#ERRATICALLY TAGGED MATERIAL

[basicallyjaywalker]

A Little Too Sweet

First fic is ready! And I'm on time if you just forget yesterday happened /lh

This one is for @crying-over-cartoons aka Grey, I hope you enjoy!

Prompts: Pomatter Pie from Waitress; release, dribble, cluster, single, view, swear, file, crack, despise, decoration; 37

AO3 Link

Fic under the cut!

Cole despised kitchen duty. He learned after years of trying to cook dinner—and failing miserably enough times—that he was not a chef. Somehow, though, he’d ended up here. He couldn’t exactly blame Master Wu for asking him to help out. Thirty-seven pies was a lot of pies. Zane couldn’t do it alone, and Kai, Jay, Nya, and Lloyd were busy setting up decorations and furniture. 

If Cole had to be paired with anyone for this job, he was glad it was Zane. First, he actually knew how to bake, something Cole wasn’t sure their other teammates could say. Second, he knew Zane wouldn’t judge him if he screwed up.

They stood in the middle of the kitchen. Cole leaned over the counter, holding a manila folder in his hand. Zane stood beside him, adjusting the tie on the back of his pink apron. 

“‘Mrs. Pomatter’s Famous Fair Pie,’” Cole read the title, written in curly black sharpie. It reminded him of the case files the police kept on known criminals in Ninjago City. “Wonder what makes it so famous?”

“It’s won the Ninjago City Fair’s pie contest four years in a row. It’s surprising Master Wu was able to get her to give the recipe to us.”

“It is for a good cause. Raising funds for the new children’s hospital and all…” Cole flipped it open and started reading the recipe. “Crust: first, put dry ingredients in a bowl. One-and-a-fourth cups of flour… two tablespoons of sugar…”

“Tablespoons?” Zane tilted his head. “That seems like a lot.”

Cole shrugged. “Hey, if it’s won the City Fair four years in a row, she's gotta know what she's doing.”

The ingredients were clustered together in front of them, along with bowls and utensils. Zane pulled out the sealed jar labeled “sugar” and a ring of metal measuring spoons. He measured out the tablespoons and Cole noticed the puzzled expression on his face.

“What’s up?”

“It’s just… While I trust you would not lie to me, this much sugar with the amount of flour could mean the crust will come out crunchy. Would you check the recipe one more time?”

“Crunchy?” That made sense, he supposed, like when you make tea and the sugar doesn't fully dissolve. He checked the recipe over again and grimaced. “Ah yeah, it’s teaspoons. My bad.”

“Don’t trouble yourself too much,” as Zane spoke, he poured the excess sugar back into its container. “It’s a common mistake. The two words are remarkably similar.”

And Cole wouldn’t have troubled himself, if it weren’t for the fact that those mistakes continued happening. He would read the recipe—misread it, to be precise—Zane would quickly catch on, ask him to double check, and Cole would realize he’d messed up. The measurements were wrong, or the ingredients, or he’d skipped a step. Once they had it down, though, it went smoother. Zane knew the ingredients, the portions, the steps. Cole just helped by passing over what was needed.

Then it came time to roll the crust out. The last time Cole rolled something out was when he tried making bread rolls that ended up more akin to rocks, so he was more than a little apprehensive. Zane must’ve sensed something as he was making the filling over on the stove, because he came over and noticed Cole standing over the mound of dough, holding a rolling pin, and definitely wearing a dumbfounded look on his face. 

“Would you like some help?” 

“Uh,” and if he wasn’t before, Cole was sure he was now. “Just a demo, if you don’t mind. Instructions aren’t being very helpful.”

“Of course!” Zane chirped. Cole handed him the pin and Zane set to work. He pinched a generous amount from the flour bag, sprinkling it on top of the counter, then rubbing it on his hands and the pin. “This is to ensure the dough does not stick. Here, would you assist me?” Zane held the rolling pin out to Cole again. He took the free end. Zane tugged him forward, standing behind him. He reached around Cole, placing his hands on the outside of Cole’s on both sides of the pin. “Now we roll.”

Cole tried to ignore the warmth spreading across his face as they guided the pin across the table, flattening the mound into a neat oval. “Wonderful!” Zane’s ever-chipper voice exclaimed before he took his hands away. Cole relaxed, releasing tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. Zane went back to making the filing, leaving Cole to ignore the fact that his heart rate had picked up somewhere along the way. 

By the time the crust was done, so was the filling. Zane put the first pie together while Cole rolled out the next batch. Once he finished, Zane started assembling the next pie. Cole let out a breath. Honestly, this was going better than he expected. Plus, Zane’s explanations were actually helping! They only had thirty-five more pies after they finished these two. Speaking of which….

He flicked the switch of the light and viewed the pie through the oven window, only to be faced with the horrifying sight of dark purple filling bubbling up and spilling out. He swore and pulled the pie out, placing it on the top of the oven. Filling dribbled down the side of the ceramic tin, the crust had cracked and split apart, even the decorative slits they placed in the top were lost among the molten filling erupting from beneath its barely browned surface. 

Zane examined the monstrous concoction. He tilted his head, his lips pulling into a slight diagonal line. He swiped a bit of the dripping filling from the side and tasted it. Cole glanced away. Shit. I’ve definitely ruined it.

“It appears we forgot to distribute the butter properly in our cover. Shame, the filling tastes rather good.”

Cole stared at him, dumbstruck. Then, he laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” Zane asked.

“Nothing, it’s just… you’re so calm about this. We haven’t baked a single pie, our crust is bust, and you’re able to just sit here and… shrug it off.”

“Of course, it isn’t a disaster. We’re ninjas, we’ve handled worse.” As he said this, a smile tugged at the corner of Zane’s mouth. “Besides, this time it was my fault. I should have given the butter more time to chill.”

Cole kept laughing. Zane just smiled. 

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I believe this means the pie I’m currently working on will suffer a similar fate. In addition, it will take us another two hours to make more crust. Not only that, but the sale begins in four.”

Master Wu hummed as he passed through the floor of his tea shop, examining each of the centerpieces on the tables, the lights, and the streamers floating down from the ceiling. He reached for one of the floating pie cutouts, pulled on it, then released it, satisfied with how it held. He turned to four of his students, all standing tall with bated breath.

“Well, guess we better start baking.” Cole grinned and held up the pin, cherishing the way Zane chuckled at him.

“I’m impressed. You all have done very well.” He smiled when he saw their tension release. “These decorations are wonderful! As is the lighting, but we are missing one thing.” He glanced around. “Where are Cole and Zane?”

“I think they’re still in the kitchen,” Kai offered. “I’ve been smelling pie all afternoon.”

“And none of it was burnt! Well, not after the first few hours, anyways,” added Jay. 

“Still, we need that pie for the sale, the doors will be opening in—” Before Wu could check, Zane and Cole came rushing in, covered in flour and dough and arms laden with pie. 

“Ta-da! Thirty-seven perfectly baked pies!”

“And right on time too!” Zane said, placing his neatly on the long table set up next to Steeper Wisdom’s register. 

Wu walked over, taking in the enticing smell of berries and buttery crust. “Perfect! I believe we’re in for a rousing success tonight. Thank you all for your help.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Zane. These pies would’ve been a bust without his help.” Cole nudged him. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Zane told him. 

“You’re sweet, Zane.” Cole smiled. “Maybe a little too sweet.”

“Doors are opening! To your stations, everyone!” Misako called, getting behind the counter. She glanced at the two, giggling a little. “Cole, you may want to clean up before we begin. I’ll take your apron, Zane.”

Cole rushed to the back, hoping there was a spare uniform back there he could use. As he hurried to get ready before the crowds poured in, he couldn’t help thinking about the smile he swore he saw on Zane’s face.

[chiquilines]

op you are the only person on this entire website feeding me Miryumi. Bless, and keeep making more jbsjhbcsbcjkdzb its so fucking gpood and ima soa hungry

My one job is keeping the miryumi community well fed and by god am i committed

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (3 - The Neighbor)

Chapter Summary: Agnes sees the perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble while Wanda deals with her jealousy toward your work assistant, Geraldine. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I really have nothing to say except that I enjoyed writing Agatha in this chapter // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The team has been at a standstill, figuring out who’s behind this, or how to communicate with anyone trapped inside the town. Every drone they've sent in morphs into something entirely different, thwarting their efforts to gather any useful intel. The people sent underground to scout a safe route through have gone dark, their communication cut off. No one else volunteered to attempt approaching the perimeter after that.

The broadcasts they've been tracking are erratic, cutting out for hours with no warning, making it hard to keep a consistent eye on the town's odd behaviors. But it's during one of these quiet periods when something clicks in Darcy's mind.

“I think I have something,” Darcy blurts out to Jimmy. They’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel, running out of faces to identify from the snippets of life in Westview they caught on screen. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy gives her a tired look, only half-listening. He can't remember the last time he managed more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Even if he could find the time to rest, the bizarre situation they're in won't let his mind relax. 

Darcy sighs and leads him outside the tent.

“So, you’ve seen that radio on Wanda’s kitchen counter, right?”

Jimmy only nods.

Darcy continues, “The next time she’s washing dishes, or whatever—which by my count—happens about once an episode, barf, we’ll shoot a signal to that little guy.” She leads him to a set of computers set up behind a pickup truck. Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s going on with these systems, but he’s hoping Darcy really is onto something.

“This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast,” she pauses to catch her breath in the cold and to give him time to catch up with her science. “And if my theory is right, it will allow us to speak to her.”

She cuts off any chance for Jimmy to comment and assures him, “This is definitely going to work.”

–

The annual Westview Harvest Festival is in full swing. The town square is packed with booths overflowing with baked goods and fresh fall produce. A small stage is set up for the local band playing tunes from the 70s, while kids dart around in all directions, their faces painted with fanciful designs. Billy and Tommy are with their preschool teachers, who are keeping them and other children their age occupied with arts and crafts that involve tumbleweeds—a material no one seems to think is entirely safe for five-year-olds to play with.

In hindsight, it’s the ideal setting for introductions and mingling. However, everyone here already knows each other—everyone, that is, except for Wanda. She makes an effort to blend in, but apart from a few interactions with the planning committee, which weren’t particularly fruitful, she often remains secluded at home. This makes you, the only one in the household who heads out daily for work, the more socially connected of the two. It’s both amusing and slightly anxiety-inducing to watch you interact with the townsfolk who are essentially strangers to you and to Wanda, if only you knew. You and Wanda never had the opportunity to live a normal life, to settle in a typical city, surrounded by neighbors who could have become integral to the life you might have built together. 

Seeing you interact with these people, she’s realizing it’s harder than she thought to share you with others. Or maybe she’s just as selfish as she’s always been, never really outgrowing it. When you were both part of the Avengers, it was like living in a bubble, surrounded by only a few familiar faces every day. Now, outside that controlled environment, it’s challenging her expectations and stirring up feelings she thought she had under control.

It becomes particularly tough when she sees Geraldine heading towards you, sporting that perpetual, dazzling smile full of perfect white teeth. Wanda's fingers curl into a fist, tiny wisps of red energy leaking from them. You quickly cover her hand with yours, and the effect is immediate—she relaxes slightly, letting you intertwine your fingers with hers, anchoring herself by your side where she feels secure.

“It's so nice to see you outside of the office, just being one of us for a change,” Geraldine says, though she seems to be wearing the same uniform as at work. Not that you're judging, but it does make you wonder why she hasn't changed.

“Definitely beats being stuck behind a desk,” you reply, your attention briefly wandering. Only then do you notice that Wanda has subtly withdrawn her hand from yours, now exploring a booth with homemade apple cider. You hadn't even noticed the exact moment she let go.

“Hello, Wanda!” Geraldine greets her warmly. 

Wanda musters a tight-lipped smile that’s convincing enough, as Geraldine appears quite taken with it. Just then, Geraldine spots Agnes standing a little away from the crowd, lingering behind Wanda with a look that borders on suspicion or disdain. 

Geraldine steps up to her while Wanda continues to busy herself with whatever else is being showcased in the booth. “Hi, I'm Geraldine. Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” She extends her hand to Agnes.

Agnes eyes the offered hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, she sizes up Geraldine with a quick once-over and nods, foregoing any introductions. Geraldine's smile falters briefly, but she quickly shakes off the slight, tossing a brisk, “See you around, Y/N!” over her shoulder as she heads back to her table.

You wave back and let out a sigh, relieved that you’ve just sidestepped what could have been the most awkward moment of your life. Wanda’s jealousy towards Geraldine seems more serious than you’d realized. You know Wanda can be possessive; it's just been a long time since it's manifested this way. But then, it's also been a while since you've both been in a crowd of strangers like this. Since…

Since when, exactly?

“Y/N, honey?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your fog.

You blink. “Hm?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, you’ve forgotten about your lapse of memory, replaced by a desire to tend to your wife's needs.

“I’ll get us some refreshments. What would you like?” you ask.

“Just some water, please.”

“Water here, too,” Agnes calls out, unsolicited. 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It's great that Wanda's making friends in the neighborhood, but did it really have to be Agnes O’Connor? Ever since you and Wanda moved into this quiet suburb, Agnes has made it her personal mission to be involved in every aspect of your lives. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than the apparent nosiness of your neighbor.

As you head over to get the drinks, Agnes sidles up to Wanda, her eyes gleaming with an opportunity to stir some pot. 

“Geraldine seems quite taken with your wife.”

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t know what Agnes’s doing, but she finds herself nodding in agreement anyway. Your new assistant does appear smitten with you, and while Wanda gets the appeal—you are, undeniably, crush-worthy—she can't say she's thrilled about it.

“Y/N is her boss,” Wanda murmurs, more to herself than to Agnes.

“Oh, honey,” Agnes laughs condescendingly. “Do you even go to the movies? That's how the steamiest affairs start, you know.”

Wanda bristles at the sound of that endearment from someone other than you. But she keeps herself together—barely. 

“I trust her,” Wanda forces out.

As you're getting drinks, Geraldine joins you, picking up a soda herself. She lets out a light laugh at a joke from the bartender, and you find yourself chuckling too, oblivious to the piercing look your wife is drilling into your back.

Meanwhile, Agnes sees her opening and swoops in, linking her arm through Wanda's with a bit more force than necessary. 

“Of course, you trust her, dear,” she murmurs right by Wanda's ear. “But do you trust her?” She points subtly with her chin towards Geraldine, her lips pursed. “You know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…”

Wanda's shoulders tense, her entire frame stiffening. As you return with the drinks, Agnes steps away, leaving Wanda visibly shaken, like she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Everything okay?” you ask, handing her a drink. You've noticed before how Wanda's demeanor changes around Agnes; she’s clearly a source of stress for her. It’s going to be a difficult conversation, but it might be time to tell Wanda what you really think about the neighbor.

Wanda takes the water you offer, her fingers trembling slightly as she does. For a moment, she appears distant, disengaged, as if her mind is elsewhere. Then, with a sudden shift, she flashes you one of those smiles that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I'm fine,” she declares, a little too brightly. Then, seemingly out of the blue, she asks, “Is Geraldine here with someone?”

You stop short, realizing you really don't know much about Geraldine beyond work. “I didn’t see her with anyone,” you say.

Wanda nods thoughtfully. Her next suggestion catches you by surprise. 

“Maybe you should invite her over to our table.”

Did you hear that correctly? Had Wanda just done a complete 180 regarding your assistant and was now interested in getting to know her? You shoot a suspicious glance at Agnes. Had she said something to Wanda to change her mind?

“Are you sure?” you ask, puzzled by her abrupt change of heart.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. “It might be nice to make a new friend.”

–

Back at the response camp, Darcy and Jimmy are huddled around the small, grainy television, waiting for the moment Wanda’s in her kitchen so they can send a message through her radio device. However, the usual domestic scenes are conspicuously absent, replaced by static and sporadic cuts to the ongoing Harvest Festival.

“Come on, come on,” Darcy mutters under her breath, shoving her glasses back up her nose. They've been slipping a lot lately, probably because she's been hunching over her work more than usual these past few days.

“It's this festival,” Jimmy says, squinting at the screen. “I think the whole town's out there tonight. I don’t think we’re going to get the chance.”

Their attempts to contact anyone inside the Hex are dwindling, and Hayward's interest leans more towards studying the energy barrier encasing the town rather than resolving the anomaly itself. His latest directive to launch another drone into the barrier feels like a brute force attempt to crack the problem. Jimmy thinks it’s a waste of time—and resources.

“Yeah, and you know what’s worse?” Darcy grumbles. “I have a bad feeling about Agnes. Every time she's around, things just seem to... escalate.”

As they watch, the screen cuts to a shot of Agnes at the festival, linking arms with Wanda, whispering something that makes Wanda’s expression tighten. “See, what did I tell you?” Darcy exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Who’s this Agnes again in real life?” she asks.

Jimmy swivels in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the expansive pinboard filled with photos of Westview residents. Agnes’s face is not among them. 

“No idea,” he says flatly. He had already run a search in the database, but it came back empty.

“So, we've identified Y/N, Monica, and Agnes as outsiders in Westview,” Darcy explains, tallying them off on her fingers. 

“That’s correct,” Jimmy confirms.

“And then there’s Wanda’s sons. But again… we haven’t seen any other children in the show besides the twins.”

Jimmy thinks about it for a while. It had never really occurred to him before. “Maybe they’re bound to show up at some point?”

“Smells fishy to me,” Darcy huffs. Her thoughts circle back to Agnes. “How do you think Agnes ended up here?” she asks, their list of unanswered questions growing daily.

Jimmy shrugs. “She could’ve just been visiting.”

Darcy considers it. It's a possibility, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite right—too simple, too convenient for someone as vibrant and prickly as the character Agnes portrays.

–

It's as if Wanda's animosity toward Geraldine just magically went away. 

They’ve been chatting for almost an hour. Initially, Wanda made sure to include you in the conversation, but as time passed, she and Geraldine started connecting over topics that didn’t involve you as much. Feeling somewhat left out but also at ease that the problem between your wife and your secretary has apparently resolved itself, you decide to check out the festival booths.

This is where Agnes finds the perfect opportunity to get you alone. She starts her approach—to your surprise and discomfort—by acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” she says with a knowing smile. “Maybe we can change that tonight?”

You eye her with suspicion, easily seeing through her blatant attempts to flirt her way into your good graces.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

Agnes simply laughs off the cool reception you’ve given her. If anything, she revels in it. 

“By getting to know each other, obviously,” she says.

“Right.”

She takes your elbow, and you swear she can feel you recoil at her closeness, yet she doesn’t seem to care. She urges you forward, dictating the pace. Her grip is unexpectedly firm, as if to say you have no choice but to listen—like leaving isn't an option.

With you literally in her grasp, Agnes sets her plans into motion. “So, how did you and Wanda meet?” she asks.

You deliver the narrative precisely as it plays out in your memory, exactly as Wanda implanted it in your mind. “We grew up next to each other. Best friends since we were kids.” 

“How cute,” she says, in that smooth, supercilious tone that usually makes your skin crawl. But this time, with the memories of Wanda filling your head, you hardly notice.

“Yeah, I remember when I first saw her,” you continue, gazing into the distance as if the scene you speak of is right there before your eyes. “It was almost Halloween, and my mom had baked a pumpkin pie to welcome them to the neighborhood. She sent me to deliver it. Wanda answered the door.”

“Love at first sight?”

“More like the opposite,” you say, throwing Agnes a good-natured smile, something you’ve never done before. “She couldn’t stand me, and I felt the same way.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Agnes drawls before accompanying it with a short chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe there’s hope for us yet. You might end up not hating me so much after all.”

“Maybe…” you say, the smile reaching your eyes this time.

“Good, good,” Agnes says. “I can’t think of anything more romantic than growing up with the person you’ll be with for the rest of your life. Almost like it’s… sketched out, no?”

You nod at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but you appreciate the sentiment. You consider yourself lucky to have known Wanda most of your life. 

“So, you've lived in Westview your whole life?” Agnes asks.

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation.

“And you've only ever been to Westview?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, ready to list off places you've been, but suddenly, you can't name any. The cities and trips that should come easily to your tongue just... don't materialize.

Not a single one.

Agnes watches you struggle with a blank expression. A second later, she begins throwing out suggestions, as if trying to help. 

“Canada?" 

You shake your head. 

“California?” 

