick -- he's a doctor, he has to be able to fix this and if he can't make them better then why is he even their father? Garak will always struggle with what's actually age appropriate to expect of your children, what's healthy to communicate with them at their ages, what do they need to know to grow up to be functioning adults. Sometimes it's a pendulum swing between sheltering them and exposing them to too much, too soon.

They both have cycles where they're aware they're working too much but can't do anything to really stop it, burning out, and letting the guilt eat at them for awhile about being away from the children for too long and not being present enough or not being present in the correct manner. They both have a tendency to smother. They both have a tendency to retreat a little too much. They both struggle to find the middle ground at times.

Their children end up a little neurotic, for sure, but definitely less fucked up than them. Which is sometimes the best that you can hope for.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

how about remus lupin comforting reader when he finds her crying in the hallway? Please and thankyou❤️ I love your writing

Requested by anon. Enjoy! x

New Side

Remus Lupin x Reader

Word Count: 713

Lupin had been teaching for a few weeks, he’d gotten to know the students, he was mindful of the ones who struggled more than others, he thought back to the things he would have liked in a teacher when he was a student and did his very best to find a balance between it all.

The castle hadn’t changed much, it never did, but the sound of sobbing always pulled at his heartstrings. When he was a student, it was mostly someone’s ex having just been dumped in the middle of the courtyard, or failing an exam needed to enter into their chosen profession, sometimes it was menial things that built up and suddenly it was too much; whatever it was that made the students cry, Lupin could tell what it was from the sound of the sobs.

This, however, was not the case with you. He rounded the corner slowly and saw you sitting in a darkened corridor, weeping into your hands, trying to hide the pain you were in. He couldn’t identify what was upsetting you, these were sobs he didn’t recognise and it worried him greatly.

Lupin sighed, he felt the sorrow. He didn’t say anything, he simply sat on the floor of the corridor next to you, stretched out his legs and waited for you to calm down a little.

Finally, after a few moments you did. You inhaled deeply and shakily and lifted your head. You knew someone had sat beside you, hoping it was one of your friends, but not expecting to see the worn brown shoes of Professor Lupin stretched out beside you. You sniffed and figured you weren’t as quiet as you thought you’d been.

Another few moments passed and you both were staring up at the sky through the window opposite. Silence coating the hallway, but it didn’t feel lonely anymore.

‘Thank you.’ You croaked and the first sign of life could be seen from the shabby professor next to you.

Lupin turned his head, a little startled that you had spoken, but with a gentle smile on his face.

‘Are you alright?’ He asked as delicately as he could.

‘No.’ You breathed and tried to resist sobbing even harder. You took a few deep breaths and focused on the sky again.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’ Lupin wanted to know why you had been crying, he wanted to identify the cause of the sorrow and sadness and banish it, but he would not force you.

You shook your head, not quite being able to speak without letting the floodgates go.

Lupin nodded, conceding that he might never know the answer to his question, but there was one thing he could do. He dived into the pocket of his long green cardigan and found what he was looking for immediately. He pulled put the packet containing the last few squares of chocolate, carefully opened it and gestured for you to take a piece.

You breathed a laugh as your Professor no longer resembled your teacher, but a comforting friend. You took the chocolate and placed it gently on your tongue, the warmth spreading from your chest outwards and clearing your mind a little more than before.

‘Feel better?’ He asked. You smiled and looked over at his genuinely kind face.

‘Yes,’ you whispered, your voice still not quite back to normal. ‘Thank you, Professor.’

‘I think Remus is more than appropriate here.’ Lupin sniggered, putting the nearly empty packet back into his worn cardigan. ‘I feel you might not be ready to go back to your friends just yet… I was thinking of making some tea, I always make too much. Maybe you could help me with that?’

You smiled a little more and agreed. Remus stood up quicker than you did, you’d been on the floor longer, but he still held out his calloused hands to help you up.

‘Come on, I know a shortcut.’ His eyebrows shot up in a playful sort of way and once again, you breathed a laugh.

Perhaps things weren’t so bleak after all. Perhaps this new side of Professor Remus Lupin was exactly what you needed to gain a new perspective on your current situation. Perhaps… there was more to Remus than you first thought…

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[littlesmartart]

Leverage AU thoughts

okay so I wanted to keep the worldbuilding for the AU in that specific photoset relatively short for the sake of how the post worked, but I've seen a lot of questions in the tags so here is some more information for you all, under the cut because it got LONG:

MORALITY: okay so I called this the "(sort of) Leverage AU" because it basically flips the Leverage concept of "criminals work together with one non-criminal for the greater good" into "one criminal persuades a bunch of non-criminals that law =/= morality and that sometimes to make sure the bad guys get justice you have to work around legality". Obviously some people are easier to persuade than others (Huaisang has always been pretty ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ about the law, but before he joins the team he insists all of his crimes have been Theoretical, and besides, pirating movies isn't real crime, da-ge, god), and some of them are a little troubled by it but have their own reasons for joining (Mingjue has a LOT of issues with it, but joins to protect Huaisang for That One Job, and then stays with the insistence that a. they don't kill anyone, b. they don't involve anyone who doesn't super deserve it, and c. that their goal is always to get evidence so the mark can be convicted and the mark is always handed over to the appropriate authorities at the end of the job. he has a little more moral flexibility than canon Mingjue because of his Complicated Past He Wants To Atone For, but he still has an incredibly strong internal moral code that he absolutely will not violate. Jiang Cheng cares more about the law in principle, rather than personally, and as soon as he sees that they can get Justice that the law can't, he's sold). Xichen has the hardest time of it; he jumps into the first job without protest because Meng Yao asks (and Meng Yao never ever asks for anything, so it... it must be important, right? And Jin Guangshan definitely deserves it). After that he has a lot of internal struggling going on, and he's usually the one in the team trying to steer them towards legal means, and going through the "correct" channels. He probably has a breakdown about it at the end of a season and spends the next season Travelling To Find Himself. He winds up coming back to the team when, on one of his travels, he watches a family he's staying with lose everything after being targeted by a conman, but because of a dirty police chief the evidence is destroyed. They refuse to take his money when he tries to help, and he realises that they only way to get them justice... is to call in the team. That's not to say he is 100% cool with everything from then on, and he definitely draws the line at certain criminal acts (stealing for the fun of it he is not okay with, for example, and he gives a Hard No on the suggestion of trying White Rabbit) but for the most part he accepts the concept of what they do as being for the greater good.

GRIFTER XICHEN: yeah it's ridiculous and implausible but hear me out... that just makes it better. Because this man is terrible at improv and can only lie when he's in character (you see that means it's not lying then, it's just ACTING) and doesn't drink and absolutely will not seduce a mark past the level of general flirting... and yet he's somehow a wildly successful grifter??? How??? I'll tell you how: he's so fucking handsome and kind and charming and cultured that pretty much everyone who meets him just... melts a little bit and, with some coaxing, gives him whatever he needs. IT'S LIKE A FREAKIN SUPERPOWER and it's absolutely ridiculous. With the added bonus that he's juuust famous enough that the average person might kind of think he looks familiar, which means he's very good at coming across like he totally belongs wherever he's seen. Of course he works here, he's been here for months... don't you recognise him?

NO WOMEN ON THE TEAM: look, in Meng Yao's defence, when he put together this team he thought it would only be for one job, he wasn't trying to future-proof it! But yes, it can sometimes be an issue if they don't have time to plan ahead, and he and Huaisang - as the most stereotypically feminine members of the team, and by far the best liars - will usually take on any female roles they need if they're in a pinch and can't call in outside help, although all of them are ready to take on roles of different genders if need be (female roles are actually the only way to persuade Huaisang to grift, and he has an extensive shoe collection for such roles that he likes to expand by billing to the company account... Meng Yao is deeply unimpressed by this).

OTHER CHARACTERS: when Meng Yao started this, he worked very very hard to keep his siblings and the rest of his family out of it, to keep them all away from any fallout in case it went wrong (and also to stop any pesky Moral Issues from getting in the way). When that was over and they started taking regular cases, he relaxed the rule a little - Mianmian will sometimes step in to help if she can be sold on how bad the person is they're taking down, Zonghui can be relied upon if they need extra muscle, and Wen Qing is their go-to Ask No Questions doctor. Wei Wuxian frequently gets roped in to consult, as, if you give him six packs of hot chips, ten cans of monster, twelve hours, and a laptop, he can become a specialist in almost anything. Jiang Cheng was very very resistant towards the idea of his brother being allowed in the team, even just as a consultant, but the MOMENT Wei Wuxian was given any access to Shenanigans there was no fucking stopping him. In the later jobs Qin Su accidentally gets pulled into one of the cons and turns out to be a WAY better grifter than anyone could have imagined, so she winds up on the "ally call list". Meng Yao is both perturbed and proud, but absolutely draws the line at teenage Mo Xuanyu being allowed to help.

PAIRINGS: flipping the "two parents + three kids" dynamic in Leverage, this AU has 3zun and Sangcheng - so "three gege + two didi". Xiyao have a One That Got Away sort of past, and Xichen joins the team SPECIFICALLY because Meng Yao expresses emotional vulnerability by asking for help fOr OnCe In HiS fUcKiNg LiFe. Nielan dated when they were teens, and are happy to be reunited, but Mingjue refuses to rekindle a romantic relationship until Xiyao sort their shit out because it's obvious to anyone with eyes how hung up on Meng Yao Xichen is. Nieyao have a certain amount of "I'll work with you towards a common cause but that doesn't mean I have to like you" vibe, but veeery slooowlyyy wind up bonding over doing stuff they're not proud of for something they were so sure was a worthy cause at the time, but now they just feel jaded and used (there's a lot of arguments along the lines of "oh, so my corporate espionage is worse than what you did in spec ops... because the military says that what you did was legal. RIGHT. OKAY. SURE."). After several years of will-they-won't-they struggle, 3zun do get together, and everyone is very relieved. As for Sangcheng... it starts off as Huaisang just flirting kind of obnoxiously with Jiang Cheng, who rolls his eyes and snarks back, and then naturally Huaisang winds up catching feelings and is like [meme voice] Haha, I'm In Danger! He is unwilling to act on his feelings because he doesn't believe that Jiang Cheng likes him that way, and continues to believe that right up until the day Jiang Cheng snaps, and grabs him and kisses him, and is like "if I didn't actually like you flirting with me I would have punched you in the face years ago" and Huaisang is like "huh. Yeah that's probably true."

