#other than be in meetings and commute

[cinematicnomad]

i just feel like i have so much less life time when i go into the office lol

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and scheduled events every single day for months on end

[vohtaro]

.

[ckret2]

At some point, the Axolotl must've witnessed the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre.

As you can see, Bill is very happy and definitely not at all traumatized and doing great and look at all these followers he's found who are definitely alive.

Here, have a fic about the Axolotl, the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and Bill trying so so hard to convince himself that he's the hero.

####

To the mortals he swam past, with their different calendars and their different ways of perceiving time, the great Axolotl's migration through space and between dimensions was an event of great note: his passing marked eclipses, tsunamis, festivals, omens, meteor showers; his migration was studied by astronomers and his position was marked in astrological birth charts.

To the Axolotl, he was on his daily commute home. He could take an interdimensional portal, but swimming was better for the environment and he could use the exercise.

He passed by the same two dimensional wall every day. It was covered with many little worlds, and so many of them populated with little mortals, and he'd never paid any particular attention to the wall—until yesterday. A bold little triangle had shouted at him as he passed. It had been an amusing conversation—first contact was always fun—but he'd been busy and couldn't talk more than a moment, just long enough for the Axolotl to be charmed that a lower-dimensional creature had yelled at him and for the triangle to be shocked that a higher-dimensional creature had answered. The triangle had told him that, to his two-dimensional people, these shadows on the wall, the Axolotl was an eclipse: they marked the time by the shadow he cast on their flat world during his commute.

He hadn't even learned the triangle's real name. The triangle had refused to tell him, instead introducing himself as the "Magister Mentium." Teacher of minds? Maybe it was a job title.

Between the nightmare of a case the Axolotl was currently handling and the fact that he'd had to stay late working, he'd nearly forgotten about yesterday's fascinating little meeting until he was leaving on his nightly commute. He didn't know how long the tiny shapes' life cycles were; he hoped the little triangle was still alive today. If not, maybe he'd left behind descendants.

But when he came up to the wall, it was gone.

The vacuum reeked of burning hydrogen.

The Axolotl stopped, puzzled. The wall wasn't empty, wasn't damaged, wasn't going through heat death—the entire thing was missing. No rubble. Surely it hadn't been demolished for some new construction? It had been in good condition. It was a fairly new plane of reality, likely under fifty billion years old. And it had admittedly been a few eons since the Axolotl had studied dimension use & zoning law, but last he checked it was unlawful to demolish a populated dimension without transplanting the growths first—which took much longer than a day. So what could possibly have done this? And what he saw behind the wall...

Something was very wrong. He started moving again, faster, looking for someone who could tell him what was happening. He kept the ragged rip in reality left by the missing wall in his peripheral vision. Stars and stardust slowly fell in, sucked through the tear. The wall must have come down by accident.

Nobody would have knowingly left behind such a large hole to Dimension Zero.

Assuming he was looking at Dimension Zero; he wasn't sure he was. Beneath all other dimensions was supposed to be a void, an empty in-between space. The zeroth "dimension" was simply reality's center point, the not-dimension between all dimensions; it wasn't a place. But with the two dimensional wall gone, he didn't see reality bending in toward a point like he should. He saw a roiling, nauseating mass of blinding colors, thrashing around each other like a frightened pile of injured worms.

Far in the distance, a full reality away, he saw a faint line of blue light.

It was several minutes before he began to run into other people. He passed a crew of cosmic firefighters and their ships, spread out over a span of space wider than an asteroid belt. The fact that they didn't appear to currently be fighting any fires was more disconcerting than a full blaze would have been. An eerie tension hung thick over the scene like invisible smoke. As the Axolotl swam by a couple of firefighters, he overheard them saying, "... orders of magnitude higher than anything we've been trained to handle. An entire reality catching fire is one thing, but the concept of realitycatching fire...?"

"And the speed it's moving..."

"Excuse me," the Axolotl said, trying to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. (Why was he so afraid? He was barely acquaintances with one resident on the wall.) "Can you tell me what happened to the wall? It was just here yesterday."

Rather than explain, one of them pointed in the direction he'd been going. "Sorry, we don't know any more than you do. Look for the storm. You can't miss it."