Another shake.

“New York?”

No. This time, your eyes sting with the frustration of trying to pull something from the haze, realizing there’s nothing there. 

Have you really never been anywhere but Westview?

“Eastview, maybe?” she offers with a bit of sarcasm as she names the town next door.

“I—”

“How strange,” Agnes muses, driving home the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling peace.

You jerk your arm away from her grip and take a few instinctive steps back. “I need to pick up the twins,” you blurt out, seizing the first excuse that comes to mind. “We should be heading out soon.”

Without waiting for her reply, you start walking away, driven by a sudden, intense need to be with your boys, with Wanda. To hold them close, to find some stability. Because right now, you’re petrified by a fear you cannot name. 

“I heard Australia’s amazing this time of year!” Agnes calls after you.

The idea of not having been anywhere but Westview—it’s possible, right? Some people spend their entire lives in one place. But if this feeling—the one that's been gnawing at you lately—is real, if the world outside of Westview is truly non-existent, then what does that say about your life here?

What does it say about you?

[thelov3lybookworm]

Journals

Summary: everyone is happy

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: heavyyyy angst, sad lil fic (literally what i named this before i came up with a title), mental health issues, depression, feeling unworthy of love, panic attack, self harm, self hate. thats all i can think of right now, but let me know if i need to add anything

A/n: based on this and this poetry by @gardenofrunar 🤭 you couldnt tell it was me could you pookie?

also, there is not really a bat boy our reader is supposed to be with, so im tagging this as all three of them. there will most probably not be a second part to this, but still, lemme know hat you all think

AND, im not trying to glorify what reader is going through in this fic. if you are going through something, please talk to someone. you are not alone, my loves ❣️

anyways, enjoyyyy!!

It was happening again.

The breathlessness was starting to creep up again on her.

And the worst part wasn't the fact that she felt like she was dying.

It was that she was alone. Again.

No one was coming. No one cared. No one would even realise she was gone until it was too late, and maybe that was a miracle.

Click.

The haze cleared slightly, and gasping for breath, Y/n stood, somehow making it to the stairs leading to her bedroom before her lungs constricted again.

She had no other option as she crumbled on the stairs, the hard wood digging into her sides and thighs.

She could not breathe.

She could not think.

She could not move.

She could not breathe.

A cruel laugh broke through her consciousness, the sound so familiar yet so foreign, Y/n could not help but sob.

You deserve this.

Azriel. It was him, no doubt. But the longer she sat there, other voices started joining in.

First Cassian. Then Mor, Rhysand. Amren.

Feyre, Nesta. Elain.

"Stop." She whispered, her hands shaking as she rose them to her ears, pressing as hard as she could. But no matter how much she tried to ignore it, the clearer the words became.

You deserve this.

You don't deserve us.

It's your own fault.

In an attempt to get away, to get some peace and quiet, she reached out, clutching the stair. The wood grains whispered against her palm, their sound lost to ears filled with taunts and laughter.

Still, she dug in her fingers, her nails screaming in protest, her heart yelling back in a horrific screech, beating loud enough to almost drown out her family.

Almost.

Pulling herself up, she reached out her hand, ignoring the pain as she did her best to haul her dysfunctional body up the hard terrain, trying to make it to her bed before she lost herself fully to the dark depths of her mind, losing all sense of her being.

Somehow, having no recollection of the climb, Y/n collapsed at the landing, her breathing erratic as she stared at the blurry paintings on the wall, gifted to her by Rhysand's mate.

Had they always been this blurry?

In the back of her mind, she realised that they were never blurry. There were just tears in her eyes, but she didn't think too much about that as she crawled forward, miraculously crossing the threshold to her room, the familiar smell of flowers Elain had gifted her last week pulling her out of her misery for a moment, enough to let her get up and stumble into the plush material of her bed before tears again erupted in her eyes.

They then came back, screaming in her ears about how much of a disappointment she was, how she deserved no happiness.

And she agreed with them.

But still, it hurt her heart to hear the people she cared for voice thoughts she only limited to the darkness of night, under the gentle presence of the moonlight.

You don't deserve happiness.

She knew the inevitable onslaught of her self hatred was about to break over her head, knew it was unavoidable and would probably have her moping for days.

Her mind started wandering, which in itself was alarming because as much as she wanted to stop thinking about her miserable life, she knew that any and all thoughts she had at these times would only work against her.

Rhys's tear stained cheeks, his bloodshot eyes and his quiet sobs as he clutched Y/n's hands between both of his, Y/n's soft cooing as she tried her best to soothe his wounds after his mother and sister's death.

As she held him after his return from under the mountain.

This was going to be a long night, she was sure.

Cassian's grumpy self refusing to eat after one of the Illyrians had again bullied him for not being good enough. Y/n's cheeks aching from how hard she was trying not to smile as she tried to convince the overgrown illyrian to eat something.

Azriel's shaky hands as she held onto him after a particularly bad nightmare that usually started keeping him up around the time his hands were burned, the anniversary o the time where an innocent little boy realised that the world was filled with cruelty.

Y/n being the first one to find out about Mor's liking in women and helping her sneak out to meet her lovers.

Y/n dragging gallons of fresh blood to Amren's apartment under the cover of the night when she knew the ancient being hadn't had the time to feast.

Her hands scrambled to find something to tether herself to, to remind her that this was not real and that it would pass. That her family did love her, and that they would never hurt her or want her to think this way of herself.

They would never hurt her the way she hurt herself.

They just wouldn't... would they?

Rhys's wide smile as he admired his mate while she spoke to a grinning Cassian, who in turn turned to Azriel to tease the blushing Illyrian. Mor, giggling over her glass of wine as she mumbled something to Elain, Nesta and Amren conversing in hushed tones next to the window, happiness shining on both their faces.

And Y/n watched on, huddled in her own little corner as she gulped down another glass of champagne, trying to focus on the burn in her throat as the liquor travelled down. Trying not to think of the way her breathing started coming in shorter pants, her lungs constricting in the too small rib cage that were set on killing her.

Trying to ignore the tang of copper in her mouth as she bit her own tongue, not wanting to speak and draw attention to herself, to ask for help because she was too unused to suffering in silence. Her family had always been there, and she had never had to go even a day without their constant nagging. She always had at least one of them guiding her through the worst of her days.

Trying not to think of how no one even glanced up as she exited the room, tears prickling her eyes, feeling like she was nothing but an intruder, watching from outside the warmth of the house, standing knee deep in the cold snow as she tried her best to keep warm by looking at the happy faces of her family, no matter how much she was freezing on the inside.

Her fingers curled around the lumpy material of her comforter, and she pushed forward, trying to ignore the tears that rolled down her warm cheeks and buried her head in the soft fabric.

And then let out the ear piercing scream she had been holding in, uncaring that she had let down the sound shield around her room.

She knew no one was around to hear.

She knew no one would come.

They were all too happy to worry.

Her stomach was grumbling, and she was glad it was because otherwise it would've been the cause for concern, considering she hadn't eaten in almost a day.

She was still so tired and wanted to do nothing but lay in bed all day and cry, but she needed to eat too.

And so here she was, chopping up some vegetables in a daze, not really paying attention despite wanting to focus on something that took her mind off of her thoughts.

It was not easy to stop thinking, so when suddenly the fog in her mind cleared, she glanced down.

The red of her blood was bright, and the longer she stared, the quicker the pain came, but it was only a tiny sting, nothing more than the bite of an ant in the shape of a knife.

She stared, and stared.

And then, she lifted her eyes, her gaze settling on her dagger, unprompted.

She smiled.

Writing was one of the parts of Y/n's responsibilities. Writing a letter to help the relations between the courts. A report for the high lord.

It was one of the things that broke her out of her own mind's torture, one of the things that made her feel like she wasn't entirely useless.

So here she was, just scribbling away senseless words in her journal, knowing she would hide it away before anyone saw it. Saw the blood stains.

For the first time in weeks, she was smiling, no tears to be found in her eyes as she lay on her stomach on the bed, her legs in the air behind her as she began doodling little flowers in the corner of the page, her inkpot next to her and her dagger in her other hand.

She went to dip in her feather pen in the ink, frowning a little as it created spots of ink on the crumpled paper, mixing with the dark red liquid that still dripped slowly from her fingers, little rivulets running down from her wrist.

As she continued, a tap on her mental walls had her pausing, and after a brief conversation with Rhys, she got up, closing her journal and beginning to clean the cuts on her wrist and around the journal and then donning a flowy, simple white gown.

It wasn't long before a knock sounded at her door, and she hurried to open it to find Cassian standing on her front porch, smiling.

"Hey Y/n, Rhys asked me to pick you up-"

Y/n nodded. "Yes I know, let me just grab my things and then we can go."

He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe.

She ran up the stairs and to her bedroom, grabbing the little bag she had put all her pens and previous reports into, deciding to carry them with her just in case.

She hurried back out within a few moments, but she saw that Cassian had moved, standing near the gates. Which was suspicious, but not too alarming as she stepped onto the porch.

"Let's go."

Before she shut the door Y/n turned and glanced around the house for the last time. Why, she didn't know. But she couldn't shake the feeling in her gut that something was wrong.

And she had known to always trust her gut.

But she turned around, locking the door before leaving.

Not realising her journal was missing from the table.

"I really don't want to pressure you too much Y/n, so if you don't want to be a part of this research, I understand-"

"Rhys, this is no burden. I'm actually honoured you even considered me for this project."

His brows furrowed, his smile turning confused. "What are you talking about Y/n? You're one of the smartest people I know. Of course you are included-" he trailed off, his eyes filling with understanding. "How have you been Y/n?"

Y/n blinked, pretending not to understand what he meant by that. Of course Rhys knew she struggled with feeling worthy of her family, and of course he made that connection.

"I've been good, Rhys." Y/n mumbled, an easy grin on her face as if Rhys's concern was ridiculous.

"Have you had any recent episodes-"

"Guess what I found!"

He paused, both their heads turning to where Cassian's booming voice floated through the cracked door.

Y/n's whole body ran cold, and before she could even question the reaction of her body to something that wouldn't have concerned her before, she was stumbling out the door, following Cassian's voice to the sitting room, where everyone else was gathered.

Cassian was grinning as he explained to them how he had gone to pick Y/n's up from her house, and how he found-

Her secret diary.

Y/n's eyes widened, her legs refusing to move as her gaze locked on the book Cassian held in his hand.

"Oh, look, she's here too!" He turned to her, his expression carefree and inviting. "Never knew you had a diary Y/n. What will I find if I read through it? Your secret lover's name? His-"

"Cass." Y/n warned, finally getting herself to move forward as he danced back, his hands beginning to crack open the book.

"Will I find your secret fantasies-"

He stopped dead in his tracks, all the emotions gone from his face as he stared at the page he had opened, his features hard. Y/n waited with bated breath, her head turning to gauge everyone's reaction.

Mor sat with Nyx in her lap, bouncing him as she glanced between Y/n and Cassian. Feyre and Azriel exchanged confused glances before Azriel stood, stalking towards Cass.

Panicked, Y/n jumped forward, but before her hand could wrap around her journal, he pulled away, face pale.

"What is this?"

"None of your business."

Azriel had stopped, his eyes wide as he stared at Y/n.

That's when Y/n realised he had smelled the blood she left on the pages.

Damn it.

Y/n stepped back towards the exit as she felt all the eyes on her, panic starting to dig its claws in her gut and begin its ascent up her throat as the shadows curled around Azriel's ear and his eyes went to her wrist, covered by the long sleeves of her dress.

Y/n turned to find Rhys standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with tears.

"Why?"

She glanced once at everyone, tears starting to fill her own eyes, her face flushing in embarrassment, mad that she had started crying over nothing, and pushed past Rhys, running towards the front door.

"Y/n!"

They will be mad.

You deserve it.

Y/n fled the river house, ignoring the concerned looks thrown her way by the people on the streets as she ran straight to her house.

They hate you.

The door slammed shut behind her as she leaned against it, gasping for breath as her lungs started contracting painfully, refusing to let her breathe.

The breathlessness was starting to creep up again on her.

It was happening again.

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175 @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady @lilah-asteria

@girlswithimagination @gardenofrunar @girlswithimagination @sunnyspycat

@artists-ally @riddlesb1tch @milswrites @berryzxx

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

@stqrgirlies-blog @tele86 @bakananya @xyzmeh

@st4r-girl-official @caraaaaugh @nacho-nat @allllium

@fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

[denaliwrites]

Don't Blink

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Summary: Going home was meant to be a vacation from all the aliens and monsters.

Part 2: Don't Turn Your Back Part 3: Don't Look Away Part 4: Dreams See Us Through

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

Warnings: Weeping Angels, babes.

You hadn't slept in days.

It started innocuous enough -- some nerves as you crawled into your bed, for once. You'd assumed it was because you were so used to the TARDIS that home didn't feel as much like home anymore. You thought that maybe, after a day or two, it'd get better.

It got worse.

Waking up the next morning, you were confronted with the feeling of being watched. No matter where you went -- your mum's, the shops, the cellar, even the restroom. Everywhere. All day. By the time you dropped into your bed that night, you were exhausted from being on high alert the whole day.

You didn't sleep well that night.

Nightmares plagued you -- they were nebulous, slipping just out of focus every time you thought you could make out even just a single detail. But despite that -- or maybe because of it -- you were terrified.

You awoke drenched in a cold sweat, covered in goosebumps and with a stomach churning with unease. You felt feverish, but when you took your temperature the thermometer flashed with a perfectly normal number.

Going about your day felt like a monumental task. While your limbs felt weighed down with lead, the rest of you felt light, jittery... panicky. Any attempts to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time failed miserably.

Maybe it was just your heightened state, but you could've sworn that everyone could see that you were starting to lose it.

That was the first night you didn't sleep.

The second night, you finally caught sight of the predator in the underbrush -- the thing that had been stalking you since you arrived back home. Only for a brief, blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but it was still long enough for you to know that it was the cause of your sleepless nights and worsening mental state.

You weren't sure how a perfectly ordinary angel statue could cause so much distress.

The third night, you noticed the statue had moved -- just a couple inches -- but it was enough for you to see the difference. Finally, you called the Doctor. Not five minutes later, you heard the TARDIS materialize outside.

You turned away for all of one second, but when you looked back, the angel had gone.

Well, "gone" was relative. It was out of line of sight, you could say that much for sure. But you knew it was still lurking nearby -- you could still feel it watching you.

The Doctor didn't bother announcing himself as he barged into your flat -- the TARDIS brakes were announcement enough. The sonic screwdriver was held aloft, its light moving in erratic circles in the darkened flat as the Doctor gradually made his way to you.

"Where is it?" he asked once he finally reached you. "Did you blink -- did it move!?"

You weren't sure how to answer. He had told you not to take your eyes off it, you recalled that now that he was here, yelling at you about it -- but you didn't even remember looking away just moments ago you were so exhausted.

In the back of your mind some little part of the normal you knew that the Doctor was just worried, but that little piece was dwindling with every moment you continued to lose sleep.

You'd moved right past delirium at this point -- and, hell, you weren't even sure how much of this was real. What if you were hallucinating? Angel statues that could only move if they weren't being looked at? That was a little crazy, even for the Doctor.

He turned to look at you when you remained silent, and when his eyes met yours they melted into pure, unadulterated concern and some dam inside you broke.

Sobs wracked your body and you collapsed. The only reason you didn't hit the ground was the Doctor surging forward, arms wrapping around you and holding you steady.

"Oh, dear," he cooed, holding you close. You buried your head into his chest, your cries still rocking through you, though the Doctor's arms kept you pretty snugly in place, and his clothes did an excellent job of muffling your blubbering.

You could feel one of his hands running comfortingly through your hair, while the other rubbed soothing circles into your back.

Miraculously, you calmed. For the first time in days, you felt like you could relax. Breathe. Hell, maybe even sleep.

It was with that thought that you felt yourself being effortlessly lifted. The Doctor carried you, bridal style, back to the TARDIS, through the doors and the console room and the halls, until he reached your bedroom and settled you carefully onto the bed.

"What about the angel?"

"You're completely safe in the TARDIS. I promise."

You knew that he knew that you had meant something different, but you were too tired to argue. Now that you were safe, sleep was coming to claim you rather quickly.

Once you fell asleep, you were haunted by nightmares again, but you were just so glad to be getting any sleep at all that you didn't care.

You found the Doctor in the console room the next morning, looking over something on one of the monitors. Without even so much as sparing you a glance, he dived right into it.

"That's no ordinary Weeping Angel."

"What do you mean?" you asked with a yawn and a bleary blink in his direction.

"See, normally a Weeping Angel wouldn't waste any time -- you blink, you're dead. Well. Teleported to another time so that they can feed off the energy that the displacement causes. But this... this is..."

"It's torturing me."

It wasn't a question -- how could it have been? You and the Doctor both could see what it was doing to you.

"Yes," he confirmed sadly.

"Reminds me of something," you said with a shrug.

"Oh?"

"Oh, do I get to be the brainiac for once?" you teased with a smirk, leaning back against the console beside him.

"I guess we'll find out," he teased back, mirroring your expression and bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.

You blushed, suddenly self-conscious, but you forged ahead anyway. "So, usually when a predator becomes a maneater it's because it's sick or injured and almost always starving, and humans are really easy prey compared to deer and antelope and stuff."

He was watching you with such rapt, adoring attention. You could barely stand it.

"But," you continued, "sometimes there are outliers. Predators that kill humans for unknown reasons, reasons that don't align with what we know about typical maneaters. The maneaters of Tsavo -- they were these two perfectly healthy, normal lions by all appearances, that killed anywhere from -- realistically speaking -- twenty-eight to thirty-two people, but reportedly they killed over a hundred. And no one really knows why they did it. There are theories, of course, but because they were healthy, and it happened over a century ago, there's no way to really confirm one way or another why they killed all those people."

You paused, thinking.

"Well, no way for the average person."

The Doctor beamed at you. "Oh, you are clever, aren't you?"

"I try."

"So you think maybe this Angel is an outlier?"

"Yeah, it's possible."

"No indicators of illness or injury, no signs of weakness or starvation. Just..."

"Sadistic tendencies?"

"But why?" he asked no one in particular, leaning back to stare at the monitor again.

"And..." you started thoughtfully. The Doctor turned to look at you again. "Why me?"

"Why you?" he repeated cluelessly.

"I wasn't here when it arrived, and it couldn't have known I was gonna be coming back anytime soon. It's possible it's been waiting for days, weeks for me to come back -- and it could've been waiting even longer if I hadn't decided I needed a break. That's a lot of waiting for a random person you don't know is coming back."

Realization dawned on the Doctor's face. "It's targeted."

"But why?"

"Why indeed?" he asked in that tone that was meant to sound casual but only served to let you know that he was deeply worried. "Let's find out, shall we?"

[musedeluce]

Emergency Procedure: Medic + Hunter

Zayne x Reader -Protecting the medical personnel is priority number one in a combat zone, and you are very good at your job.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Injuries, Triage, Medical emergencies, Combat, Hospitalization

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The various sounds of human pain echoed throughout the area. It had one been a pristine, modern park and city center, but debris now littered the ground, rumble and shattered glass strewn around, bodies of the wounded and dead scattered. The response had been quick, the Unicorns squad deployed to neutralized the wanderer attack and medical teams embarking soon after, waiting to enter the area until given the all clear.

Every hunter squad had an assigned area, as did each team of medics. For medics, it generally was the same area the hospital they worked at served. For hunters, it was based on which station throughout the city you were assigned. Then, each hunter was further assigned a specific person or persons on the medical squad to protect. Because Akso Hospital and the Hunter’s Association Headquarters were in the same area of Linkon, Unicorns and Akso’s triage team were assigned together and partnered up. Partnered hunters were usually assigned medics who were also partnered up. Thus, hunter partners could still work together and medical personal wouldn’t work alone even if their Hunter couldn’t work. When the medical teams were cleared to enter, procedure dictated that any capable hunters accompanied their assigned medic to protect and help them, due to the unpredictable nature of metaflux and any lingering danger. Hunters who were able were also expected to cover for hunters who could not. To Zayne’s deep relief, and honestly, some happiness, you were his assigned protector in these situations. Your partner, Xavier, had been assigned to Dr. Greyson.