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job.

He supposed that was to be expected when one was tasked to dealing so closely with death and decay. An unending stream of souls passed his path – no similitude between their age or gender, their species, or even the manner with which they had perished. Phil found them and with the touch of a hand helped them to their feet, waving away all mortal burdens so they could pass on.

His task was merely to play the guide, he did not need to do anything beyond that. Who died was not up to him, neither was where they went after. Moral judgment was better left up to the deities, and Phil was not a god. But he could offer some kind of solace in their final moments, wipe the pain from their face and help them depart to whatever it was they were destined for next. Over time he had gathered expertise at comforting the dying.

Some wanted to be held as they died, both arms wrapped tightly around Phil's waist and rapid heartbeat slowing to a tilt. Others talked until they ran out of breath, recounting snippets of the stories they had lived or simply told Phil how scared they were to die with sobs shaking their chest. Then he would wipe away their tears and console them with the knowledge that soon all pain would fade. Others still were content in the silence, their only fear dying alone and forgotten. Phil sat with them in company, humming a song to himself that he hoped eased their way into death.

Then he would touch them carefully, their soul a bright burning like a flame held to his open palm. He would guide them where they needed to go, and not dwell on if their passing was just or not.

People had mistaken him to be the angel of death before, never mind the fact that this title was an oxymoron by nature. Phil knew it probably had to do with his wings, long feathers stretched out behind him in an arch of dark grays and black. It was a wrong assumption people made about him which he regarded with patient allowance, sometimes even aiding the moniker in its spread. He didn't mind if that was what people thought him to be.

But being an angel of death would imply he brought death with him where he went, a harboring of future loss yet to come. On the contrary, Phil felt as if he was always one step behind, chasing a shadow that fled before him and took lives where it settled. He arrived at the battlefield long after the banners had already been torn down, the ground reduced to a jutting landscape of limbs and discarded weapons. He crossed the sea of corpses – detached to the sense of dread such a scene would induce in normal people – and set about guiding the soul he had been tasked to find onward.

The sight of a man barely into his thirties, frightened expression frozen on his face when the javelin had been driven into his chest, made his heart clench.

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, no. But it was an obligation that needed to be filled, and he had been the one chosen to do so.

He only strayed from that path a handful of times.

The first time he did, the sunlight was bright. The air was filled with an sense of exhilaration, the rushing of people along cobblestone streets and children shrieking as they played between their parents' legs. Phil drew his robe closer around himself; even after all this time he was filled with unease.

His work didn't often call him to places so full of life – so full of happiness – unless something terrible was about to happen. And he braced himself for the consequences.

But instead, the pull on his soul was languid, small tugs towards the town's bustling square. A slow death then, somebody slipping away into old age? He traced his eyes along the houses, wondering if that was all it was. Natural causes rarely needed his services. Souls that passed on in a tranquil fashion wouldn't require guidance to find the afterlife. It was those that struggled with accepting death that concerned his labor.

Instead, his gaze fell on a shape standing hunched over on the edge of the square and Phil felt his heart drop.

The boy couldn't be too old, barely a teenager to most. His matted, curly dark hair was half-hidden under a beanie and his long legs were slightly shaking beneath his thin frame. Despite the tremble, he was playing an old guitar, deft fingers moving smoothly along the string. As Phil approached he could hear the music the boy was playing, a tune of his own devising no doubt. Phil liked it.

The crowd must not agree. The boy's basket, a small thing with cloth at the bottom to keep coins from falling through the cracks, was empty. People hurried past, barely giving the musician a second glance, and even if they stopped to watch him play for a moment, they didn't leave a contribution behind. Humans could be disgustingly selfish like that.

As Phil observed more closely he could tell why he was here.

How long had the boy been doing this? Traveling around from town to town and settling only long enough to play his music in the hopes some would take pity on him and offer money for his skill. Whatever luck he had found must have been few and far between. His bones were too visible beneath the skin, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken. Bright eyes that Phil somehow knew were supposed to spark with life had become dull in the face of malnutrition.

And still the boy was playing.

After a few minutes more – during which Phil simply watched – the boy grew too tired to continue much longer. He sunk down onto his knees with a sigh, the guitar cradled in his lap protectively. The only valuable possession he was most likely to have. His shoulders sagged as he pushed a hand against his empty stomach, scrunching his face up from what Phil assumed must be pretty horrible hunger pains. He didn't seem to have the strength to raise his head again.

Phil approached, tipping his hat in the belief that it would make him seem less threatening to the starved teen. "That was some lovely playing."

With strenuous effort, the boy looked up at him and despite the circumstances, offered him a lopsided grin. From up closer, Phil could tell how young he really was. "Thanks man, I wrote it myself."

Just as he had expected. It pulled at Phil, the physical thrumming of a soul about to leave its body as it succumbed to starvation. And it was cruel, as the humans behind them walked along the town square, buying food from stands and trading for gold. Meanwhile, a child sat here starving because there was nobody to look after him.

A sharp inhale from Phil to ground himself. Time slowed down around them as he unfurled his wings, all other movement slowing down by the molasses-like pull of his power. Only the boy would be able to see, but his eyes widened nonetheless.

"Oh," he said, a small sigh of resignation. He didn't seem surprised. "You're here to take me away right?"

"I am," Phil confirmed quietly. He wasn't too used to people staying this calm in the face of his true form.

The boy smiled again, more timid and broken through by exhaustion not of his age. He had already reconciled with what was about to happen. Phil knelt down in front of him.

"Are you scared?"

"I guess not," the boy answered. "There's just... just a lot more I wanted to do, you know?"

Phil couldn't. He couldn't know because he had been immortal since the first dawn. He had no grasp on the concept that was the painfully human fear of running out of time. But he nodded anyway. Holding out his hand, he hesitated only a moment before touching the tips of his fingers to the boy's forehead.

His soul glowed dimly in his ribcage, proof that he was running out of life. The color was a stunning yellow, woven through with odd traces of blue. Like a sunrise being steadily overtaken by the noon sky. Within lay the power of creation, the power to bring words and music to completion. Phil didn't know what came over him, but he felt pity for this boy's death.

Then he felt it. The push was subtle, a tingle down his spine and he leaned into it, wondering what would happen. How painful it would be for him. "What's your name?" he asked.

The boy opened his eyes, slipped close from fatigue. "Wilbur."

Phil pushed harder and the horrible feeling of draining that came over him was hard to bear. Dizzy as it made him, he kept at it. Emptiness washed over him, but then he noticed the way Wilbur's eyelashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved in for a deep breath.

Returning life to a mortal had been a first for him.

Wilbur blinked wearily, probably confused by his sudden surge of energy. The absent hunger that had plagued him for weeks. "Wha-"

"Wilbur," Phil said softly, as time resumed its restored flow around them. His wings had been retracted and Phil stood with a feeling like he had permanently lost something important. "How would you like to travel some more? With me."

The second time he did it, the world was struck through with red.

Phil huffed to himself and removed his hat to fan his face with it instead. He quite despised being sent into the nether – something that had only occurred on rare occasions.

It wasn't that his services weren't appropriate to this dimension. Death permeated this place more than any other he had visited during his travels, naturally dangerous terrain and many hostile creatures making it an unwelcoming venture. But the few sentient beings that lived and thrived in the nether did not have the same qualms with death as most did, not fearing it as the end of all things temporary.

Some even revered it as the final blaze of glory to be feverishly sought after.

Most passed on easily, with fervor. It rarely occurred to them to resist the pull of the beyond or make the transition harder than it needed to be.

Not this time apparently. Phil traveled the cracked ground, the unpleasant heat of the lava running beneath it keeping him light on his toes. The pull was strong this time, an urgent tugging like a fish hooked on a line, meaning that whoever was dying had to be in considerable pain. He felt their panic, something bordering on sharp-set denial. A warrior not prepared to lay down his sword?

The boy he found was not a warrior.

In fact, he was barely old enough to hold a sword without the weight of it crushing him. He did have a blade, tiny fist curled tightly around the iron hilt. When he spotted Phil he clutched it firmly and raised it in an ill-concealed threat. Or maybe a gesture of self-preservation.

The warning held little weight when the boy was clearly making an effort to keep standing on his feet. Long strands of pink hair stuck to his face and back – slick with sweat and blood. Fresh cuts and bruises were hardly distinguishable from older scars and the signs of battles wrought long ago. The deepest gash ran along the boy's side and over his chest, still seeping red and probably soon to be fatal. Phil frowned.

"Hey, calm down." He held up his arms placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Not technically a lie, of course.

The boy grunted at him, a low visceral noise that could hardly be called human. Phil realized why a moment later, as he stepped closer and finally realized the person in front of him wasn't human either. Maybe he could be mistaken for one at a glance – aside from the peculiar color of his hair – but upon closer inspection, the illusion quickly fell through.

Sharp claws extended from the hands he used to hold his sword up with and what Phil had mistaken for clunky old shoes turned out to be hooves instead. piglin-like ears were barely visible through the boy's hair and when he made another angry sound, the beginnings of tusks yet to grow in completely revealed themselves. Well, that explained why a child would be all alone in this hellhole.