The other asked, "Are you one of the guys with the apoc cops?"

His fear leaped higher. The "apoc cops" were members of the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force. "No. Sorry, I have to go." He swam onward toward the blue line of light.

The stench of burning hydrogen grew stronger. He smelled something else acrid underneath.

####

To his slight relief, the "storm" wasn't the disaster that had brought down this wall. Rather, it was a person: a lightly raining storm cloud with a gray rain-soaked fedora perched on top, hovering in space.

It was talking to a hapless-looking furred serpent twice the Axolotl's length with four mismatched limbs: she clutched a can of spray paint in her claws, and was so nervous he could hear the marble in the can rattling. A disembodied sunbeam pierced the eye of the storm cloud to shine in the serpent's face as she spoke, and a tornado swirled beneath its cloud, carrying all its personal effects—including a tumbling badge from the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force, its logo of a mushroom cloud struck out with the "no" symbol still visible through a thin glaze of sleet. A chill ran through the Axolotl at the sight of that badge.

The cloud wasn't the only one with the apoc cops on the scene. There were several other investigators nearby, taking readings where the wall used to be. The Axolotl didn't like just how many were buzzing around. They seemed far too busy for far too empty a space, and they steered far too clear of the thrashing, multicolored miasma covering the emptiness that should contain Dimension Zero.

There were several stars in the area that the investigators had to work around. Between the crowds and the missing wall, it took the Axolotl a moment to realize where they were: this was the spot he'd met the triangle yesterday. He was sure of it. He recognized the star right next to the missing wall, the one the triangle had told him he eclipsed during his commute. He'd passed it millions of times.

Why had the apoc cops set up here?

The star was slowly falling toward the roiling miasma where Dimension Zero should have been. He nudged it back into place as he passed.

As the Axolotl approached the duo, the serpent was saying, "I told you, I don't know how it caught fire! I was just passing by..." The storm cloud's sunbeam dropped from her face to point skeptically at her spray paint. She hid it behind her back and quickly went on, "I was just passing by, minding my own business and not doing anything illegal, and suddenly the whole wall went up in flames!"

The cloud said, "The whole wall? Simultaneously?"

"The whole thing! I mean... it kind of rolled across the dimension, but—it took less than ten seconds to cover everything I saw!"

"Which direction did the fire travel?"

While the serpent tried to remember, the Axolotl swam up to the storm cloud. "Excuse me, the firefighters said you're in charge of the investigation?"

"Currently," the cloud said, in a tone that suggested it very much wished it wasn't. It looked over the Axolotl, then turned back to the serpent—she flinched when its sunbeam hit her face again—and it asked gruffly, "Is this your lawyer?"

The serpent looked hopeful. "Are you my lawyer?"

"No, I'm not," the Axolotl said, perturbed. Potential defendants aside, nobody ever insinuated he was somebody's lawyer and meant it in a nice way—and he was on the receiving end of such accusations more and more often lately. His reputation was beginning to precede him. "We've never met. I'm trying to find out what happened to this wall. I know a—friend in there. You said something about a fire?"

An active ATTF investigation was in no way the Axolotl's business. But people had a tendency to cooperate with professionals, whether or not their profession had anything to do with the situation at hand. The ATTF agent turned to the Axolotl and said, "You had a friend in there. The wall that used to be here, Dimension 2 Delta, has been completely incinerated."

The Axolotl stared at the cloud, trying to process that. But the whole wall had been there yesterday. Billions of galaxies, each with trillions of stars, each capable of supporting trillions of species—never mind lives. "You can't mean completely. Surely there are some survivors?"

"Not a single one," the cloud said. "Not even gods and ghosts made it out."

"How?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," the storm said. "Right now, the only witness we've found was the person who called in the emergency." A branch of lightning pointed toward the serpent. "And she doesn't know a damn thing." The serpent nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"But that's... How does an entire dimension disappear with only one witness?"

"Very quickly," the storm said. "The apocalypse Origin & Cause investigation can't make heads or tails of the scene—" a gust of wind swept demonstratively toward the other apoc cops taking readings near the missing wall, "but far as we can tell, the damn thing spontaneously combusted—somewhere near here."