Quickly, Zanye moved from casualty to casualty, assessing their condition and, essentially deciding between life and death for some. Triage is, perhaps, the most difficult situation any medical professional might have to go through. You must assess the patient’s condition, determine if they can actually be saved, and move on if they cannot. If they can be saved, those with the worst injuries are treated and evacuated first. The goal, of course, is to save as many people as possible with the limited resources available.

“Zayne, there’s a person over there.” You gesture towards a pile of rubble that had once been a building. “There’s small meta – fluctuations, but that’s normal for the aftermath of a protofield event like this. It should be safe, but be careful.” Zayne patiently waited for your assessment, thinking to himself just how useful the energy detection part of your evol was. A small, keening cry sounded from the direction you indicated and the both of you started off, moving quickly and efficiently. The source of the cry was easy to identify. A teenage boy lay trapped under the rubble, buried halfway with blood pooling under his body. Scanning the debris, you relayed information to Zayne. “We could pull him out, in theory because he’s not impaled or stuck on anything according to the scan. But the rubble isn’t stable and his vitals are erratic...” Carefully, Zayne positions himself to pull the boy out, and while he did so, you positioned yourself in a way that if the rubble toppled, you could drag Zayne out of the way, as well as help him with the patient.

“On three.” Zayne put his hand on the ground, an ice crystal materializing under the slab pinning the boy in place, growing towards it to push it off him.. “One.” You both braced yourselves. “Two.” You both began to focus especially on your breathing. “Three!” Applying all your strength, you were able to lift the slab just enough for Zayne to pull the boy out from under the pile of rubble. Unfortunately, the slab falling back into place dislodged large pieces of rubble from the top of the pile, crashing down and dislodging other pieces of rubble. Adrenaline pumping, driven by pure instinct, you dragged Zayne and the boy out of the way. An intense, crushing pain bloomed through your leg as pieces of debris pinned you to the ground instead.

The cry of pain you let out sent panic searing through Zayne’s blood. Actual anguish gnawed at him, swirling with a pang of guilt. Logically, he knew this wasn’t anyone’s fault. Logically, he knew you had been doing your job, and he had been doing his. Oh, but he longed for you to be safe and sound. He finished treating the boy, and called for backup before making his way to you, the very definition of grace under pressure.

“Hello, Doctor.” you smile as he kneels by your side, playful in an effort to diffuse the tension. After a brief pause as he examines you, you ask the main question on your mind at the moment. “How’s the boy? Will he survive?” Luckily, you had managed to get clear of the main debris pile before your leg got pinned under one piece of rubble. Using his evol, ice protected your leg from further damage and held it in place as more ice shifted the debris. “Zayne?”

“He’s alive. I’ve given him the best treatment possible and have called for assistance to pick him, and you, up.”

“And you?”Zayne’s ability to deal with a crisis was something comforting, and you felt happy to be his partner, but he had been at risk too.

“My condition is acceptable for the circumstances. I’m physically fine and able to continue my work.” Zayne pauses, and looks you in the eye again, a subtle smile gracing his face. “Thanks to your quick thinking.” A bright, genuine smile lights up your face.

“I’ll always do my best to keep you safe, Zayne.”

“Your leg won’t be permanently injured, and your protocore syndrome isn’t showing any abnormal symptoms” He finishes bandaging your leg, having set it in an emergency splint. “Our backup should be here soon. I’m going to go check on my other patient, but I’ll return to you.” As he speaks, he slips a small piece of candy into your hand. Right then, your backup arrived and you were evacuated, along with the injured teenager, to Akso Hospital. It wasn’t until most of the chaos died down that you and Zayne crossed paths again.

A soft knock at your hospital room door alerts you to someone’s, you assume Zayne’s, arrival. “Come in.” Gratified to see you were correct, a small smile spreads across your face as Zayne walks in. Despite being on his feet, doing triage and emergency surgeries, he looks almost the same as always. But exhaustion dogs his every step, his eyes narrow as tiredness bears down upon him. “Sit down.” Zayne doesn’t argue, instead sitting in the armchair by your hospital bed, almost melting into it, leaning back and covering his face with the crook of one elbow and resting his other arm on the armrest. You reach out and take his hand, and neither of you move for a while.

“How do you feel?” Zayne is the first to speak.

“Tired, but my injury feels better than before. As for my heart, I’ve been taking my meds diligently and haven’t felt anything since you checked at the site.” Dutifully you report to him, knowing that this information is what would reassure him the most.

“What I wouldn’t give for you to be healthy and safe...” Zayne murmurs, almost to himself. His hand tightens around yours. “Life is better with you here… Please… do your best to stay.”

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A/N: Hopefully I'll improve as I continue to write for these characters. Originally this was going to be all 4 of them together but the length would have been a lot I think, for a single post lol. Still also getting a handle on tagging and stuff, so please let me know if there's anything I can improve.

[stuck1nthelimbo]

[ edging ] * jjk men x f!reader // 0.5k, 2nd pov, no beta, no specific male character, reader w/ a vagina, smut, masturbation, edging, fingering, implied intercourse || ✨m.list✨

The relaxing music of a mobile game floats around in the otherwise silent bedroom. Lying on your back, and the hood of an oversized hoodie covering your head, your nimble fingers work on unlocking online game achievements. Immersed in the fantasy world of the device, you fail to notice his intense gaze.

Leaning his head on the fist with the elbow jabbed into the mattress, his eyes trail down from the phone to the sole piece of clothing you’re wearing with the hoodie, white cotton underwear. He rests a hand on your stomach, but you pay him no heed. His limb dances around, sneaking around. The final destination is on top of your underwear. Your focus doesn’t waver, set on the game.

Fingers hover over the fabric, the pads of his digits barely brushing on the material. After a second or two, the middle and ring fingers nudge on the damp spot of the panties near the entrance. Your attention doesn't shift from the game. The long digits pulse on the underwear, rhythmically and lightly tapping against it, before withdrawing and flicking the edge of the material, gliding underneath.

As soon as his fingers come in contact with the clit, your hips jolt. Eyes might still be glued to the smartphone screen, but all of your senses disengage and concentrate on the middle finger that gradually but steadily presses between the pussy lips. The ring finger joins in, aligning around the sensitive nub, squeezing it between the phalanges of the digits. He teases until the whimper is forced out of you and as soon as your breathing becomes unsteady, he halts all motion. You whine, unconsciously humping against his hand that he yanks away as far as your stretchy panties let him.

You grip the edges of the smartphone, eyes stuck on the flickering screen. Your soaking cunt clenches around emptiness, twitching when his hand returns to its last location. The fingers resume the previous activity, sluggishly drawing circles on your clit. As time passes, his hand becomes aggressive, two fingers simultaneously grinding against the bud of nerves, with firm and erratic circling. A low gasp escapes you when those wandering fingers plunge inside and dripping walls clamp on them.

Your eyes, unfocused, stare at the screen of the device, the attention now entirely diverted to your nether region being violated. After a minute or two of edging, slowing down whenever you mewl, alerting him how close you’re to reaching an orgasm, his fingers empty your cunt. Instead, lay down flat on your pussy, covering it entirely, ceasing all movement similar to the last time.

With his hand motionless, you toss your phone aside, helplessly tugging onto his thumb and weakly pull, while confronting his wicked grin with overtly innocent and watery eyes. Something malicious glints in his. Stimulated, slumbering body props up, as his fingers fill your cunt, pumping in and out without an ounce of resistance. The clear wetness smears on the inner sides of your thighs, dripping onto the bed, the squelching sounds echoing in silence alongside your throaty huffs.

While his hand tirelessly works, he gradually positions himself between your legs, free hand clumsily feeling the outline of his painful bulge, ready for action.

a/n: in the middle of drafting, i realized i didn't have a particular character in mind; everyone fits the criteria, so imagine who you want, be free!! tagging with jjk tags, but you can imagine literally anyone lol [requests: open]

© stuck1nthelimbo; do not redistribute, repost, modify, or use in any way, form, and/or shape.

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day Eight: Wade Wilson

Wade Wilson x Gender Neutral Reader | Sub / Dom & Lingerie |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, SMUT, Sub/Dom dynamics, oral ( M receiving), penetration

Summary: Wade submits to reader's control and ends up wearing black lace lingerie after some persuasion.

wc: 1.1K

| Day Seven | | Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Nine |

The dim glow of candles flickered against the walls, casting soft, wavering shadows in the room. The air was thick with a heady mixture of arousal and anticipation. Wade Wilson—mercenary, smart-ass, and current wearer of black lace lingerie—was sprawled out on the bed, his breathing erratic, skin prickling with a kind of nervous excitement that he wasn't used to.

You had to convince him at first, of course. He’d resisted, muttering sarcastic quips about how he wasn't exactly "lingerie material," but after some coaxing, a few teasing touches, and the promise of something more, Wade found himself unable to say no. And now, he was yours—entirely, utterly yours.

The lingerie fit him surprisingly well, the black lace clinging to his muscular thighs, hugging his body in all the right ways, the delicate fabric doing little to hide his growing arousal. You had taken your time dressing him up, your hands trailing over every inch of his scarred skin, your touch reverent and soft, as though you were worshiping him through every lingering caress.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, Wade," you whispered, kneeling over him, your breath hot against his ear. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, a low groan rumbling from his throat as you shifted your weight, settling just above him. "Look at you... in this lingerie. You have no idea what you do to me."

Wade's breath hitched as your hands traced the edge of the lace fabric, fingers grazing his hips, teasing but not giving in just yet. He opened his eyes, a flash of vulnerability in them that made your heart clench. Beneath the wisecracks and the bravado, Wade was raw, unfiltered—and right now, he was entirely yours to savor.

"Jesus... you make me feel..." Wade’s voice trailed off, too overwhelmed by sensation to finish. His muscles twitched beneath your touch as you leaned down, pressing your lips against the scars on his chest, your kisses deliberate and slow, as though each one was meant to heal something deeper than just skin. He shivered beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets beside him, fighting the urge to take control, to be the brash, overconfident Deadpool everyone expected.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was letting you lead. Letting you dominate.

You continued to kiss him, your lips mapping out every inch of his body, lingering on the places you knew he was self-conscious about—the scars along his torso, the jagged lines of his past. Your mouth moved down, lower and lower, until you reached his thighs, the black lace framing his body like a work of art.

"Fuck... baby, you're killing me here," Wade rasped, his voice hoarse with need. His hands twitched, wanting so badly to touch you, but you had set the rules tonight. No touching until you said so.

"Shh, Wade," you soothed, your fingers dancing over the bulge straining against the lace. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was trembling beneath you, completely at your mercy. "Let me take care of you."

You pressed a kiss just above the waistband of the lingerie, then another, softer this time, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He moaned, his hips bucking up slightly, desperate for more friction, more of anything you were willing to give.

"You look so good like this, you know that?" you murmured, tracing the outline of his cock through the lace with your fingertips. "So fucking good. And you're mine, Wade. All mine."

Wade groaned, his voice rough as he rasped, "Yeah, baby... yours. Only yours."

The sheer submission in his tone sent a surge of heat through your veins, and you couldn't resist any longer. You hooked your fingers under the waistband of the lace panties, slowly sliding them down his thighs, exposing him to the cool air. His cock was hard, straining and dripping with precum, the sight of him laid bare beneath you making your own arousal throb between your legs.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, the vulnerability in his gaze making this moment feel even more intimate. Wade—who could take a bullet without flinching, who laughed in the face of danger—was now trembling beneath your touch, his breath shallow as you wrapped your hand around him.

"Fuck, that feels... oh God," Wade groaned, his hips jerking up into your hand. You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the way his body responded to you, every twitch and shiver a testament to just how much he wanted this—wanted you.

You leaned down, your breath ghosting over his length as you pressed a kiss to the tip, tasting the salty beads of precum that had gathered there. Wade moaned, his hands fisting the sheets, knuckles white as he fought the urge to take control, to guide your head down and beg for more.

But you were in charge tonight.

"You taste so good, Wade," you purred, your voice dripping with lust. You swirl your tongue around the head, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, until his cock was hitting the back of your throat. Wade's moans grew louder, his body writhing beneath you, completely undone by the sensation.

"Fuck, baby... please, don't stop," he begged, his voice strained, desperate. "I need you... please."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, a smirk playing on your lips as you looked up at him, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. "You like being worshiped like this, don't you?"

Wade's head lolled back against the pillows, a shudder running through him as he muttered a broken "Yes, fuck, I do."

"Good," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the base of his cock before taking him back into your mouth, your hand pumping what your mouth couldn't reach. Wade's moans grew louder, his body trembling beneath you, every inch of him completely at your mercy.

You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his hips were bucking up into your mouth, desperate for release. And just when you knew he was on the edge, ready to fall apart for you, you pulled back, leaving him panting and trembling, his cock twitching with need.

"Wha—baby, why'd you stop?" Wade's voice was a breathless whine, his eyes wide with confusion and desperation.

You crawled back up his body, straddling his waist as you leaned down to kiss him, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Because I want you to remember this moment, Wade. I want you to remember that you're mine. Always."

With that, you sank down onto him, taking him deep inside you in one slow, deliberate motion. Wade's hands finally broke the rules, grabbing your hips as he groaned your name, his head falling back as you began to move, riding him with a rhythm that was both torturous and perfect.

He was lost to you now, completely undone, and as you rode him, your hands running over his chest, his scars, his trembling body, you knew you had him. Wade Wilson was yours—in body, in mind, in soul.

And tonight, you would worship him until he broke.

Taglist: @strawbearymishake @amanikenise @lilah1020 @arthurcerverogf @iloved1lfs0 @lovemaildumpsterfire @nyxoneiros @peachtxa @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @harleycao @pinkanonwriting @dindjarins04 @superstar-lover863-blog @Therealnekomari @ahreumnim

[konigbabe]

never define you

DAY 1 ⇢ Exhibitionism Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!teacher!reader (+ Shoko Ieiri) Word count: 1.9k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; exhibitionism; hints of a threesome (F/F/M); jealous!Gojo; playful!Shoko; p-in-v; office sex; table sex; ass slapping; swearing; unprotected sex; innapropriate use of a blindfold; extensive use of euphemisms and poetic descriptions Summary: "Shh, Ieiri will hear us...or do you want her to come and watch?" — to which you simply nod. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

"I said watch, not touch." Shoko's fingertip grazes the curve of her lower lip, a deliberate act that invites her tongue to follow; eyes staying on your swaying form, breasts almost spilling from your bra due to Satoru's thrusts turning erratic. Harsher. More demanding. The scene drenched in a potent blend of Satoru's possessiveness and desire.

You don't know what's louder — your moans or the rhythmic collision of Satoru's hips against yours.

The table beneath your palms exudes a comforting warmth; its sharp edge finding the curve of your hipbone in tandem with each intense meeting of flesh. Sends a wave of ecstasy through your veins. Sets every nerve ablaze.

Ends with his name escaping your lips, falling like a plea that elicits a guttural response from him. His lips curve upward, a mix of desire and satisfaction, as he drinks in the sight of you—legs parted to the limits set by the elastic band of your underwear, the delicate fabric pressing sharply into the tender flesh of your lower thighs. Body angled parallel to Satoru's work desk, skirt gathered around your hips to reveal a tantalizing sliver of the skin on your lower back.

His fingers seek out that revealed fragment of skin, grasping it with a desperate hunger to feel your warmth, your skin. His touch a fervent proclamation of ownership. Reveling in the way your body yields to his touch, how your gasps and moans harmonize with his movements, responding to his skilled touches.

It's not enough though.

Already unbuttoned, your shirt lays open as he seizes the fabric at the back, tugging it gently; exposing the top of your shoulder blades – the canvas for his hungry eyes and roaming hands.

It's not enough.

With a disapproving grunt and cock buried, deeply nestled within you, he tugs more. With caution, not to rip the thin material (he's already received a mouthful the last time he dared to rip your shirt off, left it in pieces).

"Don't rip–"

The words fade into a breathless silence. Instead, a choked-off moan is let out when Satoru's movements take a sudden, forceful turn and he delivers a rather harsh thrust.

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses your warning, "don't worry, I know."

The wooden surface beneath your palms loses its support as you boldly follow the trail of his actions, arms drawn backward in a daring arc, pectoral muscles stretching in a way that brings both delight and strain.

Bathing in the darkness, his blindfold presses gently against your closed eyelids; you feel the material of your shirt bunch around your forearms, cinching them together in a makeshift constraint, Satoru's fingers envelop the material between your wrists, holding it firmly. His cock splits you open with each roll of his hips. Thighs flush against yours. Feet stretching, tiptoes barely reaching the wooden floor of his workplace.

"You're so pretty like this."

The other hand leaves a sharp unexpected sting on the curve of your ass. Earns him a surprised yelp, his name a mix of displeased profanity and something more primal. Loud enough to surpass the door.

"Shh," Satoru murmurs, his tone a gentle hush, and bends down, forceful movements giving way to gentle, shallow motions; savoring the sensation of the way your cunt grips him. Every time he withdraws, you draw him in tighter, your hips synchronizing with his. "Or Ieiri will hear us," he adds, a whisper in the air.

To which you hum in contentment but don't necessarily quiet down.

"Daamn–you got tighter," his breath fans over the shell of your ear, forehead momentarily resting on the back of your head as he stops, stays seated inside. "S'that it? You wanna get heard by her?" His voice is laced with amusement, a playful query that lingers in the space between you.

You answer his teasing proposition with a roll of your hips.

"Mmph–Satoru, please–.”

To which the weight of his clothed body leaves your back as he straightens out. One hand splayed on top of your ass; fingers spread over the juncture where the supple flesh meets the lower arch of your back. Thumb pressing against your perineum while he watches the white ring of your juices cling to his cock whenever he pulls out.

"Or you want her to watch?"

The idea that you let sit. It mingles with the way he pivots his hips until something inside you snaps.

"Wouldn't–ugh," the words tumble from your lips, your back arching involuntarily – calves straining, ass going up with your still-covered breasts pressing into the table."Wouldn't mind her—watching." The admission punctuated with a gasp.

It's as if you could feel the way Satoru grins over your words. Listening to your struggle to form a sentence while relentlessly hitting all the sweet spots in your walls. While listening to the sounds of your wet cunt, how your slick stick to him like glue. And watching; watching the pleasure take you over and the way your hands curl around nothing within his grasp.

He reaches for his phone then. Fishes it out of his back pocket. Casually searches through the contacts, scrolling through the list until it lands on ‘Ieiri Shoko'. All while his hips meet yours, in a languid pace, using the grip he has on you to pull you back; to meet him halfway.

Shortly after the sound of a sent message reaches your ears, the doors open.

"Oh wow," her voice carries a unique texture, a sort of huskiness. A distinct raspy quality. Despite this, her tone maintains a soothing quality, like a well-loved instrument that has gained character over time. And to a non-sorcerer's ear, it would sound simply smooth.

"Wasn't expecting such a delightful sight."

Satoru doesn't stop rolling his hips. Instead, his movements evolve, become more defined – angling himself to lean further over you. With one hand resting on the table, fingertips grazing the curve of your hip. He impels his cock to go deeper; kiss that spot inside your walls, coaxing them to tighten around him. Coat him in slickness.

Makes you drip down your thighs – like liquid silk; you feel it cascade down until it’s caught by your underwear.

Satoru’s hips gradually slow their relentless pace, a momentary respite in the whirlwind of sensation. 

"Well," a low rumble pours from Satoru's chest as he speaks, tone a blend of playful invitation and smoldering desire, "you can watch all you want. She seems to like you."

A hand connects with your asscheek. A gentle slap.

"Isn't that right, pet?"

"Umm," your words are caught in your throat when Satoru untangles your arms from the shirt's confines and brings you up. Forces your arms to support your weight on the table as the arch of your back meets the solid planes of his chest. "So–so right."

The heels click against the wooden floor until Shoko's breath touches your cheeks slick with the sheen of sweat.. The warmth of her breath mingles with yours. Delicate, bony fingers grasp your chin and tilt it slightly up until a thumb swipes over your kiss-bruised lips.

"Always wondered ‘bout the sounds you'd make," every roll of her tongue adds a touch of richness to every word she utters, "the way you'd taste."

Her lips crash into yours. Soft and tender. The delicate pressure sends ripples through your exposed body. Making your heartbeat drop to your cunt, swell around Satoru and push you closer to the luscious end.