Another step forward and that was the moment Phil realized that if this child was not human his common tongue would probably not be understood. He was just starting to scour his brain for some distant knowledge of the piglin language he must surely possess when he was hit square in the forehead with a stone.

Phil yelped, blinking just in time to see the kid run off.

Well, that had certainly never happened before. Most of the people he was sent to collect didn't have the stamina left to try and outrun him. Not that it made a difference anyway, as the pull of his soul would inform him of their location no matter how far they went.

A few minutes later he already came upon the boy again, this time lying face-down on the ground, blood loss finally getting the better of him. His sword was still clutched at his side. Phil stalked over calmly, hoping to anticipate any other projectiles coming his way but the child was probably in no condition to try that stunt again. Kneeling at their head, Phil turned them around carefully.

The child's burning red eyes were half-lidded in pain and every inhale rattled inside his chest unsteadily, troubled by his slowing pulse. he was dying fast. Yet when Phil brought his hand forward the kid's own came up to snatch his wrist, pulling weakly at his arm.

It wasn't exactly fear that contorted the boy's face, Phil had seen enough people cower at the prospect of death to recognize the cowardice with which most people faced their demise. This was something else. This was resistance in its purest form, a survival instinct that ran deeper than blood could. The boy let out a subdued whine, lacking the energy for anything more, as he tried to push Phil's hand away or get free from his grip.

Once again Phil felt that familiar pity tug at him.

He pushed through the kid's feeble struggle to touch his forehead, feeling the pulsing of his soul. It became a visible swirl of misty blood, the colors presented in all shades of red - from lightest pink to a maroon so dark it seemed to steal the light away. Phil had to bite down on his own tongue when the first wave of hurting hit him.

He was familiar with pain, but mending another and bringing them from the brink of death was entirely new. It burned along Phil's veins, a liquid fire not unlike the scorching sulfur of the nether itself. The boy shifted a bit in his grasp before finally settling down and slipping into sleep, the worst of his wounds gone. Phil lifted him as he stood up, noticing he weighed next to nothing.

The stinging sensation lingered inside his nerves as he carried the child out of the nether.

The last time he did it was on a dark and stormy night.

The rain came down on Phil relentlessly, soaking his clothes and hair both. Thick droplets clung to his face and he had to wipe at his eyes continually to even be able to see three feet in front of him. He hated this, he'd much rather stay inside on an evening as miserable as this. But when the pull called Phil would answer. It wasn't like he had a choice.

And it was strange, weak in its force but forming almost a mirror image of echoes in his ribcage. Phil wasn't used to that happening often, cautious as to what it would mean. Souls rarely passed in such unison, a synchronized entwinement. The last time he had experienced this he found a mother in labor, alone and afraid as she tried to birth her child into this unforgiven world. Neither had survived the ordeal.

Phil had soothed himself with the knowledge that they would be united in the afterlife.

This pull was slightly different though, and he followed it strangely as it led him deeper into the forest. Any moment he expected a building to dawn in front of him, a secluded cabin or some other sign of civilization. The thicket never thinned out and no light filtered through a window appeared on the horizon. The pull intensified and Phil swallowed, aware of what this meant.

There were two of them, curled up close into each other to conserve their dwindling body heat. The smaller boy was unconscious, clinging to life with some stray strings of determination fast slipping away, brown hair wet and stuck in angles to his face. The other seemed to be of similar age and had blonde hair he rubbed out of his eyes. He perked his head up as he heard Phil's approach, and curled his arms tighter around the other one in a clear display of protectiveness.

Phil stood across the clearing and stared at them.

Part of him wanted to ask what they were doing out here – even if it didn't matter, even if they were already dying from the exposure to cold wearing their bones down. Stealing the heat of life from their very skin as they clung to each other in idle hope.

He didn't need to ask, however. The clothes they wore were telltale of the many orphanages Phil had needed to visit over his life, the way the fabric always seemed to come inches short and the shoes were loose on their feet, worn by a child they were not intended for. Nobody had bothered to give them proper care.

"Who's there?!" the boy who was still awake said, voice firm and puffed up with false bravado. Phil could sense the fright hiding beneath, but the boy was doing well subduing it.

He made his presence known, keeping his wings invisible for the moment as to not scare them any further. "Hey, it's okay kid-" Phil tried, volume as low and unthreatening as he could make it while still being loud enough to be perceivable over the storm. The rain made him blink fast, trying to force a smile despite the unpleasant wetness.

"Stay the fuck away!" The boy sprung up with surprising agility for somebody who must be suffering from serious hypothermia. He had a small pocket knife, the blade dull and glistening in the moonlight, which he held in front of him as if it could protect anybody. "Don't come any closer, you weirdo!"

The last word caught Phil off guard and he nearly burst out laughing. "Weirdo?"

The kid bit his lip, probably thrown by his strange reaction. "Y-yeah. Why else would some dude just be wandering the woods at night? You must be some kind of creep." He moved the knife again, but there was no urgency behind it.

He wasn't shivering either, which was a bad sign. Once you got cold enough, your body couldn't even muster the strength to shake. The unconscious boy sighed out a soft sound of discomfort and the other turned around, hastily scooting over to try and rub his friend's arms warm.

"T-tubbo, dude, don't-" he was muttering under his breath.

"What happened?" Phil asked despite himself. He knew it wouldn't help to know.

"It's none of your fucking business!" the boy answered heatedly, but his voice was already breaking down. A few more steps closer and Phil could see the tears streaking down his cheeks. He pressed both hands to his friend's face, shaking him lightly. "Tubbo, please get up we need to leave."

The smaller boy – Tubbo – murmured something but didn't wake up. Phil could tell he was already done for. The other one would be shortly behind.

He hated how the pity swelled up again, bitter and destructively human.

"I can help," he heard himself saying, and unfurled his wings to their full stature. The rain slowed, suspended in the air and the boy looked at him with weary eyes, equal measures of concern and hesitance. "Do you have a name?"

The boy started shaking his head as if he was reluctant to give it up. But then he thought better of it. "Tommy," came the clipped response.

"Tommy," Phil repeated. "May I help you? May I help your friend?"

That same uncertainty returned to his face, brow furrowed in thought and his eyes moved side to side, scrutinizing Phil's form and most likely weighing his options. He must have realized any other plans had been exhausted and gave a short nod.

Phil moved in gradually to show he meant no harm. Tommy still had most of his body put in front of Tubbo, still shielding him in case this turned out to be a bad decision. He flinched when Phil stretched out his hand, which he pretended not to notice.

His soul was almost effervescent, murky green like the shallow waters and mingles of orange and red. It seemed to move beneath Phil's touch, curious as to what was happening. Tommy's skin was clammy and cold as ice.

Feeling that same coldness in his gut, Phil pushed life into the soul. The warmth of divine light flooded out of him, tethered on the edge and he tried not to shiver under the assault, the hollow feeling that entrapped him. Tommy's paleness drew away with his efforts.

When he was done he took off his robe, soaked but at least another barrier against the wind as he threw it over Tommy's shoulders. The boy was wide-eyed, freckles dotted along his nose, and probably confused as to what was even happening. Phil eased him with a gentle smile.

"Now your friend too, yes? You can both come to my home, it will be much better there than out here in the rain."

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, but he enjoyed the gifts it had granted him.

His wings and the ability they gave him to travel. He had crossed wild lands and sullen deserts. He had passed by oceans and beneath skies of colors unimaginable to most. The world had lain beneath him sprawled out like a patchwork blanket as he soared the clouds, everything below so small he could hardly imagine it being real.

He had witnessed generations. He had seen the best that others could offer – and yes, the worst too but he had made the conscious decision not to dwell on that. He had known cultures and kingdoms, tasted foods and danced to music and admired flowers that had long since been forgotten to the history books.

And now he had a family too.

Phil had paid his dues. Immortality was a strange thing, a blanket that wrapped around you and made you forget you were different from others. Age never touched Phil and it still couldn't, but other things had been granted that ability.

Hunger and thirst, where it used to be that neither bothered him. When feasts were a mere indulgence instead of a necessity, they were now an aspect of survival. A blade could cut him down, where it could hardly slice his skin before. He was not invulnerable to the destroying of his body anymore. And cold and heat became a constant struggle, tiredness pulled at his mind and Phil found himself craving and needing sleep when he never had previously.

His family had made him more human than he expected, in every sense of the word.

But when he looked at them around his table, joking and laughing in jest, the radiation of souls alive and well, Phil knew it was a price he had gladly paid.

[bubblesuga]

A Match Into Water

Summary: Sometimes all Yoongi needs is a warm cabin, and you. W/C: 2,068 Warnings: mentions of smut, cussing, slight angst but mostly fluff

There’s something undeniably gorgeous about the Rocky Mountains of the western US. The sun shines brightly in the middle of the day and cloud coverage is practically non-existent, yet the snow resting on the peaks of the mountains persists like the buzzing of a bee desperately trying to find it’s hive. 

At times, it becomes more of a hindrance to Min Yoongi. He doesn’t like the cold. Hell, he hates it. The brush of the cold winter breeze drags his mood down into the deepest depths of a sinking black hole that he just can’t seem to pull himself away from. This vacation was supposed to help him, bring his mood up and inspire his creativity. Unfortunately it seems to have had the opposite affect. 

“Oh come on,” the girl who followed him on this company appointed vacation is cute, she knows English and helps Yoongi get around, “you’re supposed to be having fun.” 

“You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?” Yoongi drawls, sipping his warm coffee and sitting in front of the wide window of the rented cabin. American coffee sucks. 