The Axolotl stared helplessly between the serpent and the storm. "Dimensions aren't supposed to spontaneously combust," he said, very reasonably and very unnecessarily.

"Tell��2Δ that," the storm said. "Only time a dimension moves that fast is during a Big Bang explosion or a Big Crunch implosion—and 2Δ wasn't undergoing a Big Crunch. No natural one, anyway. In all my eons with ATTF, I've never seen anything like it."

The Axolotl had been around enough eons himself to know that, after a certain point, novelty became very, very scary—because things working like they should shouldn't do anything you'd never seen before. He worriedly searched the roiling chaos exposed by Dimension 2 Delta's collapse for any sign of what had happened.

The chaos simply thrashed. It moved like it was in pain.

"Did that..." the Axolotl gestured vaguely toward the chaotic foam, "have anything to do with the wall's combustion?"

The serpent shrugged. "I didn't see it until after the fire went by."

The storm grunted uncertainly, a low, thunderous grumble. "Heck if we know. It's connected, no doubt about that—but we haven't even figured out what it is yet. All we know is, it shouldn't have been behind the wall."

The Axolotl stared into the roiling colors, looking for anything visible through the thrashing kaleidoscopic colors.  "If you don't know what it is yet—then, how do you know there aren't survivors in there?" The Axolotl couldn't stop seeing that poor, frightened, awed triangle he'd met yesterday. All the people who'd once been in Dimension 2 Delta mattered—of course they did, those billions of trillions of trillions of billions of lives; he wanted any of them to survive—but that triangle was the one he knew, the one he saw in his mind's eye now. The whole dimension was contained inside that triangle. He had to hope. "I'm going to check."

"What—? You're crazy! Don't you know falling into Dimension Zero will destroy you?!"

"I know falling into Dimension Zero destroys you; I don't know what falling into that thing will do." He squared up with the chaos and steeled his nerves. "Besides, I can regenerate. I'm an axolotl."

"But—!"

"Sorry, there isn't time for more questions." He swam into the maelstrom.

####

Dimension Zero was supposed to be a singularity. Like a black hole, but even smaller—a point so dense it broke physics. If you fell in you'd be crushed into that point by the weight of all realities, a point so small it had no volume.

But whatever was behind where the wall had been, it was certainly no point.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was barraged with a psychic hurricane. Reality frothed and foamed like a flood spilling from a burst dam. Distant baby stars were born and popped like bubbles, and old stars fell in and were gloriously reignited. His every sense was bombarded with infinite sensations—every color and image in this dimension all at once; every song that had ever been played playing in the same instant and the instant extended indefinitely; strobe lights that were both flashing on and flashing off at the exact same moment. Beneath the music was a constant hiss like the background radiation of reality, the static echo of a universe's birth, but much too loud; he could swear it sounded like gibbering, babbling voices, their desperate messages unintelligible. He smelled every scent, including the lingering smell of burning hydrogen that he'd noticed outside; but above and beyond all that, he smelled the stench of burning life.

He knew now, this was Dimension Zero: it was as if all of spacetime had been crushed into a singularity, but then the singularity was bloated up to the size of an entire universe. Dimension Zero was never supposed to be this bloated.

And the most terrifying part: there were people in this bizarre ruin of a dimension. Millions of them. (Just as horrifying: there were only millions of them.) He was sure he must have been hallucinating—here, dreams and reality swirled around each other like a bottle of water and oil shaken until they were forced to mix—but the longer he looked, the more sure he was that the people were a part of reality. They were, perhaps, the most real thing in the entire dimension.

They were all dancing.

They were all dead.

"Heeey, look who's here!" Suddenly, in front of the Axolotl, there he was—as if he'd always been in front of the Axolotl, as if he were always everywhere at once. The ghost of the little triangle he'd seen yesterday, neon incorporeal. "Happy New Year, everybody!" He laughed. "Get it? That—that's a joke, time doesn't pass in the dream realm, so..." The triangle waved off the Axolotl. "Oh, you wouldn't get it. Screw you. Anyway, introductions! I should do that." 