With each gentle brush and press of her mouth, time seems to slow, the world around you narrowing down to the meeting of her lips. All accompanied by the heat of his cock pressing against your inner walls until you're filled to the brim with pure blissful agony.

"I said watch, not touch."

A sharp, forceful impact sends you crashing against the table's rough edge, the fleeting touch of your lips disrupted, leaving only a fleeting connection of saliva – almost as if he was chastising you for Shoko's perceived transgression.

"And only her," his words command with an edge of envy, "eyes on her."

Shoko's fingertip grazes the curve of her lower lip, a deliberate act that invites her tongue to follow; eyes staying on your swaying form, breasts almost spilling from your bra due to Satoru's thrusts turning erratic. Harsher. More demanding. The scene drenched in a potent blend of Satoru's possessiveness and desire.

"No one cares about your cock, Gojo," the tone turns annoyed, a lingering playfulness underneath its surface.

"I do," you mumble, slowly feeling the high building up.

Your words make the man smirk at his coworker.

"Come here," he pulls you closer, breasts brushing against the warmth of his forearm. A warm exhalation fans across your neck, gently coaxing you to tilt your head to the side to give him a proper kiss – a gradual melding of mouths, unhurried and deliberate. A delicious tangle of warmth that tingles through your body. "That's my girl."

You finally break apart, lips still tingling with pleasure. You both let out a sigh of contentment, enjoying the afterglow.

"One more," Satoru whispers against your lips, hips moving in a subtle rhythm against yours. Shoko observes the two of you with a curious expression, sweeping your hair aside from one side of your face. Coinciding with Satoru's soft kisses trailing towards your ear on the opposite side.

You feel his hand glide along your hip, tracing the contours with a delicate touch. Fingers exploring the curve of your ass. Middle finger grazing over the apex of your folds, gathering the glistening wetness before circling the tender spot at the center.

A whimper of pleasure unfurls from your mouth like the petals of a blossoming flower. It grows, a crescendo of longing and need, as Satoru follows the same pattern – tracing slow circles around your clit and hood, pressing down whenever his cock kisses the deepest places inside you. Then he draws back. Leaves only the tip in, lets you feel the way your cunt grips his head, tries to suck him back in. And with his hips snapping, he pushes back into your warmth, slick, and flicks your clit in the process.

A tantalizing play that beckons you to clasp onto him whenever he's buried to the hilt.

"Satoru–please," your voice becomes an instrument of pure ecstasy, "m'close–don't stop…please…"

And he listens. To your longing for that sweet high. Skillful rolls of his lips like an artist's brushstrokes painting pleasure across your canvas.

Body slowly giving away, slick walls clamping down on his cock. You feel the sensations ripple through you, each one a tender collision of delicate flames, like feathers brushing against your senses. Touches that converge into points of an exquisite dance that leaves you melting, your very core becoming molten with pleasure.

It's the way your head strains back, finding solace in the crook of Satoru's neck; a sanctuary where his scent and warmth envelop you. Arms extending, gripping the opposite edge of the table until your knuckles feel as if they are going to rip. Thighs flexing, a choked cry of his name frees itself from your lips.

Satoru follows suit, his restraint shattered by the intensity of your tightening embrace, your walls a vice that clutches at him – an embrace that draws him in with an insatiable hunger. A voracious pull. The ripples of your fervor coax him deeper, painting your walls the purest hues of intimacy until you become a canvas that blushes with pearlescent tones. He imprints himself deep within your walls.

"Wish I took my phone with me," Shoko's voice interjects, a distant echo that momentarily breaches the bubble of your orgasm, the ripples of her words brushing against the edges of your pleasure without truly breaking through.

You exhaust a chuckle. A gentle exhale that mingles with the remnants of your euphoria. Hand reaching for the blindfold, all while Satoru keeps his softening cock inside you. Relishing in the squeeze just a little longer.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Rsync corrump linkdump

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

As per the uje, I've arrived upon a Saturday with a backlog of links that I have not managed to squeeze into the week's newsletters/blogs, so it's time for another linkdump, 22nd in an erratic series. Here's the previous 21:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Let's start with some seasonal material, and by "seasonal," I of course mean Hallowe'en. Yes, August is the official start of Spooky Season, and yes, I am a monster for insisting on this, but being a monster is the point of Spooky Season (which is what differentiates Spooky Season pushers like me from the creeps who insist that you need to start prepping for Xmas in late September – they're monsters, too, but Yule Monsters are bad) (with the exception of Krampus).

I was a monster kid and now I'm a monster adult. It all started when I was bitten by a radioactive Haunted Mansion at the age of six:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/10/22/how-a-haunted-mansion-addict-fell-in-love-with-the-greatest-ride-on-earth/

I am a sucker for all things monstrous, and so I was intrigued when I got a book of "creepy-cute" stickers in the mail from a publicist at Simon & Schuster:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/The-Creepy-Cute-Sticker-Book/Gaynor-Carradice/Creepy-Cute-Gift-Series/9781507222515

"Creepy-Cute" turns out to be an official designation, embraced by the illustrator GaynorCarradice, who has created several books on these lines, featuring her chibi/monster crossover creations, which do exactly what it says on the tin, by which I mean, there's some genuinely creepy stuff in the mix, along with the cute.

It's when the cute pastels rub up against the gore, skulls, eyeballs and other visceral viscera that these illustrations really kick off some heat – I've rounded up a few of my favorites here:

https://craphound.com/images/creepycute.jpg

One of the surefire signs that Spooky Season is upon us is that the (sometimes NSFW) Tumblr account Halloweenlandmotherfucker emerges from dormancy with a stream of images of vintage Hallowe'en cards (these were a thing!), photos of people in costume and other delightful visual novelties:

https://www.tumblr.com/halloweenlandmotherfucker

Monster culture isn't just for Hallowe'en, of course. The ancient and noble tradition of compiling and publishing bestiaries is alive and well, thanks to RPGs. In the beginning, there was the D&D Boxed Set, with its Monsters and Treasure booklet:

https://www.americanroads.us/DandD/ODnD_Monsters_and_Treasure.pdf

Then came the Monster Manual, the first hardcover D&D book, succeeded by the Fiend Folio, which featured Charlie Stross creations like the githzerai and slaad, Indeed, there was a whole, iconic library of hardcovers that fit perfectly in an oversized backpack that I dragged everywhere so that I could obsessively read and re-read them.

Eventually, these gave way to new hardcovers with new rules as well as new corporate owners (Wizards of the Coast, then Hasbro), culminating in the release of the Open Gaming License, an "open content" license that was a) grossly defective; b) largely irrelevant; and c) hugely controversial in 2023, when Hasbro terminated it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

The Open Gaming License purported to license out game elements that weren't copyrightable (rules, tables, etc), as well as material that you could likely use under copyright exceptions like fair use:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/01/beware-gifts-dragons-how-dds-open-gaming-license-may-have-become-trap-creators

And worst of all, it was revocable, so games publishers who tooled up to publish supplements and sourcebooks based on the OGL could have the rug yanked out from under them at any time (that time turned out to be early 2023).

Hasbro's OGL rug-pull had three salutary effects:

I. It gave gamers a crash-course in what was – and wasn't – copyrightable in an RPG design;

It encouraged game developers to look beyond D&D's OGL rules and into truly open (and often superior) alternatives; and

It inflicted so much reputational harm on Hasbro that, 20 months later, they announced that they would release a new set of D&D rules under the Creative Commons Attribution Only 4.0 license:

https://www.dicebreaker.com/games/dungeons-and-dragons-5e/news/dungeons-and-dragons-2024-srd-wont-be-another-ogl-fiasco

Now, CC BY 4.0 is a real-ass license. Notably, it corrects a defect in the earlier versions of the CC licenses that gave rise to a class of predatory copyleft trolls like the odious Pixsy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

If Hasbro follows through on their promise, the new CC materials will kick off with the 2025 release of the next edition of the Monster Manual:

https://dungeonsanddragonsfan.com/new-2024-dnd-monster-manual/

It's wild to think that tabletop RPGs are now a cutting-edge way to learn about digital policy, but on the other hand, D&D arrived in my home around the same time as my Apple ][+, which was also around the time I first heard the name Ronald Reagan (rest in piss).

The legacies of the 80s – RPGs, digital technology and Reaganomics – cast a long shadow. Last month, many of us discovered the hard way that Reaganomics – specifically, the embrace of monopolies as "efficient" – has produced a world of unimaginable brittleness. Millions of people around the world found themselves cut off from ATM cash, flights, hospital care, and many other essentials thanks to the Crowdstrike Blue Screen of Death outage. While many of the explainers have focused on how Crowdstrike fatfingered a software update that crashed all those computers, there's been a lot less commentary about how it is that one company had it in its power to do so much harm.

Writing last week for EFF's Deeplinks blog, my colleague Rory Mir tackled that (far more important) issue:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/07/crowdstrike-antitrust-and-digital-monoculture

Market concentration – monopoly – is the common thread wound around so many of our daily horribles. Think of the tech billionaires who threw in their lot with Trump last month. How did they get to be billionaires? Monopoly power. Remember back in 2017, that notorious photo of the tech industry meeting at the top of Trump Tower, with Peter Thiel at Trump's left hand?

https://techcrunch.com/2016/12/14/donald-trump-meets-with-tech-leaders/

People were appalled that this group of corporate leaders, who between them controlled virtually all the technology in our lives, would debase themselves by paying fealty to this buffoonish would-be dictator.

But far more consequential was the fact that you could fit everyone who controlled all of our technology around a single table. Once everyone important to an industry can fit around a single table, it's only a matter of time until they find a table to sit around, and that's when it all starts to go wrong. As the Communist firebrand Adam Smith once wrote, "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices."

Enshittification starts with market concentration. This is a subject I'm going to be going very deep on next Saturday, when I give my Defcon keynote, "Disenshittify or die! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification":

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=54861

When I give that talk – and afterwards at my book signing – I will be wearing an N95 mask, just as I did last year. Why am I wearing a mask? Two reasons: first, Long Covid is a horror. One of the best writers I know – a living legend – recently told me that their book-writing days are likely done because of Long Covid brain fog.

A new Lancet article gets deep into the science of Long Covid:

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S014067362401136X

The principle author of the Lancet article is Oxford health professor Trish Greenhalgh, who gave an excellent lay summary in her newsletter:

https://independentsage.substack.com/p/long-covid-a-dystopian-game-of-pinball

In particular, Greenhalgh describes why some people don't get Long Covid, and some people do – and, most important, explains why the fact that you didn't get Long Covid last time doesn't mean you won't get it next time:

https://independentsage.substack.com/p/long-covid-a-dystopian-game-of-pinball

So I don't want to get covid, and so I'm gonna wear a mask. Because masks fucking work. A new study reveals just how well they work:

https://www.thelancet.com/journals/ebiom/article/PIIS2352-3964(24)00192-0/fulltext

The study shows that wearing any mask, even without knowing how to fit it well, offers substantial protection against both contracting and transmitting covid. Even better: wearing an N95 (even without paying attention to correct fit) offers "near perfect" protection against covid:

https://today.umd.edu/n95-masks-nearly-perfect-at-blocking-covid-umd-study-shows

I didn't get covid at Defcon last year, and I didn't get it at HOPE, and I didn't get it on our family vacation in July – all events where friends got sick. The difference? I wore a mask. Which works.

OK, I need to go work on my Defcon speech some more, so I'm gonna sign off, but I will leave you with just one more link, the wonderful new public domain image search tool, Public Work, which crawls and indexes the Met, the NYPL, and other sources:

https://public.work/

I rely on public domain, CC and other freely usable clip art to make the collages that accompany this newsletter/blog's stories. While I have very little talent in the visual arts, I'm getting steadily better. I mean, look at this amazing image I womped up for last week's story on Bitcoin bros' election campaign finance fraud:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53893519593/in/album-72177720316719208

You can see a collection of my recent collages in my Flickr gallery for them:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/albums/72177720316719208?sd

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/03/smorgasbord/#creepy-cute

Image: Anne Lindblom (cropped) https://www.flickr.com/photos/kajsawarg/3600415175

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 7: nasturtium

Chapter Summary:

nasturtium: patriotism, conquest, victory in battle

Wordcount: 5.0k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

my class started late, so here

A splitting headache was the first thing you felt after waking up, followed by the dry feeling in your mouth, your tongue sticking weirdly between your teeth. You swallowed a couple of times to relieve this feeling. While repeating that action, you began to feel your body and its constitution. It seemed like you were tied to a chair, your arms flat against its arms, no movement possible, and you felt some sort of rope on each wrist and one across your upper body and arms. You assumed your ankles had been bound the same way to the legs of the chair. It didn’t feel like you had a gag or blindfold, and you also didn’t register any new injuries. At least you didn’t think so. Only after this silent check did you dare to slowly open your eyes, cracking one slightly to see if someone was present in the room.

There was someone, but you could barely see their figure without making any noticeable movements. So, your gaze wandered back to yourself, swiftly checking if all your clothes were still in their place. And you almost let a breath out when everything seemed to be fine, beside the weird tingling all over your body, but you assumed it was a side effect of whatever they gave you and the ropes cutting off your bloodstream.

Slowly, you let a finger rub against the arm of the chair, trying to see what material it was made of. Wood. Still, you could not do anything before confirming that the whole chair is actually made of wood. So, you collected yourself, trying to remember what the Captain told you what to do in such situations. And for a moment you were thankful for his training, because if he didn’t pound these plans into their heads for such a prolonged time, you already would have woken up in a fit of curses and screams, scared out of your mind. To be fair, you still were scared out of your mind, but in this version of the story you knew what you were supposed to do, and that didn’t necessarily make you calmer, but at least steadfaster.

With his instructions playing in your mind, you could almost hear the way he had explained every step with a slight annoyance tinting his voice, yet he kept repeating himself despite the so-called stupid questions. You took a breath out of your nose, cinching your brows to frown before groaning softly. Shifting in your seat, you rolled your head so it hung back. Then you made the act of slowly blinking awake, jolting your arm to rub your eyes or face, didn’t matter, really, before shuddering as your jerking grew seemingly more erratic with the second. Your head swiveled around with your eyes wide open, until you finally made eye contact with whoever had been occupying the room with you.

And this time, the shudder and the catch of breath were real as you perceived the colors of his clothes. A dark shade of blue. The color of the other side, of the enemy. You already knew that, but this was your confirmation. Your gaze traveled further, over burn-marred skin, to the hooded eyes of your enemy, of one of your captors. And at first, his eyes seemed to be lazy, all indifference, but the longer you stared into their icy depth, the more the cold ruthlessness seemed to peek through.

You swallowed. “Damn it, let me go! What is this supposed to mean?” you raised your voice, infusing it with the fear you currently were suppressing.

“No can-do, sadly. And I’m not really in the mood to answer questions, if I’m going to be honest, so…” he shrugged and leaned further into the couch, all dangling arms and lethargic movements. But you noticed the precision in every move of his.

For a moment, you bit on your tongue, ruminating on the possible next steps. That was, until you realized that people underestimated you simply for being a woman, so why not using that to your advantage? Luckily, you still remembered how to act as if you’re still in court, and you doubt that these people could see behind that facade as easily as the aristocrats could.

So, you let your face crumble at his words, let your jaw slacken and your gaze take on the thousand-yard stare. And then slowly you sunk your head forward and let your breath sound a little bit irregular. With the last touch of slightly trembling shoulders, you presented him the helpless, scared maiden. The only thing left to do was wait for him to take the bait.

A scoff. “You can stop the charade, there’s no way you would be that close to the battlefield if you were that easily scared.”

All you did was lift your head to face him again, your bottom lip slightly wobbling as the tears collected in your tears. “Bu- But I truly do not know what to do with myself. I was never supposed…” your voice cracked and you sniffed before continuing. “I was never supposed to be there in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes at your words. “Whatever you say, in the end, it doesn’t really matter anyway,” he leaned his head against his hand while watching you with apathy and boredom. “You act like we don’t know anything, huh? Annoying if you ask me.”

He didn’t seem to believe this act, so his friends probably wouldn’t either. With this realization, you just dropped it, a little disappointed sneer on your face as you wiped the tears on your shoulders. All while holding eye contact with him. With a puff of air, you shifted slightly in your seat, looking for a way to sit comfortably.

For a moment you considered asking questions, trying to see if you would be able to get some proper answers or any hints about their plans. But you dismissed that thought, as the earlier instances showed that he wouldn’t talk in any circumstance about anything important. And maybe he didn’t even know a lot to begin with. That was something you couldn’t just expect. So, you had to look at the situation as if it was the worst possible one. That meant that he might just be a guard, without any usable knowledge, and that you had to expect the escape to be near impossible. You had to be prepared for everything. So, it was important for you to take your time with planning. Still, one thing you needed to know, even if you weren’t sure he would tell you in the first place.

“Alright. But do tell, did you manage to actually catch the Captain? I highly doubt that this feat lies within your abilities,” you snickered, hoping that the last statement was enough to rile him up for some kind of response.

A little snort escaped him as he glanced back at you. Yet, he said nothing, and nothing could be read from his facial expressions. You kept staring at him, trying to discern any reaction, anything that could hint at the whereabouts of the Captain. But you found nothing. So, like you had decided earlier, you had to assume the worst. Which would be him being captive in this strange place. Somewhere you could not even think about, much less access in your current state.

A sigh escaped you, and there was nothing you could do at the moment. It was too risky to immediately break out, especially considering you had no idea where you were, or why you were here in the first place. And worst of all, there was nothing you could do. You were bound to a chair, and the only person in this place wouldn’t even think of talking to you. You couldn’t even fall asleep, because you just woke up, and even if you did feel battered, there was a buzzing in your veins, too vibrating to allow you to even relax. So, you did what you could do best, you stared at the ceiling and got a bit lost in your thoughts, with just enough awareness to notice any change in your environment.

*-*

You had no idea how much time had passed until some people finally entered the room you were staying in. Your gaze passed each of them, no recognition hitting you, at least the younger girl seemed to be the one to have drugged you. At least until the last person entered, and you couldn’t hold in the gasp escaping you. You knew him. He was someone you had spent by his side the last months eating and fighting and talking. You both weren’t necessarily close, yet you had thought there was some sort of camaraderie, an almost friendship, or at least some respect across the troupe. Yet, with his appearance he rendered everything you thought to be true as naught. Devastation hit you in the chest at his sight, at his mocking grin towards you, and you felt a grimace pulling at your face, your body not able to properly determine what to feel and how to express it.

“Shit, that’s what you fucking deserve. A stupid woman doesn’t belong in a battlefield. You’re disgusting,” he grinned at you, his gaze traveling over your body, almost ecstatic at the way you had been bound to the chair.

For some reason, his words hit you deeper than you had anticipated. They were echoing what you had been hearing all your life, and it seemed like it would never matter how much effort you put in to change their minds, they would continue to think that way, that you were nothing but a woman, nothing but a nuisance.

Still, you tried to keep some form of dignity, as you straightened your face to the best of your abilities, your teeth biting into the insides of your cheeks. And you avoided looking directly at him, in fear of inciting another reaction out of you. Instead you cocked your head and directed your gaze to one of them, the one who had entered the room at first.

“So, what’s going to happen now?” you asked, swallowing slightly as you felt how your voice trembled at the end.

“Right now, you’re going to talk and tell us everything we want to know,” he answered with a croaking voice, his fingers scratching at his neck.

You raised your eyebrows, trying to delay this interrogation for a bit. “Oh? And why do you think that I know something? And don’t you have your little… lap dog anyway?”

Your breath hitched when you heard him cuss you out, yet he didn’t attack you outright, so he had to know nothing and have no power to his traitorous name.

“He has no idea about anything. But you–” he scoffed, taking a step closer to you, to stand directly in front of you. You barely noticed his hand before he already grabbed your chin, his fingers digging into your cheeks. “You’re closer to the Captain. There must be something you know. And honestly, if you don’t, you do make a compelling hostage.”

A grin spread over his face, his gums peeking, and you couldn’t help but think that he looked somewhat inhuman, terrifying. With a flick of his wrist, he released your face and signaled the others to step closer.