“I’m insufferable? Min Yoongi, you have not left this cabin once since we arrived. You’re like a fucking cat that doesn’t want to move from the one spot of sun inside the house.” her voice is loud, confident. Her lips curl downward and for a moment, Yoongi feels disappointment rush through his veins. He prefers her smile more than he’d be willing to admit. 

He shrugs, taking a long sip, “I like the sun.” 

She groans, falling back onto the well decorated couch, “Can you at least try skiing?” 

“Skiing involves the cold.” 

“Yeah, Yoongi. It’s winter.” 

“Maybe I didn’t want to come here! Maybe I wanted to stay in Korea, I wanted to write the album, and I wanted to move on!” Yoongi bites back, setting down his cup and turning to her. Her face is red, but she stares up at the ceiling as if she’s alone in the room. Yoongi resists the urge to lay beside her, to stroke her hair and ask if she’ll kiss him. 

She huffs, pulling herself up and meeting Yoongi’s eyes, “I’m sorry you didn’t get that opportunity. You’ve been in a rut and your company thought it’d be best for you to get away.” 

“Ah, and why’d they bring you here with me then?” 

“I’m your assistant, you dick.” she stands again and walks away momentarily. For a moment Yoongi thinks he went too far, sometimes the venom at the tip of is tongue moves too fast for him to catch with his lips. It’s not even true, he wants her here more than anyone else. 

When she reemerges from Yoongi’s room, she holds a jacket and warm sweats. 

“Change into these, we’re going down the mountain and shopping.” she’s demanding, maybe Yoongi should listen to her. 

“Why? If you’re my assistant, shouldn’t you be listening to what I want?” not without a little fight, though. 

“Now, Min Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, downing the rest of his coffee and slipping off the hoodie he already wore for the warmer jacket you brought out. She tries not to let her eyes linger on his briefly exposed abdomen when his shirt slides up with his hoodie. Instead, she opts for a nice look at the scenery outside. 

Yoongi’s legs briefly feel the cold of the cabin on his bare legs as he slips on the warm sweats. He’s let himself become comfortable with his assistant, more so than the past women who followed him around and listened to his every wish. This one is different. She’s feisty, opinionated, determined. He likes that a lot. Especially when she crosses her arms and pouts when he tries to fight her decisions. 

He glances at her, the sun reflecting off the snow and shining in her gorgeous eyes. He knows he shouldn’t feel the things he feels for her, but she makes it so damn difficult not to. How was he not supposed to fall for the pretty girl who smiles big and tells him when he’s being an asshole? Everything about her was exactly what he wanted in a woman. So, maybe listening to her wasn’t such a bad thing. 

~*~*~

“When I graduated college, I traveled throughout the world for a year. It made learning English pretty easy.” she shrugs, twirling the pasta around her fork. After shopping for a few hours, Yoongi insisted on stopping at the one Italian restaurant in the small valley at the bottom of the mountains. He only insisted because he knows it’s her favorite. 

“Ah, without you here I would be screwed.” Yoongi shrugs, reaching his fork across the table and digging it into a piece of chicken on her plate. She doesn’t make the effort to slap his hand away, instead reaching for his sangria and taking a sip. 

“I think that in a lot of aspects in your life. Where would you be if I didn’t pick out your outfits for the day?��� she giggles as she speaks, already knowing the answer to her ridiculous question. 

“Hm,” he hums, slurping up some of his own food and pausing to swallow, “struggling to tell my right from my left sock.” 

Yoongi grins from ear to ear the moment her laughter leaves her lips. 

This is how their days together were usually spent in Korea, so the fact that the slush covered streets didn’t deter the two of them made moments like these even more special. 

“Why don’t you date?” she asks suddenly, stacking their plates as they were cleared off. 

Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink, taking a deep breath through his nose before swallowing the liquid in his mouth. He clears his throat, “what makes you ask that?” 

“Well,” her face turns slightly red, “I’ve seen all the other members dating. Bring people home. I’ve just never seen you do that so I was just curious as to why.” 

He can tell that she feels like she’s over stepping a boundary. Maybe she is. Of course it’s not appropriate for an assistant to ask her boss why he isn’t so keen on finding a woman to date. Yet, Yoongi isn’t upset by the question. Shocked? Possibly, but he doesn’t feel the need to deny her of an answer. 

“I have my eye on someone, I’m just not sure if she knows that I like her yet.” his words fall off his lips unstirred, landing into a pile on the table that Yoongi suddenly feels desperate to wipe away. Why even give her the notion that he may be interested in her? 

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite brighten up her face like her usual ones, “Who’s the lucky guy or gal?” 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “Lucky, eh?” 

“Well, yeah,” she laughs nervously, as though she didn’t mean to say what she said, “you’re a catch, Min Yoongi. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

He chuckles, that same breathy chuckle that seems to have an affect on women he meets. It comes across as careless, unwavering in his attempt to pull off his cool persona, yet it’s really just a ruse to hide the fact that he wants nothing more than to take this woman home and fall asleep with her between his arms. Yoongi meets her eyes momentarily, catching a shine in her shaking pupil. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes drag to his assistants lips. They’re cherry red, stained with the remnants of his cherry sangria. He bets they’d taste amazing. 

Nodding, he speaks, “Would you feel lucky to have me?”

Her breath stutters as her eyes go wide. She seems to contemplate for a moment before she opens her mouth, “U- uhm, I’ll go get the bill.” 

Abruptly, she turns away and walks towards the front counter. Yoongi sighs, waiting for a moment before placing a 20 on the table and collecting both of their things. Multiple bags from various stores around the valley fill his arms and he quietly follows her back out into the street. 

In an almost unspoken decision, the two of them begin their trek back to the car and Yoongi drives them back into the mountains just as the sun is about to set. 

Though silent, Yoongi could tell his assistant was nervous. Her fingers fiddled in her lap while she stared out of the window into the dark wooded road. 

Perhaps he had been to abrupt. Perhaps he should have broke his interest to her a little slower. Or not at all. It probably would have been better for anyone if he didn’t say anything at all. 

~*~*~

His usual night routine began with a shower. Afterward, he brushed his teeth and blow dried his hair. Then, he turned on the bedside lamp and opened a book Namjoon had suggested to him ages ago. ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ has become some sort of sick irony to him now. Minus the mistress, living awkwardly with a woman and not being able to leave quite yet was how he lived his life. 

It’s only been 2 days since he said anything to her, yet it felt like an eternity. There wasn’t anymore jokes, nor did he feel like he could speak to her as an equal. She called him Mr. Min, and it hurt. 

Suddenly, he hears a knock on his door frame. He glances up, and she stands in his doorway in her sleep wear. An oversized T-shirt and shorts that hid subtly beneath.

“Hello.” he greets, closing his book and setting it on the night stand. Sliding his glasses off his face, he turns his attention to her. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, swallowing nervously. 

“When you asked if I would feel lucky to be with you, what did you mean?” 

Oh, so we’re getting right into it. 

Despite only being a couple years younger than Yoongi, she seemed nearly child-like as she asked the question. Her eyes stay glued to her feet while she sways gently. 

“Just that. Would you feel lucky to be with me?” 

She nearly scoffs, “What kind of a question is that?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Answer the question.” 

With a huff, she walks into the room and sits at the foot of Yoongi’s bed, “Of course I would be lucky to be with you, dumbass. You’re Min Yoongi.” 

“No,” Yoongi isn’t satisfied with that answer, “would you be satisfied with just being with Yoongi. Not Suga of BTS, not Agust D. Just... Yoongi.” 

She tilts her head adorably, her forehead creasing with concern, “That’s what I mean. You’re Yoongi, I’d be the luckiest girl in the world.” 

He smiles, crossing his legs and leaning forward, “That’s what sets you apart from other people. They don’t want just Yoongi. They want the identity I’ve created for the public.” 

“So that’s why you don’t want to date?” 

“I do,” he sighs, “I just want to with you.” 

She swallows, “Are you asking me out?” 

Yoongi shrugs, “If that’s what you want this to be, then yes.” 

As though the heavens had opened up and an angel had descended right in front of Yoongi, her face is bright with delight. She leans forward, crashing her lips onto Yoongi’s.

He’s quick to wrap his arms around her, bringing her as close to him as possible. Her frame fits against his perfectly, just as he had imagined so many times before. Yoongi feels his abdomen ignite with butterflies while her hands move to cup his cheeks. She rests her forehead gently against his, her breathing ragged. 

“Maybe this vacation wasn’t so bad.” Yoongi jokes, kissing each of her cheeks. 

Her eyes flutter close, “I’ve been telling you that from the beginning.” 

He grins, “I wanted you to prove it to me.” 

“Well, did I?” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond, he simply brings his lips back to hers. 

He gently lays her onto the bed, careful not to break the kiss. Her hands grip the back of his shirt as if he could disappear in her arms. It takes everything in him not to begin kissing down her neck, the last thing he wants is to scare her off. Yet, she encourages him. 

“I’m on the pill.” She whispers against his lips, and Yoongi grins. This was going to be a very fun night.

[arvandus]

Touch (pt 9) - Amity

PAIRING: Dabi x Fem!Reader

STORY WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: talk of killing, blood, needle/medical sewing; pining... lots of resistant pining.  Typical sensory overload due to quirk use.

CHAPTER SONG: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Part 1   Part 8

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 9: Amity

Between your second night in a row of poor sleep and waking up incredibly early, it didn’t take long for exhaustion to find you again.  By mid-day your sensory overload had subsided enough that you collapsed into your bed, dreamless sleep dragging you under instantly.  It was short-lived, however; it felt like no sooner had your head hit the pillow, that a knock on your door roused you groggily from your slumber.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stood up and answered the door to see Toga standing in front of you, a bloodied washcloth held to her temple.