The triangle was extremely inebriated. He was blinking blearily, floating crookedly, moving in odd uncoordinated jerks, his pupil expanding and contracting with no correlation to the light it was taking in. He seemed to flicker across multiple timelines that had been collapsed into one, like a drunk that couldn't walk a straight line: appearing here then there, then multiple places at once, then everywhere; and then became everywhere, and then collapsed again to a single triangular point. The Axolotl had the worrying impression that the triangle hadn't been sober for a long time.

"So! These are my people!" He gestured with a flourish to the dancing corpse puppets. The strobe lights—which, the Axolotl only now realized, didn't actually have a source, but were rather disembodied rays of light emanating from nothing—turned to highlight them from every angle. It was like a cloud of glitter, all these tiny, flat, jewel-tone flecks, emerald and citrine and ruby and sapphire, triangles and squares and pentagons and hexagons. Each with two spindly arms; some with legs and some without; a single dull eye or a slack mouth; some of them cracked and chipped like broken glass, some of them crushed and melted together into multi-corpsed horrors, some of them fraying and peeling apart around the edges like fabric; so much silvery blood dripping and floating around them. Such beautiful, colorful dancing gore. "All my followers and friends! They love me! They couldn't see you last time you flew by, but thanks to me, they sure can now! Say hellooo!"

It took the Axolotl a moment to realize that the triangle's eye was boring into him and the instruction was for him. "Hello," he said weakly. 

"Very nice." The triangle turned without turning to the millions lost inside Dimension Zero, reality shifting around him to put all of the dimension's prisoners in front of his eye. The Axolotl reeled from existential vertigo. "Now check this out!" The triangle gestured at the Axolotl for his people's benefit. "Behold! Your Magister Mentium presents to you: the eclipse! In the horrifying pink flesh! Quite a sight, huh?"

Many of the dancers turned toward him. Some aimed their dull, dead eyes in his direction. He shivered under their chill stares.

Heedless of the Axolotl's horror, the triangle elbowed him. "I didn't peg you for a party crasher, pinky!" (The triangle's touch was so cold.) "But hey, the more the merrier. Welcome to the dream realm, have a drink!"

A 2D cup manifested in front of the Axolotl that, based on its smooth, featureless yellow surface and its glow, appeared to be made from the triangle's own ghostly flesh. It seemed to be filled with watered-down raw existence. He didn't touch the cup. "What's the dream realm?" He couldn't stop staring at the dancers macabre.

"This is!" The triangle stretched out his arms—and stretched them, and stretched them, seeming to embrace all of reality at once. The Axolotl got the terrifying impression he was within the embrace too. "The realm of dreams! My realm! Paradise of color and light! Realm of spirits and muses!"

"It looks more like a nightmare."

"Do I come to your house and insult your wallpaper? Buzz off."

When the triangle dismissively floated away from him, the Axolotl again got the dizzying sensation that he was the one moving. The truth finally dawned on him:

The triangle, somehow, was literally the center of this universe. Point 0,0,0 on the cartesian plane of reality. Whenever he moved, Dimension Zero moved with him. When he backed away from the Axolotl, Dimension Zero backed with him, rushing past while the Axolotl held still.

And not once during their conversation did any of the millions of dead shapes stop dancing. 

"What are you doing?" the Axolotl asked, voice hushed.

"Partying," the triangle said. "We're having a party."

The Axolotl couldn't tear his eyes from the choreomaniacs' forced revelry. "How long have you been partying?"

"Uhh... pfff... I dunno, hard to keep track. A few months?" The triangle turned toward his tortured people. "Hey! How long have we been partying?"

One of the bodies mixed in amongst the dead, boogying deliriously, faintly cried back, "Time has no meaning and eternity has collapsed into a single unending moment of bliss!" (The Axolotl shuddered at the grotesque ventriloquism act.)

"Oh, yeah, right, forgot I decreed that. Thanks, pal!"

"You're welcome, oh wise and glorious Magister Mentium!"

The triangle turned back to the Axolotl. "An eternity."

The Axolotl tore his horrified eyes away from the dancers. "What about all the others?"

The triangle paused. "I don't know who you're talking about." The background radiation hissed in agitation.

The Axolotl very much suspected he did. "Your other people."

"There aren't any others," the triangle said defensively.