And for some reason, you weren’t terrified of them, afraid yes, your muscles spasming and your breathing painful, yet it was the same as on the battlefield. The only person you were terrified of, truly, was the man who had betrayed the group, the Captain, the country. In your view, he was unpredictable, you shook underneath his gaze, his words still echoing inside your brain. And you didn’t want him to step closer, yet you kept your mouth shut, didn’t allow yourself to reveal any possible weakness.

Oddly, you just hoped for the boss to take care of this, as you pinched your eyes close. In some way you trusted them a lot more. You couldn’t explain why. Maybe, there was some kind of respect in you, as one did after fighting each other for some time. And you sincerely hoped they felt the same in a tiny amount.

*-*

You had lost all sense of time. How long have you stayed in this room, with barely any food to sustain you for long? Despite just waking up, you felt tired, your bones aching and creaking with the small amount of movement you had been able to have. You were pretty sure it hadn’t been that long, but the pain in your body tried to tell you another story, and you had no idea if you passed out from it or simply because your body wanted to simulate a proper night's sleep.

No matter, you were tired, your eyes burning with each heavy blink. Yet, you had enough sense in you to notice how for once there was nobody in this room but you. They had never left you alone since you had arrived, and you started to give up. But now you had a chance to escape. Still, for a moment you contemplated if you should even try, exhaustion making your thoughts sluggier than necessary. You had no idea about your whereabouts, having failed at coercing anything out of the enemy, nothing but their own questions.

You pinched your eyebrows together, bringing the rest of your focus back, and in your mind you could almost hear the Captain yelling at you to ‘fucking focus!’. And for some reason that did it. Your thoughts were coherent enough for you to decide to at least try.

So, you let your gaze wander to the door, and you assumed, no, hoped, that they left it open, under the pretense that there was no way for you to get out of these knots and ropes holding you to the chair. And while that might be true, the ropes burning deep into your flesh, they seemed to have forgotten about the chair. One made out of wood.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to tip forward, readying your feet to catch you when the moment comes. And you managed to successfully catch yourself, albeit standing in an awkward squat.

You had to take another breath before moving on, because you knew that the next step was going to hurt. You sincerely hoped to get the right angle, as you had never had the need to execute this maneuver before. Closing your eyes, you jumped up, only to twist slightly back in the air, intending on falling in a way, which makes the chair simply break under your weight and the rudeness of it.

A crack and pain shooting up your hips. For a moment it seemed like it worked, but when you opened your eyes, you felt a gut punch as you realized the chair didn’t splinter to render you free, rather only a part broke.

Another shaky breath as you began to assess the citation, trying to peek behind you to see how the chair looks like. It seemed like only the joint keeping the seat and the back together had broken apart, giving you some flexibility, but not truly freeing you from your shackles. And you could easily free your legs and torso yourself, if only were your hands free.

So, your gaze jumped around the room, trying to look for something that might help you. But there was nothing but the walls, the small space empty and dusty. You hadn’t noticed how tiny your prison was, because of your immobility.

You began staring at the closest wall, trying to think of something. And then there was a possibility, perhaps the only one in your capabilities.

You brought your knees slowly to your chest, as much as the broken chair allowed you to, only to use them to push yourself across the floor, trying your best to inhale as little of the dust as possible. Every push took quite some time, yet the wall didn’t seem to get any closer. With every movement, you began to give up a little more, until your head bumped against a brick, in a way notifying you of your arrival.

Then you took a couple of shuffles to get the right angle. Once you had it, you began to twist your torso with speed, allowing yourself to smash one of the armrests against the wall. With every hit, the joints between it and the rest of the chair began to creak and crack. You had no idea how many times you smashed your arm against the wall, scratches and splinters digging deep into your skin at some point, yet you didn’t stop until the wood separated.

Even if you weren’t able to fully move your freed arm because a big piece of the armrest still clung to it, you now possessed enough range motion to reach over to your other arm and to dig your fingertips into the rope, trying to loosen the knots with brute force, before jamming them into the knots, opening them slowly but fully. Once that arm was truly free of the chair, you used its new freedom to get rid of the ropes around the other arm. You fully ignored the chafing and the pain radiating from it, as you focused on freeing up your torso and your legs, all while silently hoping that nobody entered while you were still opening up the last of the knots.

Breath caught in your throat, and you reached for your boot, for the weapon you had hidden during the confrontation. But all you felt there was your own skin and air. No sheath, no leather, nothing. For a moment you felt yourself choke on your own panic, as you slowly realized how vulnerable you were, have been. And how there was nothing for you to use. You didn’t even remember the last time you had no weapon on your body, every woman needed one, you needed one, right now, for the last weeks, for the rest of your life.

The person finally stepped into the room, and you scrambled back, your back hitting the wall, your hands scratching against the broken wood. And without thoughts or consideration you grabbed one piece, its point sharp from the impact earlier.

You licked your lips as your eyes stared at the point only to slowly shift towards the person standing in the door. And there was something inside of you zinging at the sight of this man, of this traitor, of someone standing above you, looking down on you. Your eyes shook as you slowly stood up, your back sliding over the wall. All while never breaking your gaze off of him. You couldn’t even tell if you were trembling, if you were holding the wooden piece correctly. All you did was stumble in his direction, your legs tingling due to the lack of use lately.

Finally, standing in front of him, but before he could grin, could say anything down to you, could tell on you, you swung the makeshift spear, the use of it akin to the use of a dagger as you let the sharp end dig into the soft flesh at his throat. He croaked surprised, the sounds coming out of him seemingly squashed. Blood trickled down. Soaking into the hem of his shirt, and you couldn’t help yourself but watch it spread.

With a jerk, a quelch you pulled the wood back to you, and now the blood began to bubble out of the wound. But he refused to weaken, still standing on his feet, still looking down on you. You wanted him to stop looking at you, wanted him to stop. So, you grabbed his head, bringing the point closer to it, getting rid of his annoying stare.

And finally, he fell to his knees, onto the ground with his face. His blood slowly tinting your shoes the same it had tainted the rest of your clothes, your skin.

It felt like you could finally breathe properly in this place, at least in this moment. So, you took a moment to enjoy this feeling of acquired freedom, before you grabbed his paling body to drag it into the room. You were aware that due to the blood on the floor, it won’t be long until they finally discover that something is amiss, even considering that they didn’t seem to care much about him. Before you left him to rot, you took away his weapons, and the disappointment choked you for a moment as you realized that he only had a dagger on his body, nothing else. Still, it had to be enough.

Closing the door behind you as you leave, you let your gaze swipe over everything, looking for any clue for the outside, and most importantly, for the Captain. There was nothing your sight picked up, so you decided to lick a rather clean finger and to hold it up, trying to discern if there was any wind blowing from any direction. There was a gentle breeze, one you barely noticed. That direction was the most likely one to be your way to freedom, yet you hesitated. You still didn’t know if the Captain had been captured also, he could be anywhere inside this place, and you were aware that you were purely lucky, there was no way they would even think of leaving him unattended.

You were torn, should you go look for him, or simply walk away to get help? Only, there was no guarantee that you would manage to reach the camp all alone or even be on time to get him help. You hated to admit it, but if he was stuck there, maybe you were his only chance at the moment. He would do the same for you, truly.

With one last glance to the side promising freedom, you slipped to the other side, keeping close to the wall and staying on your toes, dagger and wooden piece always in your hands. You kept peeking into every cell and room you encountered, but there was no one you recognized, all tattered clothes trembling in the corners or laying too silently. As much as you wanted to help, you knew that this lay beyond your capabilities at the moment. So, you continued sneaking around, looking for that still fierce stare of his.

And every time you encountered someone patrolling down the corridors, you waited until they turned their back to you to stab the dagger into their neck. And every time you cursed your lack of abilities in the manner of assassinations and the work of the shadows, as every movement of yours sounded incredibly loud and unnecessary. You couldn’t even get rid of anyone without any noise.

You dumped the bodies in the next best room, taking some weapons if available. At some point you felt like they made too much sound while you were trying to sneak around, so you had to drop some of them into an empty room. But for some reason, despite the amount of available weapons on your person, you didn’t let go of the wooden piece, its splinters digging deep into your skin.

After countless doors and cells, you began to give up. You should just turn around and escape, all by yourself. But you couldn’t, there was something inside your bones telling you to try one more cell, one more dark corner. And you rounded the next corner, only to stop when you spotted two guards in front of one single door. Nowhere else had you seen those stationed like this. There had to be someone important. You decided to look into that particular room, no matter who was inside, they probably needed help. At least, you would have tried to help someone in this ashen place.

Looking at the position of the guards, you doubted you could sneak close enough to them to attack them without retaliation. So, you grabbed one of the longer daggers to give you more reach, before sprinting towards them. They immediately noticed you and pulled their swords. And as much as you wished to hold one too, you were aware that the walls were too close for a proper sword, especially against two opponents. You just hoped they would accidentally start bothering each other with their limited reach.

You focused on the one slightly closer to you, your eyes looking for a weak spot with every step, and even if you didn’t find one immediately, you didn’t slow down. Rather you simply avoided the clumsy swing of the sword, as he tried to strike you down, before you rammed into him with the full force of your speed. He lost his balance, toppling over and you landed on top of him. Without delay, you grabbed the helmet of his and pushed away to plunge the blade into his now freed throat.

The blood flowed and you felt some sprinkle over your face. Wiping it away, you almost missed the movement behind you, as the other person swung their own blade towards you. You barely had any time to react as you tried to roll away, but the blade still grazed your thigh. A sharp pain burst in your flesh there, more than a simple graze warranted. It almost distracted you from the next upcoming attack and you had no other possibility but to hold your own, much smaller blade against theirs. Gravity supported them, as they tried to drive the sword into you.

As the sharp edge inched closer to your body, you jammed your foot into their lower body, trying to get them to lose their balance in any way as you continued to kick up. The blade was at such a small distance, your own blade started digging into your skin. It was over, your strength wasn’t enough to win this.

But before you could even think of letting go, a loud noise clattered from the closed door, startling you both, but that surprise was exactly what you needed, as their muscles loosened the tiniest bit. You grabbed another weapon from your clothes and stabbed its blade into their wrist holding the sword, hoping to have slashed some tendons. The reaction was immediate as he let go of the blade, letting it fall. You on the other hand didn’t react fast enough, and it grazed your ear and shoulder, feeling the blood slowly pooling underneath your head.

They were holding their wrist close to their chest, and you took the chance, grabbed their own sword to drive it into their chest cavity. Their blood splattered all over you before they fell onto the ground, twitching and huffing.

For a moment you allowed yourself to take a breather, laying between the two corpses as their blood soaked your clothes, sending shivers down your back.

A second crash and you flinched as you looked towards the door. Instead of saying something, you sat up, feeling the pain radiating from your thigh, and you knew that the injury there had opened up again. A sigh escaped you, and you ripped the seam of your tattered shirt to bind it over the wound once again. You hoped you could withstand the pain long enough, because it didn’t feel as bad as it did at first when you got stabbed there.

Another crash sounded and you slowly got annoyed by whoever was doing that.

“Okay, okay, Calm down.”

And it was silent after you said this, but you weren’t sure if they actually listened to you. Nonetheless you stood up and walked up to the door. On the way you pulled out a dagger before kneeling in front of the lock. You had no idea how to break a lock, but you assumed that if you jammed the tip of the blade with strong enough force it would break it.

You began to jam the blade into the sides of the lock, trying to get a reaction out of it. After some time, without any crashes from the inside to distract you, you finally heard some sort of clicking noise. Still, you didn’t dare take away the blade until you pushed the door open.

You didn’t know how to react to the insides of the cell. And for a moment the only thing moving was the piece of wood hitting the floor. There was joy pumping your heart, but also some embarrassment when you realized how bad you had to look. The Captain only frowned at your sight, before taking over as he walked past you.

“Looks like your head was hit,” he grumbled as he pointed towards the keys on the belt of one of the guards.

You felt hot, shame making it difficult to explain yourself. But before you could even try to reiterate, you felt a finger tipping your chin up, and you met his hot gaze, filled with fury. His finger traveled over your cheek to your cut ear. “I hope you paid this filth back a thousandfold…”

Something told you that if these two guards were alive, he would have shown them something worse than death. But you didn’t mind this, you just enjoyed the way your heart finally seemed to settle once you found him.

He let his hand fall away, some of your blood on his fingertips, and stepped away. You handed him some of the weapons you had collected before starting to tell him what way to go. But instead of letting you finish speaking he told you to take the lead. He obviously didn’t want to waste time, but you were glad to be trusted like that.

So, you walked down the same corridors you came from, they were still empty as you left them. Until you stopped in front of the room you had occupied. A glance in his direction told you to just continue walking. You did. This time, it took you both longer to find your way out, nothing indicating any sort of possible escape, especially the lack of guards. The halls were empty. And you had to admit that it worried you to not meet any resistance at all.

After some time, you finally stumbled across the exit, and you opened the door, ready for the onslaught of enemies. But what was across the threshold was more than you had anticipated.

[doahaesunshine]

Chapter 19

Chapter WC: 4102

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I feel like fear is always necessary here in Fallin' Flower

Hi sorry, I've been sick :D I caught Covid :D - Tristen / @wooahaeruby

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I can’t focus My mind is crowded So many voices Too many thoughts Why can’t I focus?

It had been a week since Mingyu had left your room to aid Archivist Jeon in whatever troubled him. The memory of the emotions you felt burning inside the Archivist still lingered despite your best efforts to forget. What wasn’t helping was the fact you were still cooped up in your temporary bedroom. 

Mingyu and Dino had told you it was for your own safety, that whatever had gotten into your head had to be quarantined. It was hard to believe them, especially when the man whose room you were staying in, Archivist Jeon, kept quiet. The Archivist hadn’t spoken to you at all this week, the first time you saw him was when he called for Mingyu. After that it was complete silence.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the past week had been miserable. The lack of answers to your countless questions burdened you. They piled up, weighing you down and draining you of your energy. Wasn’t your amulet supposed to be fixing that?

With a gentle hand you held onto the amulet, warmth radiated from the metal as you squeezed. You thought the action would have soothed you but instead it awakened whatever lingering anxiety you had about your current situation. Suddenly the room felt too small, too still and it made your thoughts blare through your head.

It was like a rollercoaster you couldn’t control. Your heart rate spiked and as much as you tried to calm your breathing it was erratic. As your mind clouded itself with panic you knew only one thing would be able to calm you.

Jeonghan… Where’s Jeonghan? Why can’t I see him? I need him.

In your panic you paced around the room, not able to stand still for too long in fear that your mood would consume you. You were at the window one moment, the door and then the bed but you couldn’t sit still for long. Eris materialized next to you and followed your steps.

“Sage?”

Her inquisitive voice entered your mind, trying to pull you back to reality. Even though you heard her, you couldn’t respond, Jeonghan occupied your thoughts.

“Sage, talk to me. What’s going on?”

As Eris spoke in her mind she cried out with troubled moos, doing her best to try and communicate with you.

“I- I need-” You stuttered, your heart felt like it was reaching your throat. “I need to see Jeonghan…”

Your words trailed off as you made your way toward the door. First, you tried the handle, but it was still locked. Next you banged on the door with your fist, but there was no response. Your last resort was to crash into the door, trying to bust it off of its hinges. 

The pain and anxiety blinded you, it didn’t feel like you were in control of your body. Deep down, you knew the ward spell wouldn’t allow you to break the door down, but your body continued to slam into the wood. Eris jumped around you, trying and failing to get your attention. She desperately pulled at the fabric of your shirt to the point of tearing as she begged you to stop. 

There was a soft click as the door opened, the motion halting your movement for a moment. You watched as Mingyu entered the room. The door was open, you could run past him if you were fast enough. There was only one way to find out…

You bolted, straight toward the door. Mingyu was fast to catch you, holding you tightly.

“Sage, what’s going on?” When his eyes met yours he appeared frightened. “Your eyes-”

Nothing mattered, you had to escape. “Get off of me!” You yelled, forcing fear onto Mingyu.

You were released immediately and with your new found freedom you dashed down the hall. Eris chased after you, still worried, not wanting to let her eyes off of you.

Winding through the halls, you let your feet guide you towards the exit. When you were finally met with the outside you stopped to take a deep breath. The air was fresh and warm, a welcome sensation after being locked up for a week. With renewed energy you jogged your way toward the lake, toward Jeonghan…

Joshua was prepared for the dispelment. He had his component pouch ready along with elixirs for himself and Junhui. The Ward waited patiently as Wonwoo unlocked the cell door. Joshua was familiar with the craftsmanship of the cells, his parents told him that their family constructed the confinement chambers. The doors and walls of each cell were made of steel enforced lead, the latter being the perfect metal to deflect Divination magic.

As the door opened Joshua was met with the fatigued and wounded Junhui. The Siren was barely conscious, a week of no feeding and no contact with water left him in a weakened state. When Joshua entered, Junhui fought against the restraints, the charm did not waver and was still in full effect. Wonwoo was watching diligently, ready to strike if Junhui broke free. Joshua held a hand up toward the Archivist, silently telling him to relax. 

Joshua reached into his pouch and brought out a dark crystal, black tourmaline, perfect for dispelling negative magics.

“Junhui, this may be uncomfortable.” He traced a sigil into the crystal and it began to hover in his hand. “ Purgo. ”

Once the incantation was introduced the chunk of black tourmaline drifted toward the center of Junhui’s forehead. The crystal stayed in its position as Joshua focused on Junhui’s affliction. Slowly, the blackened veins shifted and found their way to the gemstone. The Siren winced as the spell was siphoned from his Psyche. 

“Ah-” Junhui exclaimed in pain. “Stop! Stop- Please!”

Joshua offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I know it doesn’t feel good-”

“No-” Junhui yelled, pushing himself forward, but the chains stopped him. “This isn’t right!”

Now that Joshua could clearly see the Siren’s face he saw that it wasn’t just the veins, something was crawling under his skin. 

“Shit-” Was all Joshua said as he stopped the spell and snatched the crystal away from Junhui. “Wonwoo! Break the chains-”

“No-”

“Dispel them- I need him on his side!” Joshua pleaded.

Wonwoo’s face was stern. “No. If I break the spell, he will attempt to kill you-”

“Do it!” Joshua yelled, tired of Wonwoo’s worries. 

With great dissatisfaction, Wonwoo broke the spectral chains causing Junhui to crumble to the cold, stone floor. The Siren made an effort to restrain himself, squeezing his arms against his body to fight the spell that was still coercing him. Joshua pushed the blond to his side and inspected the side of his face, he was looking for an entry wound.

“What could you possibly be searching for? We know the spell, we know the intent-”

“Quiet!” Joshua commanded as he pulled back Junhui’s hair.

Just along Junhui’s hairline there was a small wound, no bigger than a pea. Black ichor oozed from the injury, Joshua hadn’t seen this in person, but he had heard stories. He retrieved the black tourmaline and held it to Junhui’s temple, pulling more ichor from the wound.

“Purgo.” Joshua spoke the incantation once more.

Another scream in agony, Junhui thrashed against Joshua’s hold.

“Wonwoo- Help me hold him. I need him to be still.”

Wonwoo listened and held Junhui firmly on his side while Joshua continued to work the spell. The Ward watched as whatever was under the Siren’s skin slowly surfaced. He winced at the visual, but knew he had to focus, if he tore his eyes away he would miss the-

Junhui screamed out in pain as an inky slithering leech exited the wound. Joshua recoiled as the creature attempted to latch onto a different target. While it leapt into the air Wonwoo held his hand out and zapped it with a bolt of green energy. With the pest out, Junhui attempted to sit up, grimacing at the weight of his tired limbs.

“Did you kill it?” Joshua asked as he looked at the creature.

“No- Paralysis. I wish to study it…” Wonwoo said as he procured an empty vial from his pocket.

“It’s-” Junhui took a deep breath, still collecting himself. “They’re called Mentsuzas , Mind Leeches. A dirty trick Sirens use in their political games .” He tried to stand, but his knees gave out.

Joshua caught and supported the Siren. “Don’t push yourself, you need rest.”

Junhui leaned into Joshua and laughed weakly. “You know now that I can think for myself, I’m really hungry.”

Wonwoo turned and shot Junhui an irritated look.

“Don’t joke right now-” Joshua scoffed as he helped Junhui to his feet. “We need to get you cleaned up, then you can worry about food.”