“Oh my god, what happened to you??” you exclaimed, as you let her into your room.

“I was out running some errands and a thug tried to jump me in an alleyway.” Toga replied cheerfully. She halted in her tracks.  “Oh… aren’t you still sick with the flu?”  She instantly covered her mouth and nose with her free hand, taking a step back.

“Huh? Oh!” you exclaimed. Right.  Crap. You forgot about that little white lie.  “Sorry, hang on a sec.”  You quickly went to your medical bag and pulled out a white disposable mask, placing it over your face.  “Is that better?” You asked, your voice muffled.

The tension in Toga’s shoulders instantly left, her posture easing as her hand dropped away from her face. “Yeah, thanks.  Are you feeling okay?  I could try to do this myself this time…”

You balked at the thought of Toga treating her own injuries.

“I’m fine right now, I promise.” You replied. 

The blonde shrugged and fully entered your space, although her folded hands in front of her body communicated she didn’t want to touch anything.

“So, a guy jumped you in an alley?” You asked.

“Yeah.  He was big, too.  And had a quirk that gave him extra reach on his arms.”  Toga explained.

You weren’t quite sure what sort of errands required Toga to be in alleyways, but you had a feeling none of them were good. The curiosity pulled at you - you could feel the question on your lips, but you swallowed it down.  When you had first joined the League, you and Shigaraki had discussed the importance of compartmentalizing your role from the others.  You were the only one out of the group who was defenseless after all, so as the weakest link within the League, you had both decided it would be best if you knew as little of the League’s affairs as possible, in case you ever got captured and questioned.  You were allowed to participate in general discussions regarding the League’s next moves and what areas were important to you that you wanted to focus on, but the nitty gritty details were kept separate: private meetings with other villains, locations, times, that sort of thing.  So, despite your curiosity, you knew not to pry.

Instead, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “but I can’t get this to stop bleeding.”

“Let’s take a look.” You gingerly removed the cloth from the wound to see a deep gash in the skin before new blood filled up. You placed the washcloth back over the wound before it could spill over.  “Hm. Better keep that on there.  You’re going to need stitches.”

“I figured.” She grinned. She took over holding the cloth to her head while you grabbed your medical bag.  You escorted her into your bathroom and had her sit on the toilet seat. Her outfit was speckled with blood, some of it from her wound, and, you suspected, some of it not.

“So…” you started, as you washed your hands in the sink. “What happened to the thug?”

“I drained him.” She replied cheerfully.  The casualness of her statement filled you with a confusing mixture of fear and pity.

“You killed him?” you asked, as you prepped your needle and thread.

Toga looked at you with her yellow feline-like eyes.  “He would have killed me if I didn’t.”

“Tilt your head back.” You instructed.  Toga did as you said, and you carefully removed the cloth before placing your fingers over her open wound. She winced slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxed as your quirk soaked in. 

Silence filled the room as you cleaned her wound with antiseptic and set to work.  The heavy quiet dragged on as your mind mulled over the girl next to you.  You had a thousand questions in your mind, but none of them seemed very appropriate to ask, not without upsetting her.  And despite your good standing with the League, you made it a careful point not to get on anyone’s bad side.  It wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust them, although a part of you was always wary around those who were willing to commit violence.  But you also understood on a personal level that the problems these villains had went far deeper than society was willing to acknowledge.  Mental illness, quirkology, environment… all of it played a role in dealing the hand that these outcast individuals had been dealt.

Minutes passed as you stitched up the cut and cleaned the blood from the sealed wound once more. You were washing your hands when Toga finally spoke, her voice soft.  “Are you mad at me?”

You paused to look down at her.  Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pulled into a sulky frown as she stared at her hands. She looked like a child waiting to be scolded, and in that moment, you could see how young she still was.  You gave a soft sigh.  “Of course not.  He attacked you, right? You had to defend yourself.”

You paused then followed up with, “I’m sorry you had to do it.”

“Don’t be…” she replied. “I liked killing him.”

Your hands faltered as you began putting away your supplies and Toga noticed. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” she asked, accusation lacing her voice. She was defensive, waiting for your judgement. 

You couldn’t blame her. No doubt her quirk was something she likely struggled with all of her life before finally giving in to it.  She had never given you her story directly, but it wasn’t hard to guess.  Everything about her – from her ramblings to her actions - spoke of a caged animal who finally got a taste of freedom and refused to be captured.

Contradicting feelings warred within you, and you struggled to wrangle them.  You had to admit, you hated the idea of her killing.  More importantly, you knew that her victims weren’t always street thugs, villains, or corrupted heroes.  But at the same time, despite this uncomfortable fact, you also understood how strongly quirks affected behavior, how it could act like a poison, messing with the mind and forcing its way into being expressed.  It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it; you understood it intimately.

You looked down at her and a familiar sense of pity unfurled in your gut, snaking into your veins, pulling at your emotions even as your core roiled at the idea of needless violence. She was just like him... a victim in her own way, despite the horrific things she did.

“You think I’m a monster.” Her words cut through your thoughts, and your attention refocused on her. She had her knees hugged up to her chest, her feet propped on the closed toilet lid that she occupied.  You mentally scolded yourself for abandoning her as you got lost in your head and crouched down next to her.

“No.  I don’t think you’re a monster.” You answered soothingly.

“Then why do you look scared of me?” Toga demanded. 

You gave her a smile that you hoped reached your eyes. She was more perceptive than you gave her credit for sometimes.  You had to choose your words carefully. 

“I’m not scared of you.” You explained.  “ But I am a healer, Toga. I see someone who’s hurt, and I want to take that pain away.  It’s what my quirk is. It’s a part of who I am and it’s what motivates me. So, I won’t deny that it’s hard for me sometimes to understand why you do what you do because it’s so opposite of how I am.”

Toga averted her eyes, her body tightening in on itself.

“But…” you continued as you placed a hand on her forearm, “I’m not scared of you.  And even though you do monstrous things, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Toga slowly lowered her knees, letting her feet touch the floor as she stared at you.  “Why not?” she asked.

“Because,” you replied, “You still care about people.  You and Twice were the first to welcome and befriend me when I joined the League. And the way you take care of Twice… like he’s your big brother… that counts for something.  You even care about Dabi, even though he’s an ass. That was why you checked on him that night, right?  You treat each of us like family.  Now why would a monster do that?”

“But I still want to cut you guys all the time…” she confessed.

“I know.  But you don’t.  That should count for something.”

Toga smiled at you with teary eyes.  “You’re so nice, big sis.”  Her compliment made you smile. 

Toga hopped of the toilet with a nimble bounce, signaling the end of the conversation.  “Am I all done?”

You nodded.  “You’re free to go.” You announced.  Toga made her way to your bedroom door, but she halted when you called her name.  “Toga… don’t forget to change your clothes.”

Toga looked down at the bloodstains splattered across her school uniform.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Thanks, big sis!”

She left your room with a jovial wave.  As soon as the door closed behind her, you slumped down onto your bed as you removed the white mask from your face and placed it on your nightstand.  Exhaustion washed over you again, deeper this time than it was before.  It wasn’t even so much due to your quirk since you didn’t have to use very much of it this time.  Instead, your mind focused on Toga, replaying the conversation.  It filled you with a swath of competing emotions; pity, anger, frustration, helplessness, fear.  The feelings swirled in you making a rank stew in your soul, old and familiar.

This was just like before.

You shoved the feelings aside, unwilling to look too closely at them. You already had enough on your plate as it was… you didn’t want to dredge up more of the past.  It would only add more stress and it wouldn’t change anything.

You laid down again in the hopes that this time, finally, your sleep would be nightmare free and uninterrupted.

 * * * * *

The withdrawal-induced restlessness Dabi felt lasted throughout the day, making sleep near impossible.  To keep himself from going crazy, he forced his energy into cleaning up his space, despite his typical disdain for chores.  He straightened up his desk, took out the trash, and most importantly, did his laundry. It was overflowing and stank of mildew, and he was in desperate need of clean towels.  His bed was no better, reeking of sweat and infection and covered in chip crumbs. But while his body appreciated the movement, the lack of mental power the activities required did little to distract from intrusive, obsessive thoughts.

He wasn’t sure which thoughts he wanted to avoid more - thoughts of his family or thoughts of you.  The memories of family were old and familiar, but the emotions in them were raw, threatening to suck him in and shred him to pieces like it’d already done so many times before.  But thoughts of you weren’t much better, at least not to Dabi. He didn’t like the warmth he felt each time he thought of you, and yet he kept going back to that feeling, like opening the fridge to stare at that last piece of cake.  He was at war with himself, and he didn’t know how to fight it.

Somehow, with all of his coming and going from his room, he somehow managed to never run into you. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but like all other uncomfortable thoughts, his forced himself not to focus on it.  It shouldn’t be important.  You shouldn’t be important.  His mouth pressed into a thin line.  The number of times he had to tell himself that were becoming too many to count, and it never did seem to make much difference.  

The cleaning only occupied him for so long.  Towards the end of it he found himself sitting in his room, waiting for his clothes to finish drying so he could retrieve them.  He had laid back on his bed just for a moment, to stare at his phone. He woke up an hour and a half later, his mind muddled with jumbled dreams and memories.  Cigarette smoke, a child’s laughter, the sound of himself screaming in agony…

He shook his head to knock the unwanted fog from his brain and grabbed a smoke to soothe the shaking in his hands.  The cigarette was gone within a minute.  The haze still lingered though as every inch of Dabi’s nerves hummed and his gut clenched in discomfort.  So, he inhaled a second cigarette for good measure and followed it up with an electrolyte drink paired with a couple of antacids.  His laundry was likely done now; no point in letting it sit there and risk another League member touching his things.