Joshua led Junhui to the door and Wonwoo followed close behind. As they slowly walked down the hallway Joshua thought to himself. Did someone from the City of Quartz find their way to Diamond Hall and plant the critter on Jun? Or did Jeonghan finally take his bullying too far? The older Siren had told Joshua stories about Mind Leeches and the effect they had on people’s Psyche. If gone untreated they consume whatever is left of the brain and take over control, creating a husk of its victim.

“Wonwoo- You have a guest chamber, correct?” Joshua smiled as he spoke. “Now that Junhui is a guest he can help himself to the amenities Diamond Hall has to offer?”

Wonwoo said nothing and instead nodded his head as he continued to stare at the paralyzed leech. Joshua smiled, happy that he was able to reward Junhui for withstanding the brutal procedure. There was still a limp to the blond’s steps as he leaned on Joshua for support, the leech had taken a greater toll than he thought.

Junhui continued to use Joshua as a means of support until the two reached the guest chamber. The Siren followed Joshua as he led him into the room. It was nice and quaint. The furniture was made of chestnut wood and earthy green upholstery. Junhui shuffled about the room, studying his surroundings as if he had to take in every detail.

Joshua dug through one of the dressers and put together a simple outfit. He placed it on the bed and then went toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

“Wonwoo kept the bathroom stocked. That’s good-” Joshua returned to Junhui. “Is there anything you need?”

“You’re leaving?” Junhui sulked.

Joshua laughed, breathy and warm. “Just to give you privacy. Besides, Wonwoo might need my help with his research. So, is there anything you need before I go?”

“The bath- Can you make it salt water?” Junhui was shy in his request.

With a smile Joshua walked toward the bathroom and filled the tub. Reaching into his pouch he acquired a pearl and tossed it into the freshwater.

“Mare.” As Joshua spoke the pearl glowed a dull blue-green. “There you go- Warm saltwater. Is that all?”

Junhui nodded. “Thank you…”

Joshua offered another kind smile before he turned to leave.

“Oh- Joshua!” Junhui called out, causing the other to pause and look back. “Sorry… about everything.” He couldn’t help but stare at the subtle bruising on his company’s neck.

There was a moment where Joshua’s expression softened. “Nothing to be sorry for, Jun. Take your time and relax, you need it.”

With those words, Junhui was left alone in the room. He returned to the bathroom and slowly stripped off his shirt. The movement made him wince as the sigil was still burned into his skin. Gazing in the mirror he could see the damage, he remembered Jeonghan telling him to stay away from Wonwoo, but he never listened. Next he studied the wound on his temple, a steady flow of ichor was still pouring from it. 

Turning on the faucet, Junhui let the water run warm. He cupped the liquid in his hands and scrubbed his face, cleaning off as much as he could. After wiping his face clean he rid himself of the rest of his clothes and quickly sank into the bath. He sighed as the water soaked into his skin, the pearlescent sheen appearing as his Siren blood awakened. Lazily, he sunk himself below the surface and watched as his surroundings bled together into a mess of color.

Junhui let himself soak for nearly an hour before he left the tub and dried off. He returned to the bed where Joshua had laid clothes out for him. An off-white button up with a seafoam green knit sweater. The trousers were a similar color to the button up, maybe a shade darker. He didn’t button the shirt all the way up and tested the waters with the sweater, afraid the fabric would irritate the wound on his chest. Thankfully, the clothes were comfortable and well-tailored, fitting him perfectly.

He turned to the mirror and admired the outfit, it had been too long since he had gotten new clothes for himself. His old outfit was essentially ruined, at least the shirt was, which was a shame, he really liked that shirt.

“Well look at you~ Enjoying your time away from home, brother?”  

Jeonghan’s voice echoed in Junhui’s mind, squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to push it away. When he reopened his eyes he saw his raven haired brother in the reflection of the mirror. The older man's expression was teasing, taunting as he draped himself over Junhui's shoulders.

“Joshua is really nice isn’t he~ That’s why I like him so much. Me and him used to be closer, y’know…” 

Junhui backed away from the mirror, phasing through the illusionary form of his older brother. The image of Jeonghan dissipated from the reflective glass as Junhui sat along the edge of the bed, head in his hands. 

“You can’t just shake me off like that, you know this…”

The younger looked up, a pristine and shining vase held a distorted image of Jeonghan. Junhui stood and searched the drawers for anything to distract himself with. He found some extra linens, throwing one over the vase to hopefully ruin the pull Jeonghan had on his Psyche.

“Nice try, Junhui~”

There were no reflective surfaces around him anymore. He was stuck listening to his brother talk, but at least he wouldn’t have to see the man.

“Carry out the mission I gave you… You know you aren’t finished.”

Junhui laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, attempting to ignore his brother’s song. 

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“I can damn well try.” Junhui groaned out as he laid on his side and pulled a pillow over his head. 

There was a moment of silence. He knew that this Jeonghan wasn’t real. It was a lingering effect from the spell mixed with the psychological damage his older brother had caused. A figment of his imagination, his trauma.

For as long as he can remember, his brother chastised him, antagonized him, full well knowing Junhui could do nothing to fight back. The first memory he had of Jeonghan was the only good one, the one he held onto. Junhui let himself drift into the haze of his mind to escape reality, even if it was only for a second.

“You’re a Yoon now, Junhui! Which means you are part of the royal family.” Jeonghan twirled around one of the marble columns in the main hall of the palace. “What do you desire? Riches? Women, Men? Power? Anything is possible in this position.”

Junhui looked up at the ceiling, an oracle opened up into the crystal blue ocean. Shimmering fish swam by as the sun peeked through the watery surface.

“I don’t really want any of those things…” Junhui was being honest, he was still young and didn’t know what his desires were.

“Oh- C’mon~ There has to be something you wish to gain…” Jeonghan leaped from the column and landed in front of his younger brother. “Tell me~ What does the Yoon’s newest addition desire?”

Pausing a moment, Junhui met his brother’s eyes. The two Sirens were completely different. Jeonghan’s appearance was dark and mysterious with bright brown eyes, a rarity among Sirens. Though black hair was considered a bad omen among their people, the Tide Maidens labeled Jeonghan as a ‘curse’. The older always joked how Junhui was the ‘perfect image of a Siren his father always wished for’, Junhui never believed him.

“I don’t know…” Junhui chewed his lip as he thought. “I always wanted to be a good son for my mother… She told me I should grow up to be kind.” Junhui smiled at the memory. “That’s what I desire, I wish to be kind and gentle.”

Jeonghan’s eyes went wide with surprise, or maybe it was recognition, but it quickly faded. “As noble as that goal is Junhui, you can’t be a minnow among sharks. The ‘Game’ will eat you alive if you keep that mentality…” A sigh escaped the older man. “You need to value your life and what it means in this world. If you were to die…”

Junhui waited for Jeonghan to finish his statement, but he never did. The older brother instead offered a sly smile with a glint in his eye.

“Nevermind that!” Jeonghan threw an arm over Junhui’s shoulder. “Father told me we have been gifted a bunch of magical scrolls from the surface. Want to go to the Scholar’s and read them before anyone else?”

With a smile Junhui nodded his head. The two brothers hopped and skipped their way to the library. 

Jeonghan had teased him plenty of times, but it was never to the extent of physically harming him. One day it just changed, everything happened so fast that the memory still stung. The moment had scarred him, he would never be able to forget…

Junhui raced after his brother, his heavy footfalls echoing throughout the palace halls. 

“Jeonghan- Jeonghan, wait! Where are you going?” 

The older Siren didn’t look back, he didn’t want any distractions.

Junhui caught up and grabbed Jeonghan by the arm, causing the elder to stop and spin.

“Why are you pestering me?” Jeonghan spat, clearly frustrated. “This doesn’t involve you!”

“I don’t care about that- Where are you going? Are you leaving the palace?” Junhui’s usual blank expression twisted into worry.

Jeonghan avoided his eyes. “I’m leaving the city… I no longer have a place here.”

“What?” Junhui was flabbergasted. “Where is this coming from?”

A scoff escaped Jeonghan’s lips. “My father is really good at keeping people in the dark- Can’t you see that I am no longer needed? If I stay here I will be nothing more than a pawn in my father’s plans.” There was venom in his tone. “I have been replaced. You’re the crown prince now, Junhui. I am nothing but a stain on my father’s legacy!”

“I didn’t know this…” Junhui was being honest, no one told him anything.

“Of course you didn’t, Jun! That would defeat the purpose- Here, look at this-” Jeonghan pulled an intricate dagger from his belt. “Look�� familiar?”

An onyx blade lightly stained with dried blood. The handle was silver, decorated with quartz, a sign of protection. Junhui knew this design.

“That’s a Tide Maiden blade, but they are protectors-”

“Protectors from evil, Junhui…” Jeonghan sheathed the dagger. “Do you remember what I told you? What they see me as?”

Junhui vaguely remembered Jeonghan mentioning he was a ‘curse’. “Those are just words, Jeonghan.”

“Not to my father…” Anger fueled Jeonghan as he spoke. “To the Tide Maidens I am a ‘curse’, I told you that. But they didn’t stop there- They gave me a title.” Rage filled him until there were tears in his eyes. “They told my father ‘Prismus Yoon is a bad omen, he is a harbinger, he is the Cataclysm.’ Do you understand now, Jun?”

Junhui’s expression turned solemn, he knew what this meant. Their father’s plan was to assassinate Jeonghan, which ultimately would make Junhui next in line.

“I’m doing everyone here a favor, especially you. Let go of me-” Jeonghan shoved Junhui away with a firm hand and resumed his march.

“You’re still my brother! I need you here!” Junhui cried out after him.

Jeonghan paused for a moment, filling Junhui with hope. Maybe his older brother would listen to him and stay. That way they could remain a family.

“I am no longer your brother. From this day forward I am no one. Forget about me, Junhui…”

Dread and loneliness darkened Junhui’s heart as he watched Jeonghan disappear in his mind. Without his brother he would become lost, he couldn’t afford to lose him…

“Jun?” 

Joshua’s voice woke him from his nap. He startled as he felt a hand shake his shoulder. Gently, Joshua removed the pillow, his smile dropped as he saw tears trailing down Junhui’s face.

“Are you alright?” Joshua sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a comforting hand on Junhui’s arm.

“Yeah-” Junhui cleared his throat. “Just a bad dream- Did Wonwoo complete his research?”

“Yes. We were able to trace the magic on the leech, it belonged to Jeonghan.” Joshua grimaced. “Why would he do that to you? Why did he- Why does he want me dead?”

“Loose ends need to be tied- Or something like that…” Junhui squirmed, uncomfortable with the idea.

In the corner of his vision Junhui saw a shadow. Dark hair, pale skin, apathetic eyes, Jeonghan. 

“You’re not finished…”

A shiver traveled down Junhui’s spine. Anxiety, uncertainty and fear mixed together as he tried to remain calm in front of Joshua.

“I feel bad for asking… But I’m still really hungry, do you mind if-” 

Joshua chuckled softly. “I understand, don’t worry. Just don’t knock me out like last time.”

Junhui locked eyes with Joshua, but quickly flicked them to the image of Jeonghan. The imaginary Siren shook his head, instructing Junhui to do the opposite of Joshua’s wishes.

With an argumentative sigh, Junhui channeled his Psyche onto Joshua. It was difficult due to the damage from the leech, but he was still able to reach the other. The Siren indulged, more than he should have, but he had to complete his task. Joshua would never agree to help Junhui if he asked for help in his mission.

The fatigue of having his Psyche drained rendered Joshua unconscious. Junhui laid his head on the pillow and unstrapped the Ward’s component pouch, taking it for himself. 

Junhui pulled the blanket over the sleeping mage. “I’m sorry…” He muttered before he left the room.

The Siren knew Sage was here in Diamond Hall’s castle and he had a good idea as to where they were being kept. 

Junhui memorized the way to Archivist Jeon’s chambers, Cosmos had led him to it before. When met with the door he sensed the ward spell that had been placed on it. He retrieved the chunk of black tourmaline from Joshua’s component pouch and held it to the door. With a firm grasp he crushed the stone and casted the spell Jeonghan taught him. Ancient Siren magic that could break Arcanist spells and effects, but it would only last for five minutes.

Peeking into the room he saw Sage fast asleep as it was still early morning. He approached the bed and sat along it gently. With a sigh he held his hand to his temple and winced preemptively.

“Mentsuzas Dominae.”

The ancient Siren incantation provoked something to crawl under Junhui’s skin. He bit his tongue until it bled to muffle his pained voice. Another Mind Leech fell from his temple, it wriggled as it searched for a new target. Junhui picked it up by its tail and hovered the creature over Sage’s unconscious form.

His mind was perfectly clear now that the second leech was out of his brain. There was a moment of hesitation as he considered his options.

“There is no other option.”

Jeonghan spoke in Junhui’s mind. Was the charm lingering in him? Did the leech cause permanent damage? Or did Jeonghan just have his claws so deep in Junhui, that it was all in his head?

“Don’t be foolish Junhui~ Complete the task and you’ll be free~”

With those words, Junhui placed the Leech on Sage’s temple. The venom of the creature made entry painless, but if Sage grew agitated, it would enrage the pest. Instant regret filled Junhui, but the damage had been done, all he could do was run now.

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[drivinmeinsane]

Mistletoe ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Twelve ※ Driver / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: Your apartment complex decided to decorate for the season and who else is with you but your ever-present shadow, Driver?

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cumming Untouched, Shy!Driver, Kissing

※ Word count: 1087

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

As the sun sets, the temperature continues to drop further. It’s cold and you rub your hands together, fighting the urge to blow on them. If you’re this chilly, you can’t imagine how your neighbor must be feeling. The quiet man had moved all the way from California about a year ago. You’ve become fast friends since meeting each other in the parking lot. He had been there when another neighbor backed into your car. His intervention when the guilty party decided to pick a fight had been invaluable. Strangely enough, that neighbor broke the lease and moved out not even a week after the accident. 

Today, the mechanic is helping you bring in the groceries. Driver had softly insisted on carrying all the bags, leaving you empty handed. Your only jobs in this process until getting inside the apartment were to close his truck and unlock your front door. Almost all your trips have turned into mutual excuses to spend time together. 

Your apartment complex has decided to decorate for the holidays. String lights are twinkling in the hallways and along the awnings of the buildings. The effect is admittedly cozy. You’re looking up, admiring the lights when you spot it and come to a dead stop. Driver nearly stumbles over you.

“What is it?” His tone carries an edge of concern.

Pointing upwards at fake leaves and berries, comically large for visibility, you answer his question. “Mistletoe.”

Driver doesn’t move when you spin on your heel to face him. He makes a low, questioning noise, but doesn’t speak, There is a moment of silence while he processes the word. You see the moment when he realizes what you’re getting at. His eyes widen slightly and he looks as flustered as you’ve ever seen him. 

Biting down on his toothpick and clearing his throat, he finally speaks. “It means a kiss, right?”

“Is that okay?” You ask softly, not wanting to push him into something he doesn’t want.

The man quietly nods. He stays still when you step into his space and reach up, slowly, to pluck the toothpick from his lips. You tuck it into its customary spot behind his ear. Driver leans down, angling his grocery-laden arms out of the way. You lean up to meet him, mouth hovering over his. He makes no effort to close the gap. He’s waiting for you to make the choice, breath brushing erratically over your face. His blue eyes are hooded, nearly closed as he observes you. There’s a flush creeping up his neck, dusting his ears in pink. He’s so lovely like this. 

Reflexively, his tongue darts out and wets his lips. They glisten in the light. He’s almost trembling, his jaw working. Finally, you take pity on him and kiss him. His mouth falls open under yours. You had genuinely intended to keep the kiss chaste, but the way he melts against you causes you to kiss him deeper, thoroughly. 

When you finally pull away, he makes an involuntary, wounded sound. It’s so needy that you immediately catch the tall man in another kiss. His breathing is ragged, and you can feel the muscles in his upper arms tensing underneath your hands. Your teeth catch on his bottom lip and you suck it. He lets out an unrestrained whine and his body jerks, hard. You pull away, concerned. The man is trembling, chest heaving. He’s flushed and his eyes are glazed. His lips are kiss-swollen and shiny with spit. 

Worried, you visually scan him for something wrong. You start to open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but that’s when you see it. There is a sizable wet spot spread over the front of his jeans. You can see the imprint of his erection straining against the thick material. Under your astounded gaze, you see it twitch and the spot grows larger. 

In a daze, you reach out and press your fingertips to the clearly visible head of his cock. The denim is warm and damp to the touch as you rub over it. Driver’s hips instantly press against your hand. Your hand opens and he’s grinding against your palm, over sensitive but desperate for contact, as though he can’t help himself. He’s silent now, but panting. 

“Oh,” you breathe wonderingly. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, sounding distraught. He can’t meet your eyes when you finally look away from the sight of his gradually softening cock against your palm, separated only by a single layer from the look of things. 

“Don’t be,” you tell him, voice gentle.

Reluctantly, you remove your hand from the front of his jeans. Driver sways forward after it before coming to his senses and taking a step back. Neither of you speak as he follows you back to your apartment, still carrying the groceries. He lets you close the door behind him after he enters and makes his way to the kitchen to set the bags on the counter. You join him, hastily putting away the cold items. The two of you stand there for a moment in crushing silence. The mechanic turns to leave, but you interrupt him. 

“Would you like a glass of water?” It’s irrational considering the man has an issue to take care of but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving. There’s a growing certainty that you will only see him in passing if this doesn’t get resolved. He’s clearly embarrassed. 

He’s quiet for so long that you’re certain he’s going to just walk right out the door. “Sure.”

Your hands brush when you fill the glass and hand it to him. There’s no missing the way his breath hitches and his eyelids flutter at the small amount of contact. Your eyes are glued to the movements of his throat as he swallows. He sets the glass down on the counter at his side. There’s something sad in his expression, like he’s in mourning. You can’t stand it.

“Oh look, more mistletoe.” you say, tipping your chin at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly.

“It’s the invisible kind,” you confirm, getting a smile out of him.

Driver reaches out, sliding his hand over your side. He crowds against you. The devastated look is gone, replaced only by his searching gaze. You tilt your head back for him and then he’s kissing you. The way he groans into your mouth when you slide your hands under his layered jackets makes you thankful for your apartment management company for the first time since you moved in.

[tinydefector]

Would love to see some soft vore with swindle maybe first contact au with a little human he found wandering a warehouse he keeps his product in by themselves

Smuggling

Swindle x human

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, oral, vore, Valveplug, Giant/Tiny

Edit( had issue with transferring it from my writing area over here so hopefully it's all together this time. The joys)

Swindle masterlist

_____________________

little cries echo from the human swindle had caught, he eyes them through the large Cube he had caught them in debating what he should do with them. Their eyes linger on him wide as if pleading for him to let them go. He wasn't sure how the human had gotten there but he was fascinated by their smaller form

Swindle peered down at his unusual catch through the translucent edges of his containment cube, rotors whirring thoughtfully. The tiny creature writhed within, clawing vainly at the barrier as strange cries emanated from its primitive vocalizer.

How curious that such a fragile thing could have wound up aboard his ship. The Decepticons had little need nor patience for biology beneath their notice. Still, as a businessman, Swindle appreciated any commodity's potential value - and rarity commanded the highest prices on the black market, where only the boldest dared to deal.

"Now now, no need for that racket," he said, tone placating yet laced with calculation. The human stilled at his words, wide optics locking onto Swindle's face with an expression...pleading? Most odd.

Lowering the cube, Swindle gazed within, scanning hastily. Basic carbon-based, bipedal, underdeveloped neuronal network...but sentient nevertheless. His grasping servos gentled upon feeling its erratic organic pulse. Perhaps this catch deserved study before rushing to market. Potential discoveries could revise alien worth beyond raw material.

They curl up on themself, eyes darting around as they watch swindle check his warehouse stock. Small trembles rack their small frame as they try to make themself even smaller. As Swindle surveyed his stockpiles, peripherals noted movement within the containment cube set before him. Curious, he knelt for closer investigation, crimson optics peering through the translucent barrier.

Within, the tiny human had drawn into a quivering ball, trembling violently as large optics darted about the warehouse in panicked disorientation. Clearly, its primitive systems found the vastness overwhelming. How fragile such an alien organism must seem without protective armor, weaponry or even adequate size to impose any will.