With the laundry dry and sitting on his bed in a crumpled heap, he stared at the contents, a frown on his face.  Your towels were mingled with his, and the sight of it filled him with an uneasiness that had little to do with his withdrawal.  It looked entirely alien to him, intrusive in his personal space.  His stomach gave a weird flutter before giving way to a wave of nausea.

Stupid, he thought to himself.  They’re just fucking towels.

He began folding the first towel. It was half-assed in its effort and one hundred percent intentional, as if giving careful care to your items would give away something about himself he wanted to keep secret.  But even as he did so, intrusive curiosity crept into his mind.  How did you fold your towels?

Idiot.  He caught his wandering mind and reeled it back in forcefully, but it did little good. His mind was a master escape artist, running away to explore other unwanted thoughts without his permission as soon as his mental back was turned.

As he folded your items, his hands slowed slightly in their actions, taking in the feel of cotton on his fingers. He watched as he rolled the soft material between his thumb and forefinger while memories bubbled forth, broken and vague.  Waking up in the shower, sitting on the toilet with your towel over his head, feeling of your hands working the cotton over his wet hair. He tried not to think of your face, but of course not wanting it made it appear in his mind.  He remembered your eyes, the concern in them, and the memory filled him with a warmth that he was still struggling to understand, even as he tried to deny its presence. 

It was short-lived – the memory of your tender gaze soon faded away to a terrified one, and now he was remembering your scar.  A new thought came into his mind then, dark and plaguing. The look of fear you’d given him that night - did you wear that same frightened expression on your face when you were burned, marked by whatever asshole laid their hands on you?

Dabi could feel his body temperature begin to rise.

The last towel was folded, and he swiftly grabbed the pile and shoved it on top of his dresser as if were contaminated.  Contaminated with memories, contaminated with you…

He faltered for a moment, his anger disrupted by that strange sense of guilt that gnawed at him.  The unwelcome mental picture of you cowering in fear as flames licked your skin danced in his imagination.  No wonder you had been so utterly terrified of him that night. No wonder you’d been unable to look him in the eyes the next day…

Dabi caught himself staring at your things and forced himself to turn around to finish his laundry. He folded his clothes swiftly, not caring whether or not they were done nicely before shoving them into the dresser drawer. Then, with his clean towels in his arm, he went into the bathroom to give himself that much-needed shower.

 * * * * *

You woke up feeling groggier than usual as the orange-red glow of the late afternoon haze filtered into your room. As predicted, your sleep was restless and riddled with hazy uncomfortable dreams that instantly began to fade away as soon as you opened your eyes.  You sighed in annoyance as dissatisfaction slinked across your tired skin. It was as if you had slept the entire time with your body tensed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and now you were feeling the effects. 

You got out of bed with a stretch to ease the stiffness in your muscles.  Maybe something to eat and drink could lift your spirits and wake your body up.  You slipped on your shoes and opened the door before remembering to grab your mask off of your nightstand.  Then, you left your room to trudge downstairs.

The smell of pizza greeted you as soon as you stepped out onto the main floor, and your stomach growled in response, your mouth watering.

“Y/N!” Toga cheered. “Did you take a nap?”

You frowned as your hand self-consciously went to your messy hair. Was it really that obvious?

“Yeah, I was pretty tired.” You confessed, as you tried to fix your stray strands.

“Are you feeling any better?” Magne asked.  You could tell she was asking about the ‘flu’ you were supposed to have.

You shrugged. “Yeah, a little…”

“And how about Dabi? You were treating him too, right?” Magne continued.

You felt embarrassment bubble in you, and you scratched at your cheek as a distraction.  “He’s doing okay… I think it’s hitting him harder, though. He’s probably going to need some more time to recover.”

“He came down here yesterday without a mask and everything.” Spinner grumbled. “Then decided to take a stroll.  He couldn’t be that bad, could he?”

You shrugged. “Stomach bugs are weird and vary from person to person.”

Shigaraki’s voice surprised you from behind.  “How’s his burn?”

He knew about that…?  Maybe Dabi said something the day before.  Either way, no point in lying about it now…

“It’s doing well... but it’s not completely healed yet.”

Shigaraki grunted and grabbed a slice of pizza from the open box sitting on the bar.

“Hey, Y/N!  You want some pizza?” Twice offered.

“Yes, that’d be-“

“She can’t eat pizza when she has the flu!” Toga scolded.  “She might throw it up.  She needs something simple!”

Your heart sank.  No pizza??

“No, it’s okay…” you started, your eyes staring at the perfect slice.

“I’ll go make you something, okay big sis?” Toga chirped as she bounded lightly towards the small kitchen behind the bar.

Oh… oh no….

“Oh, um… it’s okay Toga, I’m not really hungry…” you tried to call after her, but she was already gone and out of earshot.

You fiddled with your hands nervously.  Cooking was not one of Toga’s strong suits.  Fortunately, Kurogiri was present, watching the exchange.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t burn down the kitchen.” He commented, as he followed after her.

You stood there awkwardly, strongly contemplating grabbing the entire pizza box and running away with it. But you’d just had that personal exchange with Toga earlier, so abandoning her when she was trying to do something nice for you probably wouldn’t go over well.

Damn it.  You were too nice for your own good sometimes.

On defeated feet, you walked over to the couch and sat down next to Compress who was reading a book. He put the item down as you sat next to him and gave you a smile.  “How nice of you to grace me with your company, little flower.”

You crossed your arms and sulked into the couch cushions, wishing they would swallow you up.  “Toga is cooking for me.”

“Oh dear, so I heard.” He commented.  “However, Kurogiri is supervising her.  Perhaps this time it won’t be so bad.”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” You pointed out.

“True,” he laughed. “But perhaps you set your standards too high.  I never said he’d ensure that the food is good; however, his assistance may ensure that it is edible.”

“Don’t you use logic on me, Mr.” you replied, even as you tried to suppress a smile.

“Then perhaps a magic trick then?” he offered.  “As a distraction.”

“Sure.” You grinned.

A few minutes later, Toga came out with two steaming bowls sitting on a rectangular tray.

“Oh good! You’re still here!” Toga smiled.  “I made you soup!”

You stifled a groan as you stood up and stared at the contents.  It… didn’t look bad…. It looked like it was canned soup at least, which, all things considered, were one of the simplest things to make. Still, it had that a slight burned odor to it when the steam reached your nose.

“Why are there two bowls?” you asked.

“Oh!  One’s for you and one’s for Dabi.”  Toga explained.  Behind her, Magne chuckled at the table.  “He hasn’t come down to eat yet today so he’s probably hungry.”

“It was my suggestion.” Kurogiri stated.  “You are still sick after all, so it would be in the League’s interest if you and Dabi had your meals in your rooms until you are no longer contagious.”

“Maybe it can be like a little dinner date!” Toga added.

You fought the flush of hot heat that seemed to take over your insides.  “A what?”

The last thing you needed was the League thinking you and Dabi were dating.

The blonde girl giggled as she handed you the tray.  Her hands instantly went up to her hot cheeks, her eyes glazed over with infatuation. “What I wouldn’t give to have a private dinner date with Izuku!”

“Oh geez, not this again…” Spinner grumbled.

“Hey!” Toga shot at him.  “It’s rude to tease a girl in love!”

You were grateful that Toga was easily distracted, and you took the opportunity to make your escape. “O-Okay. I guess I’ll go take this upstairs then… Thank you, Toga.” You mumbled.

You walked out of the room quickly, the soup sloshing in the bowls and threatening to spill.  But you wanted to get out of there before things got even more awkward.  Toga wasn’t even the real concern – the real concern was Magne.  Her chuckle had not gone unnoticed by you, and she was a master conversationalist when she wanted to be.  The last thing you needed was more intrusive questions or implied statements, especially with everyone there to listen in.

You took the stairs instead of the elevator, not trusting the old rust bucket to run smooth enough with bowls of hot soup in front of you.

Dinner date.  You wanted to laugh.  Dabi certainly wasn’t the type to do dinner dates.  In fact, Dabi probably didn’t even date. He probably just hooked up with random girls whenever he felt like it.

Your stomach tightened into an uncomfortable knot.

It didn’t matter.  You weren’t his type anyway.  And he shouldn’t be yours, not with all of his baggage. And boy, did he seem to have a lot of baggage.  Besides, he didn’t need the pressure of someone pining over him while he struggled to keep himself together.  He needed someone he could trust.  He needed a friend.

You felt yourself start to calm as you centered yourself on that single fact.  He needed a friend. You could do that.  You’d already committed yourself to it.

You made it to your own room and set the tray on the floor outside your door so you could go in and grab your medical bag.  If you were going to take soup to Dabi, then you might as well treat his wounds and give him his pills.  It was about time for it anyway.  With your bag slung onto your shoulder and the tray once again in your hand, you went over to his door and knocked.

It opened and you froze, eyes wide, as a warm humid air wrapped you up in the scent of shampoo and body wash.

Dabi stood before you in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination.  Shit. It hadn’t even been a full five seconds and you were already staring at his crotch.  Hot embarrassment flooded you as you averted your eyes, only to get stuck on his glistening, bare form.  You’d seen him shirtless many times, had your hands on his body, even… but something about this moment was different.  Maybe it was the shower.  Maybe it was the simple - yet absolutely sinful - sweatpants.  Or maybe it was how he seemed to be carrying himself in this moment, like he was the king of his domain.  He was a living art piece, every angle of him stunning from the slope of his shoulders to the cut of his lean waist. Even his stitches looked beautiful, the light bouncing off of them like gems.  Whatever it was, Dabi seemed to be a thousand times hotter than you remember him being, and it left your brain feeling dumb as hot desire washed over you.

You were staring.  You knew you were staring but you couldn’t break the trance he seemed to put you in. Your eyes took in the cut of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips.   Aqua blue eyes stared at you in knowing amusement, grabbing you like the tide and pulling you in.  You could feel yourself floundering beneath his intense gaze as you struggled to get a hold of yourself.

“Uh…” you stuttered.

You were still staring.

“Hey, Doll­…” He greeted, a playful grin on his lips.  His voice washed over you, and you felt lightheaded.

This was so embarrassing.  If he had any doubts that you found him attractive before, then he certainly didn’t now.

“Hi.” You said dumbly.

His eyes broke contact with yours to look down.  “Hey-” His hand shot out to quickly grab the tilting tray, soup splashing messily over the sides of the bowls.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry.” You cursed, as you adjusted your hold. You kept your eyes down, unable to stare at him any longer.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

Was that a chuckle you heard in his voice?  How dare he.

You crossed the threshold, only to find yourself even more smothered by the clean scent of his recent shower that permeated the entire space like a fog.  Beneath it, the faint hint of cigarette smoke was present, but it was muted.  The light in the room was dimmer than you remembered and you realized why – he had put one of his shirts over his shoddy lamp, reducing its brightness.  The humid warmth in the room was paired with a strange heavy silence.  Your eyes instantly checked his window and there was no billow of the curtains this time, no street noise coming forth.  Your breath froze in your throat for a moment as you realized – he remembered.  All the things that had bothered you this morning were modified for your arrival.  A weightlessness swelled in your chest, intertwining with the attraction you were still grappling with.  You set the tray down with shaky hands before wiping your sweaty palms onto your pants.

Dabi came to stand next to you with his towel on his shoulder, the warm bare skin of his chest brushing against your arm as he stared down at the bowls.  With his proximity so close and your own emotions running amok, it took every ounce of mental fortitude not to hug him right then and there.

“Did you make that?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Oh, uh.. Toga did.” You finally said, as you moved slightly away from his bare skin.

“We should have let the tray fall.”  He stated as he stared at the contents with distaste.  You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, and it helped clear some of the brain fog.  He gave you a soft glare.  “Why did you even take this?  You should have just said no.”

“Well, not all of us can be as nice as you, Dabi.” You teased.  “Besides, she wanted to do something nice for us because she thinks we’re sick.”  You explained.

“If I eat that I probably will be.” He retorted.

“Oh, come on… it’s probably not that bad… just a little smokiness to it.  That shouldn’t bother you, right?” You put a spoon into a bowl and handed it to him.

He gave you a deadpan look as you held the bowl against his chest, his hands refusing to take it. “I’m not eating it.”

“Hey, if I have to eat this, then so do you.” You glared.

“Like hell.” He replied. “Besides, I already have food here.”

You set the bowl down and stared at the bags on his desk.  “Yes, chips, beef jerky, and cigarettes!  So healthy.”

“The three basic food groups.” He agreed with a grin. He sat down in his desk chair, his legs spread wide as he slouched back.  It took extra effort to not let your eyes wander.  “Tell ya what, doll… you try it first.  If you don’t throw up or die, then maybe I’ll consider eating mine.”

You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed your bowl.  “Fine, you big baby.” 

You filled your spoon and raised it to him in a mock toast before placing it into your mouth.  He watched the motion in silent amusement, his eyes focused on your lips as they closed around the spoon.

It was awful.  Definitely burnt.  And the parts that weren’t burnt were overcooked, making the textures all wrong in your mouth.  You swallowed forcefully, suppressing a gag.

“Mmm… You look like you enjoyed that.”  Dabi teased.

“Hey at least I’ve actually tried it.” You shot back.  “So, I guess that means only one of us is a little bitch.” 

Dabi’s eyes widened, the light in them dancing in amusement, as a grin spread across his face. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, doll?  You’ve been with the League too long.”

You pointed your spoon at him.  “Don’t try to act like you know me.  And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead.  So eat up.”  You picked up his bowl again and held it under his nose. By this point, you knew the soup wasn’t really that edible, but now you were determined to have him suffer with you.

The smell wafted up and he wrinkled his nose.  He pushed the bowl away back towards you.  “I don’t think so.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “You said you’d try it if I did.”

“I said I’d consider it.”  He replied. “It’s been considered and denied.”

“You’re an ass.” You pouted. “It really is awful though…” you confessed.  “and she had Kurogiri with her, too.  Like… how?”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” Dabi replied.

You laughed.  “That’s what I told Compress!”

Your conversation was interrupted by a loud, hungry rumble in your gut.

A low chuckle rumbled from Dabi’s chest that made your heart pound and your flesh feel warm.  “C’mon doll, don’t torture yourself.” He said. “Why don’t we just go get a bite to eat. There’s nothing keeping us locked up in here.”

Toga’s words echoed in your head.  Dinner date.  Oh geez, if she or Magne saw you two leaving the premises together, you’d never hear the end of it.  The offer was tempting though, and you were pretty sure Dabi was starting to get tired of his snacks.  Junk food could only satisfy for so long; at some point he needed a proper meal.

But something nagged at you as you stared at the man in front of you.  He seemed to be doing okay at first glance… his recent shower certainly seemed to lift his spirits.  But you had been too distracted by his attractiveness earlier that you hadn’t taken the time to really assess him.  Now, you could see the exhaustion still in his face, could see the small wiggle of his leg and the drumming of his fingers on the table.   You checked the time on your phone – no doubt your quirk and the pills were beginning to wear off.  But how far along that was, you couldn’t really say; it was hard to tell with Dabi; he didn’t show his pain very easily.

You knew your appetite would disappear once you pushed yourself into sensory overload.  But Dabi couldn’t wait, even if he might try to play it off that he could.  More importantly, you didn’t want to try to deal with a withdrawal-suffering Dabi out in public. Your heart sank slightly. Goodbye delicious dinner, for the second time that night.

“…I should probably treat you first.” Your eyes landed on his bag of goods as your stomach rumbled again. “But maybe a snack would be good.” You confessed.  You felt embarrassed for asking, especially after the big show you’d just point on… but pride had to take a back seat before your stomach ate itself.

His blue eyes stared at you for a long moment.  You could feel your skin start to prickle under the weight of them.

“Sure, doll.”  He finally said.  He rummaged through one of the bags until he found what he was looking for under a bag of spicy chips.  “Is this your style?”

He tossed you a prepackaged muffin about the size of a softball.  You couldn’t fight the smile that blossomed across your face.  “Yeah, thanks.”  You opened up the wrapping and began breaking off pieces of it.  “You want some?” you offered, holding the muffin towards him.

He shook his head. “Nah.  Don’t feel much like eating.”

You broke off half of the muffin for him anyway.  “I still need to give you your pills, so you should eat something first.  Besides, this is too big for me to finish by myself anyway.” 

Was it a lie?  Of course. You were starving.  Did Dabi know that you were lying?  Of course.  But he took the other half of the muffin anyway.  You sat on the edge of his bed while he sat in his chair as the two of you ate together in silence for a moment. As you ate, your eyes wandered around his room.

That was when you noticed it.

 “Are those my towels?” you asked. 

Dabi looked over at his dresser as he stuffed the last of the muffin into his mouth.  “Yeah.  They’re clean now.”

“Thank you…” you replied. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details.  “You cleaned up…”

Dabi shrugged. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a complete slob.”

You stared at him as he began fidgeting with a pack of cigarettes, tapping the box on the table, flipping it over, and tapping the other end.  Over and over it somersaulted, and you wondered if he was craving one right now.  Why didn’t he just take one out and light it up?

Was Dabi… being considerate?

Then again, the action didn’t come as much of a surprise to you as it might have before.  He’d been more willing to do small acts of kindness ever since the night of his withdrawal.  Bringing ramen.  Adjusting his room for your sensory overload.

Now this.

Was it fueled by guilt? Or did he actually care?

He looked like he was waiting for something.  You watched as he rubbed at his scarred arm with his free hand, irritation flashing across his eyes.  Of course. He was waiting for you and your quirk. You ate your muffin faster.  As soon as it had disappeared into your mouth, you reached for your bag and took out the pill bottle.  His eyes were on it instantly, the shaking in his leg stilled by the sight of it, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

“Here.” You offered, handing him his pills.  He took them and swallowed them dry before opening up a beverage and taking a swig.

Dabi eyed the bottle in your hand as you closed it.  “That’s looking awfully low there, isn’t it?”

You put the container back in your bag, enclosing it in a zippered space.  “It’ll be enough to last us through tomorrow morning.”

“That’s cutting it real close, don’tcha think?” he replied.

You looked up to see his brow furrowed in concern and offered him a reassuring smile.  “It is.  But I’ll be picking up the refills tomorrow before our evening session, so there’s nothing to worry about.  Now let’s take a look at your back real quick.”

He stood up and dragged his chair over to where you sat and straddled the seat with his back facing you. The bandage was still on, but you could tell it had gotten wet in the shower.  You’d have to be careful when changing it this time, since the bits of skin that were starting to heal might reopen.

You applied your quirk first around the bandages, then began to delicately remove the wet gauze and tape. Your fingers were cold on Dabi’s skin and a small shiver ran up his spine at the sensation of your touch.  The wound didn’t show any signs of infection or fresh damage, so you continued business as usual, applying the antiseptic followed by fresh gauze.  As you patched him up, your eyes kept drifting to your towels, thinking about what had happened that night.  There was something important you’d been meaning to ask him.  Something you had to know.

“I… have a question.” You ventured.

“Hm?” Dabi responded, his head turning slightly to the sound of your voice.

“The next day… after I helped you out that one night… was there anything… off?  About you specifically?” you asked.

There was a long pause and you could tell Dabi was thinking heavily, which only made the dread in your gut sink in deeper.