Lifting the cube. The human merely shrank tighter, as though hoping invisibility might shield its vulnerable form. An interesting survival mechanism, yet ineffective among their kind. Its continual shaking set oddly on Swindle's sensors.

Crooking a digit, Swindle nudged the cube gently, awaiting response to stimulate and assess this odd creature's potential. What solutions might it improvise under pressure? Fortune favoured the bold and clever, after all.

They shout as they tumble out on the table. Their eyes go wide as they try to bolt across the metal table. Neatly tumbling over the edge. He's curious about the tag on their leg, it held the information on where the human was from, where they were going and what their purpose was for.

As the tiny human tumbled from its confinement, Swindle's keen optics tracked each jerking motion broadcasted by its tag chip and primitive garments. Clearly disoriented amongst the warehouse's cavernous machinery, the thing bolted recklessly across the table, servos scrabbling for purchase on the slick metal.

A sharp gasp escaped them as momentum carried the fragile body over the edge, sending it plummeting toward the unforgiving ground far below. An unfortunate demise would ruin this rare find before its potential could be explored.

Snatching the thing from the air, Swindle brought it close for examination, ignoring its frantic pounding against his braced digits. There - the identification chip embedded in its vest offered tantalising insights into origins and intended fates of this hitherto unknown species.

The human squirms under Swindle's grip as the bot checks them from damage or injuries, moving them close to make sure they aren't broken.  they whimper out. Swindle's optics narrow as he processes the information on the human's leg tag. 

A chuckle escapes Swindle's vocalizer as he holds the squirming human firmly to the table, his grip unyielding. 

The information on their leg tag filters across his processor. 

Species: homo-sapien (human) 

Planet of origin: Terra 1, Earth 

Destination: Vos, Cybertron 

Buyer: offlined 

Other information: 'exotic pet', bid off to the highest buyer or keep them. I don't care.  

"Earth, eh?" he murmured, scanning the encoded lines rapidly. "A long way off course, meatbag. But who said the black market honours authorities' designs, hmm?" The human writhed uselessly, but clever optics observed its every microexpression carefully.

As swindle downloads the language file attached he can finally understand the small squeaks and chirps from them. His audials twitch at the implications, his curiosity piqued by the concept of an 'exotic pet' from Earth being brought to Vos, the city of seekers. It seemed that someone on Cybertron had quite the fascination with organic, soft-bodied creatures. As he downloads the language file attached, the squeaks and chirps they emit start to make sense to Swindle. Their plea for freedom.

"Please let me go," they whimper, their voice carrying a mix of fear and desperation.

Swindle's optics flicker as He leans in closer, his tone low and contemplative. "Now, why would I do that, little human? You see, you've been bought and sold, and it looks like I'm the one in possession of you now. You're quite the valuable commodity, and I must say, I'm rather curious to see just what makes you so 'exotic.'"

Swindle's grip tightens slightly, ensuring they couldn't struggle out of his gasp. He can't help but enjoy the power he holds over them, relishing the control he has in this situation. "Now, don't you worry," he muses, a sly grin playing on his face. "I'll take good care of you, my little 'exotic pet.' Perhaps we can find some... mutually beneficial arrangement."

As the human's plea lingers in the air, Swindle's mind races with possibilities, calculating the potential profits and leverage this situation could bring. For now, they were at his mercy, and he intended to make the most of it. They try fighting against his hold but its useless, only making him chuckle as he holds them to the table.

 'Exotic pet' could mean a lot of things and Swindle was more curious now just what had been intended for the human, but for a human to be set to Vos, the city of seekers he had a pretty good idea. Some Cybertronian had a kink for organics. soft bodies. It was the dead seekers lose now.

Swindle's grip tightens as the human futile struggles against his hold. Their attempts only serve to amuse him, a chuckle slipping past his vocalizer as he maintains his firm grasp, preventing any chance of escape.

A smirk curls across Swindle's face as he contemplates the missed opportunity for the deceased seeker. They had lost out on what could have been a valuable acquisition, but now the human was within his grasp. "Looks like you're quite the prize," Swindle comments, his voice laced with amusement. "I wonder what makes you so special, hmm?"

Their smaller frame lit a fire in Swindle. "What do you want from me? " they whimpered out in the most delightful way. They lean into his servos, they squirm as his digits Begin removing clothes. Swindle intended to test drive them. See what all the fuss was about.

A sly grin spreads across Swindle's face. He takes a moment to savour their squirming, their body responding to his touch. Swindle intends to explore every inch of their being, to push boundaries and test their limits, all while satisfying his own curiosity and desires.

As their clothes fall away and their vulnerability is exposed, Swindle's optics gleam with anticipation. they whine out as Swindle runs his glossa against their skin, arching under his touch as he takes in the sweet taste of their skin, Swindle smirks, savouring the taste of their skin against his glossa. His fingers trace teasing patterns along their body, revelling in the shivers and arches it elicits from them. The sweetness that lingers on their skin reminds him of the finest energon wine or a well-aged high-grade.

"Mmm, you taste as delightful as the finest concoctions," Swindle purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're like a rare vintage, my dear, a delectable treat I can't resist." He continues to explore their body with his lips and tongue, leaving a trail of tantalising sensations in his wake. Swindle revels in the power he holds over them, the ability to elicit such pleasurable responses from them.

His hands roam, caressing and teasing, seeking out the most sensitive spots. Swindle's lips curl into a mischievous grin as he trails his glossa between their legs slowly lapping against their skin. He revels in the sounds of their pleasure, the way their breath hitches and their body arches under his touch. His servos roam with purpose, gliding along their curves and tracing patterns As his lips trail lower, Swindle's tongue flicks out to taste the sensitive spots he discovers along the way. He savours the delicious moans that escape their lips, the sweet melody of their pleasure.

"You're so responsive," Swindle whispers, his voice laced with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. With a final, lingering kiss, Swindle pulls back slightly, his gaze filled with a predatory gleam. He knows that he has them right where he wants them, teetering on the edge of overwhelming desire.

"Now, my lovely, it's time to truly indulge," Swindle says, his voice low and sultry. "

His mouth continues to explore their body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of heat and sensation in their wake. Swindle's hands roam, seeking out every sensitive spot, every place that elicits those delicious reactions. His lips press against their leg as mischief flickers in his optics. 

They lay there shuttering slightly before Swindle takes them further into his mouth. They squeal out as Swindle swallows them. " hey! Let me out!!" They shout and it only makes swindlers chuckle. They cry out again as his tubing slowly drops them down into his tank making an echoing thump as the land. They try to pull themself back up but only get stuck before they land back in the small chamber of his tanks their naked form shivers slightly. 

"Now, now, there's no need to get all worked up," Swindle taunts, his voice smooth and sly. He relishes in the control he has over the situation. He takes a moment to appreciate the sound of their voice echoing within his tanks, a reminder of their helplessness.

 "I'll make sure to take good care of you. After all, you're quite the valuable asset." With a satisfied chuckle, Swindle returns his focus to his work. The human squirms and moves around in the tight confines of Swindle's tank, banging their fist against the inside, It echo's lightly. “Let me out, Let me out !” Swindle's grin widens as he hears the muffled sounds of struggle within his fuel tank. The echo of their fist banging against the walls only adds to his amusement, fueling his desire for control.

"Oh, you're quite the feisty one, aren't you?" Swindle taunts, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and superiority. "But I'm afraid all that struggling won't get you anywhere. You're securely locked away, completely at my mercy."

He takes a moment to savour the sounds of their frustration, "You might as well settle in" Swindle continues, his voice dripping with smugness. "Perhaps if you behave, I'll consider letting you out," Swindle teases, his voice filled with false promise. "But for now, you're mine to keep."

___________

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

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[femdomdiaries]

Kinktober 2023 Day 1: Macro/Micro

Sub!Knockout x Reader Drabble

Warnings/Tags: NSFW 18+ stuff, masturbation, weird car anatomy that i made up, 600+ word Drabble, PwP, gender neutral

Synopsis: You accidentally turn Knockdown on

It wasn't intentional; it was just a bit of clumsiness on your part. You were trying to get some much-needed shuteye in Knockout's backseat, sprawled out across the heated leather as he escorted you from town back to the Nemesis. He gave you a strict warning not to get drool on his interior, but other than that, allowed you to do as you pleased. As you slept, the hum of his engine became a calming background noise, along with Knockout going on about the most recent human film he'd seen—something about a train and zombies.

Your phone went off halfway through the ride, and the sound was so out of place it jolted you right awake. Unfortunately, it was resting on your chest at the time, and your erratic movement sent it flying under the front seat.

Knockout went silent for the first time in a while. You weren't sure, but you thought you heard a low moan come from the con. You didn't have time to dwell on it because he asked, "What was that?"

"Dropped my phone," you answered honestly.

"Be more careful, you clumsy short-life."

"Yeah, yeah."

It should have been an easy retrieval, but it was rather deep underneath, and it was too dark to see. You dropped down and stuck your arm as far as you could underneath, brushing your hand around the whole area to try and get a feel of the phone.

Knockout screeched to a stop so fast you nearly became one with the chair in front of you.

"Ow! What the fuck, Knockout?"

He transformed, pulling you from his interior so fast you nearly got whiplash. He placed you on the ground and turned his back on you, using a servo to prop himself against the side of the nearest cliff formation.

"Hey!" You attempted to get his attention, but he wouldn't look at you. From your position however, you could kinda see that he was moving his other servo rhythmically against his body.

"F-frag, (Y/n)," when he finally spoke his words came out breathless, followed by a low whine. Now you were concerned. Was he mending himself or something? "What's going on? Did I hurt you?”

You moved to try and get a better look at what he was doing, but he adjusted his position to keep you facing his back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to—”

"No, (Y/n), you didn't hurt me. I--" here, he whined again and then said, "Frag, I told you to be careful."

"Because…" The wheels were turning in your head, everything was starting to click. "Did I touch—was underneath the seat one of your—was it an erogenous zone?"

Upon receiving no response other than low moaning, heat rose to your face. "Oh." You cringed slightly in embarrassment as you realized that you had mistakenly given the mech a boner. As far as you knew, that wasn't easy to do. Or at least that was what you had heard from some of your other associates. But maybe Knockout was different because of his obsession with humans, which you were now beginning to doubt was as innocent as it seemed. "Do you want—do you need help with that?"

Knockout was a prideful mech. So when he nodded yes, you didn't waste the opportunity. You ordered him to come down to your level, so he turned and collapsed back against the cliff face, red optics peering down curiously at you. Now you had an unrestricted view of the problem at hand.

His cock—or rather his spike—was silver and looked to be made of a sort malleable metal material. It was stiff like a regular hard-on but also seemed to hold most of the other physical properties. It was leaking transfluid from the tip, covering the sleek shaft with a luminous energon blue. His servo was still at work, pumping himself desperately to try and ease his aching member.

Considering its size in proportion to your body (you were nearly equal sizes), you had your work cut out for you.

Might do a part two when I do the rest

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Blue-Flamed Forest

Witch!Dabi x Fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, mentions of religion, medieval AU, witch hunts, restraints (NOT IN SPICY WAY), witch curses, witchcraft (duh)

Synopsis: You're accused of witchcraft after your hair inexplicably and suddenly greys. Sensing that you'll be the next victim in the church's witch hunt, you make a run for it. You barely escape the church's men when you step foot in the forbidden forest. You're grateful for their silly superstition until you realize that the forest is legitimately cursed, as a wall of blue flames materializes at the forest's edge every time you attempt to flee. With no other option, you trek deeper in the forest, hoping to find some other way out.

Author's note: I literally fell down a rabbit hole of medieval history to write this fic. Reader in this fic has silver hair, but it's a plot point. Awkward interpretation of Dabi since he's been alone for awhile. Spicy scenes in part two. I kind of got carried away with the world building/plot... Also go like @shoucolate 's Witch!Touya artwork if you haven't already!!! It's fucking beautiful.

Word Count: 6K

Heavily inspired by this art by the lovely @shoucolate

Masterlist

Link to AO3

Part One

You hear the galloping of the men’s horses echo through the valley. Your breath is becoming ragged and erratic as you desperately attempt to flee from your potential captors. It’s hard to hear what they are shouting over the sound of your breathing and the thrumming of your heart in your ears. Your options are to die or to run. Clearly, you chose the latter. 

You can hear the church’s henchmen gaining on you, evident by the horse’s hooves thumping against the grass. With what little stamina you have left, you sprint towards a tree line. You wager it’d be easier to lose them in the forest. You are right, just not in the way you intended. As soon as your body crosses the threshold of the forest, you glance behind yourself. The church’s men yank abruptly on their horse’s reins, rearing them back. There’s a look of horror in their eyes. They dare not near the forest. One of the men looked with uncertainty to who you could only assume was the leader given his comparably adorned horse and garb, along with his domineering aura. The leader can sense his underlings' unspoken request for direction. 

“We retreat and report back to the clergy. No use chasing after her, she belongs to the witch’s forest now,” he commands, stating the last sentence with an air of derisiveness. With that, the men steer their horses away from you, leaving you alone in the tree line. 

Now safe from potential captors, you lean against the bark of a nearby tree to catch your breath. It feels incredibly relieving to rest your weary body and know that the men likely won’t find you anytime soon. After a few moments, your breathing stabilizes and your adrenaline starts to diminish. Upon calming down, your eyes pick up on how the tree bark is partially singed. Large swaths of the bark are blackened to charcoal. You notice that the nearby trees on the edge of the forest were also damaged by flames. It was as if a fire had only danced upon the forest edge. 

How strange. However, you have bigger worries than this natural mystery. With the men no longer on your tail, you could continue fleeing from the church’s influence. All you had to do was figure out where you were and go from there. It’d be best to exit the forest now. Still, there’s a gnawing worry eating away at you. What was in this forest that even those brutes do not dare to encounter? You begin walking out of the forest and toward the hillside. Before you’re able to cross the threshold, a wave of intense heat blasts you back. A wall of blue flames appears between the forest and the hills. Your lungs protest the inhalation of smoke, leaving you sputtering and coughing. You feel the heat still clinging to your skirt, evident by the singed color along the hem. Although your clothes have been touched by flames, by some miracle, your skin is left unscathed. You really are lucky today. 

But despite the temporary blessings, you are still hopelessly trapped. If you couldn’t figure out a way past the fire, you truly would belong to the forest. Maybe your best bet would be to traverse deeper in. Surely this wall of fire couldn’t have surrounded the entire forest, right? You reason there had to be a weak spot somewhere along the barrier. Besides, you had already eaten through your rations. Another priority is to find food. 

You begin trekking further into the woods, investigating bushes you passed for berries and scanning foliage for fruit. So far, the forest seems barren. The lack of birds chirping makes you question if there were even animals around, that is, until you hear movement from one of the bushes. You tense. Your brain keeps recalling what the men on horses said about this belonging to a witch. Could there be something demonic lurking within that bush? Part of you feels ridiculous for falling prey to superstition, for believing even for a moment that this forest could harbor supernatural creatures and immense danger. 

Out of the rustling bushes emerges a black creature. To your relief, it is nothing more than a black cat. A well-cared-for black cat, at that. The feline has glowing blue eyes, reminding you of the blue-hued flames that surround the forest. Its long coat is remarkably shiny and fluffy. It sniffs the air in your direction as it stares you down. 

“Hello pretty, what’re you doing in a place like this?” You coo at the creature. The cat tilts its head at your voice. The church had instilled many false ideas that all cats were the offspring of the devil and attempted to enact doctrines to restrict felines from the city limits. You never believed such ideas, however, and you held nothing but fondness for the animals, despite not being able to see them often. Slowly, you offer your hand to the cat to allow it to smell you. The cat cautiously creeps closer. Something catches the cat’s attention, as it suddenly becomes alert. Its ears twitch and focus on some sound, yet you hear nothing. As if hypnotized, the cat begins walking away from you and deeper into the forest. Before it gets too far, the cat looks over its shoulder at you and stops, meowing at you. It wants you to follow. 

You oblige the feline, curious as to where it is seemingly leading you. The two of you wander through faint trails and hop over bubbling brooks. It seems you are wandering aimlessly until the little creature leads you to a clearing within the forest. The clearing consists of mostly open and raised meadowland but housed a singular, aged tree in the center. The cat hops through the thick grass and tall daisies, something you find endlessly entertaining. It’s cute to see the black cat’s head bobbing amongst the flora. You follow the feline up the hill, thinking that perhaps if you climb the tree, you could get a better view of the surroundings. Maybe you’d even be able to see an opening from there. When you climb up the sloping hill and arrive before the tree, you are able to see low-hanging fruit on its branches. You beam to yourself that luck was on your side. This tree is killing two birds with one stone. With no reason to hesitate, you grip onto a low branch and hoist yourself up. The feline loudly yells at you from the base of the tree, tail swishing in agitation. 

“Stay there kitty, you’re too cute to get stuck up here,” you warn the cat. The feline narrows its eyes in response but does not vocalize again. You shift your focus to climbing the branch. Your target is one of the lowest-hanging fruits, dangling close to the edge of the branch. The tree was so old that even its lowest branches were thick and sturdy. It isn’t too nerve-wracking to shimmy toward the end of the limb and pluck the fruit from the branch. You climb back down to safety and rejoin your feline friend at the base of the tree. 

You take a moment to further inspect the fruit. It doesn’t look like the native plants of the area. You had seen something like it once when you caught a glimpse of a traveling merchant peddling exotic goods. The fruit back then was colored like red wine and filled with seeds, remarkably similar to the fruit you held in your hands. You unsheath your knife from its gartered holster on your leg, using it to cut a slice into the fruit. A couple of red seeds fell into your lap, but with no one around, you care little for eating etiquette. 

With just a few bites, you start feeling satiated, but strange. It’s becoming harder and harder to move your body. Your fingers are already not responding. The world around you seems to blend into one haze. Sleep quickly begins engulfing your entire being. Everything is black, but you hear the distant voice of an unfamiliar man.

You begin to slowly regain consciousness, struggling to shake off the remaining dregs of drowsiness. Your mind feels hazy. It’s hard to remember how you fell asleep or where you were. You open your eyes, blinking a few times to clear the blurry vision. When you try to wipe your eyes, you realize your hands won't move. Your wrists are bound behind you. The blurry vision slowly starts to subside and you take in your surroundings. You’re in the center of a strange room, the shelves mounted in the wall displaying odd items; weathered books with spines in languages you cannot understand, flasks filled with potions of varying colors, glittering crystals shining in the rays of sunlight, and jars of dried herbs. The last thing you remembered was eating that fruit from the lone tree in the clearing, but now you’re in someone’s home? What is going on? Panic started to arise within you, especially when you hear the sound of boots coming closer to you. 

“I see you’ve awoken already. You have impressive tolerance,” the man muses. His voice grows closer and closer before he shows himself in front of you. “No matter, you’re not going anywhere anyways.”

He has an unusual appearance. His neck and arms are decorated in thin scrawls of purple ink, each line arranged in symbols you’ve never seen before, letters in a language you do not understand. The ink travels from his neck and onto his jawline before lines of strange lettering connect with his eyes. Even his under eyes are lettered. You’d shudder at the idea of tattooing such a delicate area if you didn’t have bigger concerns. He’s crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, with his painted black nails pressing crescents into your skin. His glowing electric blue eyes study you. He hums in interest before gently lifting a lock of your hair in between his thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. The juxtaposition between the gentle gesture and the tight grip on your jaw has you uneasy. 

“What an unusual hair color for a human so young,” he comments. You whisper a timid ‘yes’ in response, unsure of what else to say. You know it’s odd. You know it’s unnatural how your once h/c strands changed to silver. But you don’t have any explanations for it, it just happened suddenly. The drastic change in your hair is what drew the attention of the church to you. He seemed to study the strand thoughtfully before a dark look flashed on his face. “So unusual it makes me wonder if you even are human.” 

You’re instantly taken aback. “What are you even saying? Of course I’m human,” you defend. You desperately felt as if you had to prove your humanity to this stranger. If he were accusing you as a witch, that could mean grave consequences. Burning at a stake or being sunken to the bottom of a well were just some of the dark fates for those accused of witchcraft. You nervously chuckle, “What else is there to be? Witches and demons are just tales.” 