“I couldn’t feel anything.” He finally admitted. 

“I’m not talking about the pain.  I’m talking about… I don’t know.  Anything else.”

“I know.” He replied. “When I woke up, I couldn’t feel anything.”

Your brow furrowed and the dread hardened into a stone.  “…what does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t care about a thing, doll.  Everything was turned off.” He was facing away from you and in that moment, you wished he wasn’t – you desperately wanted to see the expression on his face.  Your hands felt clammy as you processed his words.

“You mean your emotions?” you clarified.  You needed to understand more.  You needed to know how bad it was.  “What… did it feel like?”

“Empty.”

You finished putting the last bandage on him but you barely noticed as your vision became unfocused, your thoughts whirling.  Holy shit. You had turned off his emotions?  You supposed in hindsight it made sense, since it was likely his memories and the emotions attached to them that were torturing him that night.  Why else would he have been blabbering incoherent apologies as if he were desperately trying to atone for something? But still… the severity of that made your blood run cold. Emotions were everything, contrary to what some people might think. They fuel how people think, how they act, how they react… entire personalities – entire identities are built around how emotions are felt and how they are dealt with.  You very well could have entirely erased Dabi as a person. In fact, you likely did, at least temporarily.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and tried to calm your panicked breathing.  “…How long did it last?”

He was quiet again, and the silence was worse than anything.

“Please tell me.” You begged.  “How long?”

“Hours.”

Your heart was racing and your ears ringing.  Your eyes began to sting but you fought it, focusing on a patch of scarred flesh on his back to distract yourself, memorizing its pattern.  You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again.  And certainly not twice in one day.  You wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, but you couldn’t make the words come out, not without your emotions spilling out with them.  Instead, you forced yourself into action, treating his scars with your quirk. 

There was so much more you wanted to know. How did he get his emotions back?  What did it feel like? Was it slow, or at all at once? Did he feel relieved?

Did it hurt?

But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask those questions, no matter how badly you wanted to know, no matter how badly you wanted to understand.  They were too personal, and you could already tell by Dabi’s growing reluctance that he didn’t want to talk about it any further.

You’d apologize to him. At some point, once your emotions were under control, you’d apologize.

You finished numbing his back and shoulders, even tracing down his triceps a little.  “Turn around,” you instructed.

He did as you asked, adjusting himself in the chair so he was now facing you.  You avoided looking at him, the shame and guilt far too heavy for you to lift your eyes.  Unbeknownst to you, a frown pulled at his brow, his lips.  You wore your emotions so plainly…

You took his hand in yours and continued your quirk as your skin began to prickle and sting. The sound of the shower dripping in the bathroom was louder now. Dabi shifted slightly in his chair and the scraping sound against the floor was like nails on a chalkboard.  The odors in the room went from pleasant to offensive.

“I gotta question for ya,” Dabi suddenly ventured.  “Did you change my clothes that night?”

Your hands faltered and you glanced up at his face before you could catch yourself.  His eyes had a glint in them you couldn’t quite place in your distracted mental state.  You felt embarrassment creep across your skin.

“I did.  I had to get you into the shower before you combusted.” You replied as you continued to treat him, your hands on his collarbone. The feel of it was so familiar now…

“I was naked?”

“Only for a moment!” you replied.  “You were in your boxers for most of it, but I had to change you out of those after the shower.” God, this entire conversation was so embarrassing… why did he have to ask about this of all things?

“…did ya peek?” he asked.

Your mouth struggled like a fish out of water for a moment as you glared at him.  “NO!” You finally exclaimed.  “Of course, I didn’t!  Why would you even…”  but then you saw the grin on his face and you realized he was teasing you. 

You playfully punched his arm.  “You’re an asshole.” You fumed.

He laughed.  “That didn’t even hurt.” He mocked.

“Of course it didn’t, idiot. I already used my quirk there.” You shot back.  “Now stay still so I can get your damn face.”

“So feisty…” he murmured.

Shit.  With your senses heightened, you could almost feel the vibration in his voice, as if he were closer to you than he actually was. For the briefest moment, it distracted you from the growing pain of your scar, from the sound of the drip drip from the bathroom shower.  You wondered what it would feel like to have those words uttered against your skin, his hot breath warming your flesh, the feel of his rough lower lip brushing…

You clenched your jaw until you nearly gave yourself a headache, forcing the intrusive thoughts out of your mind.  You weren’t here for this.  You were here to treat him and get out of his space.  You weren’t his type.  You repeated it to yourself like a mantra, a prayer, a reminder to the illogical part of you that wanted to follow the lure of his voice.  Why did he have to be such a flirt?  It didn’t surprise you, but it certainly left you feeling confused when his actions and words sometimes contradicted themselves.

All it meant was that he was getting comfortable with you again. He was treating you like a friend, and friends teased all the time.  Right?

His eyes watched you closely as your hands caressed his jaw, relieving the ache there.  You seemed lost in your thoughts and while you certainly didn’t look comfortable, you also didn’t look too be too horribly in pain. You were doing better today.  Still, your fingers danced quickly across his skin, skating under his eyes which he instinctively closed, and barely touching his lower lip.  It happened far too quickly before the presence of you disappeared, and it left him feeling empty.  How badly he wanted to grab your hands right then and put them back onto his face. 

When he opened his eyes again, your own eyes were downcast as you stretched your fingers slightly.

“You okay?” he ventured. The question sounded odd coming from him, even to his own ears.

You looked up at him then, and you could see he was concerned. That’s right… he knew about your quirk and your scar now.  You clasped your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.  Shaking from the pain you were feeling, shaking from the fear of your own thoughts and desires.

“I’m fine.” You lied. Did he know you were lying with this too?

He knew.  In fact, you’d given him the same false words he always gave you.  It was like looking into a mirror.

“You don’t gotta do the legs.” He offered.  “I’m not dressed for it anyway.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You chided.  “Of course I’m going to do your legs.  The better I treat you, the better you can rest.  And your body needs rest to heal your burn.”

He noticed that you made no comment on his withdrawal, which a part of him appreciated; it helped him avoid the discomfort of shame that was always associated with it. Still…

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, doll.  I won’t be needing them.  Besides, the drugs help.” He replied.

You eyed him for a moment, assessing.  “How about I just do your calves then?” you bartered.

He assessed you in return before he gave a small half-smirk.  “Deal.”

By the time you’d treated his calves down to the tops of his feet, you were definitely grateful you didn’t have to do any more.

PING……..PING……

You rubbed at the bridge of your nose, feeling the onset of a headache as you skirted just shy of overload. You closed your eyes, hoping maybe the lack of visual stimulation might make the auditory more bearable.  Or at least bearable enough that you could actually move your body instead of feeling frozen.  But it only made it worse, allowing your brain to hyperfixate on it. You covered your ears against it as you struggled to find your way out of it, to regain control of yourself.

While you lost yourself in your senses, Dabi watched you in displeasure.  He’d made sure to have everything ready before you showed up.  He even made sure not to light up a cigarette, as much as that had grated on him, since he knew the smell would linger long after. But clearly, something was bothering you.  What had he missed?

He watched, waiting, giving you time to figure yourself out or ask for help while he secretly tried to decode the mystery.  Your eyes were closed, your hands over your ears.  Was it multiple sensory attacks?  You flinched again.  And again. There was a rhythm.  So, it was something you were hearing.

Curiously, Dabi closed his own eyes listening for anything that stood out.  Slowly, the quiet sound of water dripping greeted his ears like a whisper.  He opened his eyes just in time to see your flinch match with the sound.

That was it.

“It’s the shower.” He commented. 

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement.  You opened your eyes and looked at him with surprise before giving a nod, your hands still over your ears.  He knew his shower leaked for a bit after he used it, but he’d gotten so used to it that he just tuned out the sound by this point.  But for you… especially after using your quirk on him…

Why didn’t you just get up and leave?  Why stay here if it was bothering you this much?  Obviously, you wanted to get away from it…

Maybe you couldn’t.  Maybe, for some reason, you were stuck in what you were experiencing, unable to find your way out.

Dabi could relate to that.

And he didn’t like it.

He stood up and closed the bathroom door before returning to sit in the chair in front of you, waiting.

You could still hear it. But it was manageable now, muffled. Quieter.  You could feel yourself start to process the rest of what you were feeling.  The pain on your back; the feel of your clothes, your hair; the smell of Dabi’s body wash, fresh linen… cigarettes.  Slowly, your hands lowered from your ears as you focused on each sense, identifying all you recognized.  The world was still loud around you, but at least you could somewhat function again. Slowly, you opened your eyes to see him watching you through an unreadable expression.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.” You replied. “Thank you.  Again.”

“It’s fine.”

A heavy, awkward quiet filled the space, and in that moment, despite Dabi’s kindness, all you wanted was to be back safely in your room.  Maybe it was because you were feeling overwhelmed by your own emotions, unable to properly control how your heart pounded around him, or how you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Or maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable yet his gaze intense, as if you were all that he was focused on and he was determined to discover all of your secrets.

Either way, you felt an ache grow within you, threatening to drown you. But you couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t dismantle it or bury it, not while your brain fought the senses overwhelming you. You could handle one or the other… but you couldn’t handle both.

You needed the comfort of your room; you needed your safe space.

“I’m… going to go lay down.” You said quietly, as you grabbed your bag.  It felt heavy in your hand.

If Dabi noticed the shift in your mood, he didn’t say so.  Instead, he stood from his seat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Yeah.  Me too.” He replied.

Despite the suddenly aloof atmosphere, he still walked you to his door.  After you left, he leaned his back against the cold wood and ran his hand down his face.

So much for not caring…

________________________________________________

Part 10 ________________________________________________

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