The man looks at you, a bit stunned, before genuinely laughing. He releases his hand from your jaw and stands up straight. You wonder in slight horror how this could be entertaining to him. He chuckles a bit more as you stay silent, before giving you a taunting grin. “You poor, innocent fool. What do you think I am?” 

“No, that can’t be. You’re lying!” you accuse. How repulsive it was to you, for him to even insinuate such a thing! Really, he must take you for an idiot if he expects you to believe such a tale. The strange white-haired gives you an ominous grin and lifts a hand. You can barely hear him whisper foreign words and your eyes catch a few of the purple runes adorning his body begin to glow. A wisp of blue flame dances in the palm of his hand. 

“This change your mind?” He inquires. You’re taken aback, still reeling in shock from what you’ve seen. It’s hard to believe it’s true, but it’s even harder to deny what just happened was outside of human ability. He conjured flames with nothing, even handled such heat in his bare hands. You never really believed the church’s claims of witches lying in plain sight, but you can’t help but think back on what you’ve been told about witches. It scares you a bit to be faced with what appears to be one, based on the tales the church had told. 

“What will you do with me?” You ask, your voice unsteady with fear. You’re holding onto your breath, preparing for words depicting your cruel fate, to admonish you for being so foolish as to step into a witch’s forest. Only, the words never come. He merely hums in deep thought. 

“If you are really telling the truth, then nothing,” he answers, cryptically. You hear him whisper out an incantation under his breath again. With a snap of his fingers, a blue flame burns away your bindings, leaving nothing behind but ash and the sensation of warmth on your skin. You rub your wrists, thankful to be released, but a bit confused. The temperature of his flames is scalding, you had seen as much along the forest’s edge, and yet, you remain unscathed. Something is awry.

He turns to walk away, before glancing at you from over his shoulder. “There’s an extra room down the hall. You may stay there for now. Follow me.” You can’t help but display your confusion on your face. The white-haired man gives you whiplash from all the switches in his demeanor. First, he was cold and accusatory, and now he’s being accommodating? Why did he go through the trouble of restraining you, only to later allow you to stay in his home? Was he merely testing you? If that’s the case, is he still testing you? 

He leads you out of the room and you follow. Silence settles between the two of you while you contemplate your situation. You never arrive at answers, only finding ways to generate even more questions. Nothing makes sense anymore, but you suppose a confusing life is better than being dead. For now, you’ll just have to see where this strange situation takes you.

The two of you make the short walk to the room in question. He opens the door, revealing a modestly sized room. “This room is mostly used for storage, but it should suffice,” he explains. You glance around the room and see what he means. There’s a wooden wardrobe tucked in the corner and chests lining the wall, presumably filled with his various possessions. He turns on his heel to leave you to the room, but stops at the doorway, looking over his shoulder to add, “I think you already know this, but just to be clear, it’d be unwise to fight me. I’m not your enemy, but I can be,” he warns. 

You nod in understanding, seemingly satisfying him enough to leave you be. The room is now incredibly quiet, leaving you with some time to reflect on everything that just happened. You were accused of witchcraft, abandoned your job, fleed from the church, accidentally entered a cursed forest, ate a fruit that knocked you out, woke up in another person’s house, discovered that witches are in fact real, and are now staying in a witch’s guest bedroom. You’re alive and unharmed, but still a bit unnerved by the witch’s initial actions. To say this has been a wild day would be an understatement. A wild day that is, thankfully, coming to a close. 

The light inside the room begins to dim as the sun sets. You find yourself growing weary, desiring to prepare for bed. Only, you realize you don’t have any of your belongings, and therefore, no nightclothes. The witch must have taken your cloth bag as a precaution against you harming him. Since your reflection, you realize it was likely he initially saw you as a threat, and as such, thought to ensure you wouldn’t use something in your pack to harm him. Maybe you could explain this and ask for it back? 

Deciding it’s worth the attempt, you pad down the halls in search of him. You notice how all the candles in his home are lit with his blue fire. Clearly, this was a trademark of his. You search around his home until you notice the door to what you assume is his study is ajar, with glowing blue light illuminating the room. Given how brightly lit the room is, you wager he’s in there.

 You’re about to announce yourself and walk into his office when you hear him already speaking. There is no one in his home but you, who would he be speaking to? Your curiosity gets the best of you and you hover closer, peering through the ajar door. The witch sits in front of a table, with many books opened and littering his desk. His black cat, the one you saw earlier before your impromptu slumber, hops up on the desk and interrupts his readings. 

“You were much too trusting with that silver-haired stranger, Coal,” you overheard the witch whisper to his cat, the same fluffy feline that accompanied you through the forest. Despite chastising him, the witch was speaking to his pet with gentleness. The thought of this scary witch acting so tenderly to his animals put a small smile on your face. Perhaps witches were not all cruel as the church led others to believe. 

His cat protested with a loud meow in response, to which the witch replied, “That doesn’t matter, had it been another witch, you could have been hurt.” It was as if he could understand his pet. He shoos his feline off of the desk, and says, “Now leave me be, I have to figure this out.”

The witch seems rather stressed as he pours over his texts. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating. You decide against disturbing him, not wanting to add to his stress for your own sake. Besides, he said that the room was once for storage, perhaps there are some clothes you may wear in there. You quietly leave from your spot in the hallway and make your way to the room. The first place you look is the wardrobe and to your delight, you find it filled with clothes. However, as you search through, you take notice of how high quality all of the clothes are. It’s bizarre, you think, for a witch in the woods to have clothes made from fine silks, velvets, and cotton. Nonetheless, you keep looking through, hoping to find something suitable for nightwear, only to stumble across an article of clothing that takes you by surprise. 

In the closet, tucked and stashed far out of sight, hangs a remarkable cloak, unlike any you’ve ever seen before. On the rare occasions a noble requested your seamstress services, their clothing felt nowhere near this luxurious and wasn’t made of such rare materials. The craftsmanship is truly impeccable, far beyond what even the wealthiest of nobles would wear. Thick white fur embellishes the opening of the cloak, joining with the deep blue velvet that makes up the rest of the garment. Its lavishness clearly suited for royalty. Your fingers trace the fabric, until making contact with a metal clasp. You gently push aside the folds of velvet, allowing you to inspect the buckle. It appears to be a coat of arms, one that you’ve never seen before. Although you’re unsure of what family the crest belonged to, there are two things you were certain of; one, the clasp was made of high-quality silver, and two, this cloak once belonged to a very distinguished family. But where most crests included a lion or horned horse, this one depicted a phoenix. You abruptly retract your hand from the cloth upon remembering a particular tale. 

You remembered hearing stories of a long-lost prosperous kingdom, ruled by a red-haired fiery tyrant. This kingdom from long ago was notorious for its power, always leaving behind desecrated battlefields that proudly displayed a phoenix flag, the nation’s symbol. The ruler, King Enji, was known for his cold demeanor and the strength of his knights. Despite his rumored cruelty, the kingdom prospered nonetheless. You always found it ironic, how the nation symbolized by a phoenix fell apart after a fire, unable to rise out of its own ashes. Almost nothing remained of the once glorious kingdom, save for rumors and legends. A devastating fire destroyed all traces of the castle, taking the life of King Enji with it. Legends diverge from that point on, with some reporting that two of his sons perished. Other variations depict the youngest son surviving while the eldest lived, and vice versa. 

There was always one particular iteration of the legend that stood out to you the most, never failing to elicit a chill down your spine. This cursed legend claimed that the fire was no ordinary one, rather, it was magical in origin. The flames that leveled King Enji’s castle to ashes burned an unearthly blue hue and reached temperatures far beyond that of human blacksmith forges. Elders that whispered this tale claimed the forsaken, eldest prince wielded such flames and cursed the family in retaliation for his exile. The eldest prince was said to be physically frail, a trait that King Enji believed tarnished the family name, and as such, was sent away from the castle. His claim to the throne was given to the youngest, most favored son.

On the fateful day of the fire, the eldest prince returned to the castle. Over the course of the Prince’s lonely exile, drastic changes had occurred in his body, for his once vibrant, red hair grew stark white. What’s more, he gained the ability to wield magic, manifesting in the manipulation of blue flames. It was implied that the eldest prince became a witch, or, was born one all along. Whatever the case was, his apparent state horrified King Enji. Before the king could order the guards to execute his son, the prince enacted his revenge, burning his father to death, alongside the castle. The elders said the prince escaped and warned that he may still be roaming the land, to this day. You had figured this version of the story served to scare curious youths from wandering past the city’s limits, claiming that their carelessness would end in their demise at the hands of the white-haired witch. 

You’re not sure what any of this means. Why did this witch have a cloak that appears to have belonged to the royalty of the fabled kingdom? Better yet, whose cloak was it? Judging by what you’ve heard of the King with his hulking figure and immense wealth, it certainly couldn’t have belonged to him. The cloak was much too small and not lavish enough for a king. No, it must have belonged to one of the princes. But, which one? 

The questions you have only result in grim answers. Thievery or murder would be the only ways the witch could have obtained a prince’s clothes. You’re starting to think it’s time for you to make your leave. Given the witch’s blue flames and the stashed away cloak, you fear he may have killed the Prince and stolen his goods. He said he didn’t know what to do with you, but you don’t want to wait for him to decide your fate. Should you linger, a dark fate may await you. Perhaps you should inquire about how to leave, pretend you’ll stay longer, and then slip unnoticed in the dead of night. It sounded as good a plan as any, and with nothing else to lose, maybe it’ll work out for you. You decide to bring up the matter in the morning. With that decision made, you strip down to your chemise and retire to bed.

Your sleep could only be described as fitful, at best. Endless tossing and turning kept you awake, mind racing with questions and imagining grim scenarios. You awake to the morning sun, feeling poorly rested. The light shining through the windows only brings you anxiety, reminding you that the time for confrontation is nearing. When you hear stirring in other regions of the house, you don your clothes for the day and with great trepidation, exit the room. You find him in his kitchen, joined by his loyal black cat, preparing food. He momentarily acknowledges your presence with a passing glance, before looking away. 

“I do appreciate the, um, hospitality, but I do wonder, how would I leave here when it is time?” You ask, breaking the silence. He abruptly stops trimming the vegetables, putting down the knife and looking at you with a serious expression.

“You know you cannot leave here, right?” 

“But why not?” 

“Judging by your singed clothes and boots, you saw the flames, no?”

“Well yes, but… if you control fire, then can’t you will the flames away?”

“It is a curse, one of many I placed in this forest,” he explains, assuming that would be explanation enough. 

“If it is a curse, why can’t you just break it?” You debate. He responds with a sigh of exasperation. 

“You don’t understand. The curse prevents all who enter from leaving, so others can’t find me and destroy my forest. That fruit you ate was also cursed, it puts humans into an eternal sleep with just one bite,” he explains. Your hope dwindles with every word. “No one else has ever survived either my flames or eating that fruit. Do you understand what that means?” You shake your head.

“You are not human. I don’t quite know what you are, but it seems you haven’t the faintest clue either,” he iterates with certainty. “Which means even if I wanted to break the curse, you’d only leave to later end up hunted.” 

You feel tears prick at your lash line, threatening to overflow at any moment. The church was right. You are a monster. Your lower lip trembles at the revelation. Everything seems to come crashing down all at once; the sadness you felt abandoning your shop, the fear you experienced while running from the church, the confusion you feel in the witch’s presence, all of it unloading from your soul and out of your eyes. The tears freely fall, much to the witch’s surprise. 

“I… realize I’m not the nicest guy and staying here with me is unpleasant, but, I hate seeing you cry,” he says, softly and somberly. He’s trying to apologize, in his own way. His hand gingerly brushes away the tears from your cheek, an act of softness you’ve not yet seen from him. He speaks again, attempting to reassure you, “Nothing bad will happen to you. This is the safest place for you now.”

Your lip still quivers. A bitter thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s truly being genuine with you. You wonder if the former prince was led to believe the same and if the witch used that false sense of security to cut him down then. Your voice is wobbly as you accuse, “Do you tell the others who have wandered in the same thing?” 

Immediately, he retracts his hand from your face, as if he had been burned by your words. The walls he had placed come back up, as his voice is much colder when he responds to you. “What do you mean?”

“You have the possessions of dead men in your home,” you assert. 

“What are you referring to?” He eyes you with caution, guarded against your next allegation. 

“The cloak, in the closet. It belonged to a royal prince, did it not? Given he’s not around, I wager he’s not alive.” He sighs at your accusation and runs his hands through his hair out of stress.

“I suppose there’s no point in hiding it now,” He reasons aloud. You swallow thickly, nervous at his next admission. “It’s true that the unlucky souls who have wandered in my forest and eaten that cursed fruit have died, and it’s true I may have… helped myself to their things. But, that is not the original purpose of the tree.”

“So do tell, what is the purpose then?”

“The curse is too strong for normal humans, but for witches, it’s a mild sedative. Due to my past, I have… difficulty sleeping,” he admits. “Besides, that cloak does not belong to a dead prince, it was once mine.”

“You were a prince?” You ask, incredulously.

“Yes, I was King Enji’s son,” he clarifies. 

“So the tales are true, the Todoroki Dynasty really did exist,” you whisper in awe. He lets out a light-hearted and soft chuckle, clearly amused by your amazement.

“And you were unsure before?” He teases.

“All that remains of the kingdom are tales. Many do not believe in such legends,” you explain. 

“I suppose it is the nature of humans, to forget such distant things. It has been a long time,” he muses. “But to answer your question, yes, the kingdom did exist. It seems my father’s legacy died with him, on the day I burned him.” The gears start turning in your head. 

“So, does this mean you were the eldest prince? Prince Touya?”

“You are correct,” he answers. One legend said that the King’s murderer was the eldest prince, it seems that one rang true. “Though considering there’s no longer a kingdom I belong to, wouldn’t it be more fitting for you to just call me Touya?” 

“R-right, I suppose that is true,” you agree. It feels a bit intimate to call him by his first name, without any titles, especially considering you now know of his lineage. Despite that, it’s nice to finally know his name. However, there was a nagging question in your mind. “But wait, if you are the Prince then why do you look so…” 

“So strange?” He says, attempting to finish your sentence. You can only imagine he’s referring to his tattoos and snow-white hair. 

“Young. Why do you look so young?” You clarify, “Your kingdom existed long ago, yet you look to be in your twenties. Why is that?” 

“Witches live a long time,” he reveals. “I’ve lost count of the years.”

“I see…” you trail off, absorbing all the information. 

“Is that everything you wanted to ask?” He questions. You nod in response. “And do you still wish to leave?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I suppose staying here wouldn’t be terrible considering I have nothing left to go back to,” you answer, your voice taking on a wistful tone. You feel a bit safer here, knowing what you know now. There’s still this sense of melancholy, as you miss your old life. But alas, there is nothing to be done. You’ll just have to adapt to your current situation. 

Nearly a week has passed since that tense conversation, and you find yourself establishing a routine with Touya. You’ve taken on some light, daily duties of your own accord, just to keep your mind focused and prevent boredom. Not that you think you’d ever suffer from boredom with Touya’s strange antics. He appears to be serious in figuring out what you are. None of his methods are uncomfortable or unpleasant, just mildly entertaining or odd. For instance, he gave you a silver bracelet and told you to wear it, only to immediately and feverishly write something down in his journal. You took a peek and saw the words ‘definitely not a werewolf’ on the page. Truthfully, you weren’t sure whether you should be scared upon realizing werewolves existed, insulted from him even assuming you turned into a hairy beast upon full moons, or relieved that one less condition has been ruled out. Other than moments like that, your time with Touya hasn’t been unpleasant. Living with him felt natural, all else considered. Though, you were beginning to feel cabin-fever. 

Your desire to be outdoors is especially distracting today. Although you and Touya are still getting acquainted with one another, he’s able to discern that something is on your mind. He notices today that your gaze often lingers on the windows. In those moments, he steals plenty of glances at you, relishing in the opportunity to admire you. You’re pretty, he thinks. More gorgeous than the high nobles his father had proposed he marries. He remembers how, much to his father’s dismay, he was uninterested in them. You had a way about you that captures his full attention. If there’s anyone he has to live alongside in his cursed forest, he’s secretly glad it’s you. Your smile and insights deserve to be protected. He won’t let you live on the run like he once did. 

Whatever is on your mind, he wants to show that your arrangement is not only out of convenience, but also one of trust. He wants to help you sort out what’s bothering you, he’s just not sure how. Maybe a bit of fresh air would do you some good? 

“Come with me,” he says, interrupting your trance. You peel your eyes away from the window to look at him. “If you are to stay here, you should become familiar with the forest. I’ll show you.” He offers you his tattooed hand, to which you hesitantly take. Touya leads you outside of the house. After taking a good few steps, you glance over your shoulder so that you may fully see the house and your surroundings, only to see the house is gone. No trace of it remains, as if it vanished in thin air.

“Huh? Where did it go?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. It’s endearing to him how you do not yet understand magic. 

“It’s still there, just hidden with a spell,” he assures through a smile. You tilt your head in confusion, wondering why such a thing is necessary. He seems to pick up on this, and explains, “I don’t usually like ‘visitors’ barging into my home.” You understand the reasoning. If you hadn’t eaten that fruit and instead wandered around the forest, you’re certain you’d barge into his house demanding answers. You suppose you can’t blame him, as you’ve discussed how he was treated by others prior to him settling in the woods. 

He guides you along, helping you by the hand over particularly rough terrain or over slippery creek stones. You nearly stumble into him, at times, but he’s ever patient with you. Though, that’s not to say he doesn’t tease you about it. The encounters make you flush, both out of embarrassment and from being so close to him. You’re never left to dwell on it for long, as he strings you along from place to place, pointing out things he deems important. He’s in the middle of guiding you to the next point of interest when you stop in your tracks. 

Your ears pick up on some rustling in the bushes. The sound makes you halt, bringing the attention of Touya. You tug on his sleeve and gesture to the brush. “Should we be concerned?” You ask. He shakes his head. 

“It’s probably some sort of animal,” he reasons. “It’s not all barren here, animals do occasionally wander in, after all.”

On cue, a scraggly-looking cat pushes through the shrubbery. Its fur is flying every which way, with little leaves nestled into tufts of fur. You feel pity towards the feline and release your grip on Touya’s sleeve to approach the animal. “Aw, poor thing. You look terrible,” you soothe. The cat’s tail swishes, almost in agitation. You turn to Touya, and plead, “Can I take her back with us? Look at how ragged she is, the poor thing needs some rest.” 

‘I’m not ragged! I’m just having a bad fur day from chasing after YOU this whole time. I mean really, you couldn’t have stayed in one place?’ The cat counters. 

You tilt your head in confusion. Surely you are mistaken, you must be hallucinating, there’s no other explanation. Cats cannot talk. And yet, here you are, questioning such a fact. Your mind tunes out all of Touya’s words as you focus on the scene unfolding.

‘Really? The silent treatment? After I come all this way, you don’t even speak to me? Some witch you are,’ the cat taunts. You turn your head to Touya, hoping to find him reacting to the cat’s words, only to find his expression incredibly neutral. 

“Can you not hear her?” You ask Touya, nervousness clear in your voice. Have you lost your mind?

“She’s just meowing. Why, do you hear something different?”

“Yes, she speaks,” you affirm. “You really cannot hear it?”

“This certainly explains things,” he states pensively. 

“Explains what? What does this mean?” You frantically ask him. 

“Relax. My darling, you are a witch,” he assures. “And this seems to be your familiar. Really, I should have guessed sooner.”

“But how did she find me?”

“They always do, familiars have a way about them, even I do not fully understand it,” he explains. There’s a nostalgic tone in his voice, clearly reminiscing on his own past. Your brows are still furrowed, lost in your thoughts and attempting to absorb the revelation. He seems to pick up on this and places his hand on your shoulder, reassuringly, and says, “It was long ago, but I once felt what you are feeling. It’s confusing at first, but I’m here, I can teach you. Your familiar will also help. You’re not alone in this.”

‘Can we skip the touchy-feely and get to the witchcraft already?’ The cat complains. You scoop the cat up and hold her in front of you. 

“We’ll start once you learn some manners,” you scold. Touya earnestly laughs. 

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” He laughs. You pull your familiar closer to your chest, smoothing over her fur. You offer Touya a genuine smile and he smiles back. He can’t but admire you in this moment, with the sun hitting your face, looking legitimately happy. 

He’s glad to have met you.