"There were! All of the other shapes around your world! All of the lives on other worlds! Where are all those people?!" He hoped that they might have gotten evacuated to a neighboring wall, or that they'd been concealed somehow, or even that they'd been collapsed together into the shapes he saw before him and could still be separated—

"It's fine," the triangle said stiffly. "Nothing important was lost."

"Nothing important?" the Axolotl repeated, shocked. "This was an entire dimension—!"

"A wall," the triangle said.

"A wall with lives on it—"

"Shadows."

"And do shadows not deserve to live?!"

The triangle flinched at the question as his good cheer crumbled. He didn't answer, but he gave the Axolotl a heavy, hard, emotionless look—a wretched, empty look—and the Axolotl knew he knew they did deserve to live.

"They don't matter," the triangle lied. "Nothing important was lost. Only the true believers and the worthy remain."

"Your dimension had billions of trillions of stars alone. All the people surrounding them—"

"I didn't see any stars!" He said it so vehemently—as though, if he didn't see them, they must not have existed. As though he refused to acknowledge their existence. "I told everyone about the third dimension, I told them we were going, they had their chance to join me!" His voice was shaking. As he spoke he grew larger, until he was as large as the Axolotl—or perhaps the universe had contracted around him. "And if they refused to join the liberation, then they are what we liberated ourselves from!" Distant bolts of lights flashed through Dimension Zero, responding to the triangle's outrage; the nearest stars blazed brighter for him. His dead people screamed in terror. They didn't stop dancing.

"You... tried to leave your dimension before the fire reached them?" Had he tried too late?

The triangle flinched again; his appearance flickered, like a TV that for a moment had picked up a pirate station broadcasting on the same frequency. The whispers hissing beneath the music grew more excited again, but the Axolotl still couldn't make out what they said beneath the party music.

The triangle said, "The... the fire came second."

"What came first?"

But he didn't answer. "Yeah, I brought them here." He spread his arms again, gesturing at the other shapes. "They followed me, and I freed them from our flat, restrictive dimension. They're all fine. And they all love me for saving them."

"Saving them?" he echoed. He wanted to laugh in disbelief, but it felt too much like laughing at a stranger's funeral. Laughing at an open mass grave. "But—everyone here is already dead. Even you." The triangle should be in an afterlife. Whatever afterlives his dimension once had, they were gone now. The Axolotl would have to help the triangle find one in another dimension—the paperwork alone would take time he didn't have to spare; he'd probably have to split off a timeline or two to squeeze it in...

The triangle snapped, "Whoa, hey, hey! Watch who you call dead, buddy! Look at me!" He stretched out his limbs, glowing dazzlingly bright. Brighter than a star. Even the Axolotl had to turn away from the blinding light. "I transcended my body! I'm made of pure energy! This is the most alive I've ever been!" A being of pure energy that had lost its physical form was the very definition of a ghost; but the Axolotl didn't have a chance to argue before the triangle went on, "And does anyone here look dead? Everyone's dancing! We're all having a great time, aren't we?" A few corpses groaned and gurgled in response.

If the triangle wanted to be a wandering ghost, fine. That was his prerogative. But he had no right to force the remains of his followers to deny their death with him. "Look—look at your people," the Axolotl commanded. "You're making them dance! You must know what state they're in!"

Without actually moving, the triangle had somehow become the space in between the Axolotl and his choreomaniacs, forming a sharp shield in between them. "You don't know what you're talking about. They're fine. They're immortal!"

The Axolotl gestured furiously past the triangle. "LOOK AT THEM!"

The triangle's gaze flickered toward them for a split second. The Axolotl saw guilt flashing in his eye; but then he squeezed his eye shut. "No, you look at them. Maybe it took me a little bit to get it right, but they're all great now."

To get it right? The Axolotl peered around the triangle at the shapes again, and only now saw that he was right.

Not all of them were dead.

Some were trapped in ecstatic trances; some were numb with terror; some were already long dead, and yet the corpses weren't being puppeted like he'd assumed—they danced under their own power. There were amalgams of a dozen, a hundred bodies fused together into shambling, gyrating horrors—but there was still life in their horrified eyes and their limbs twitched independently. The ones that were bleeding just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, unending, blood never clotting nor running dry. The corpses and the comatose and the ailing and the bleeding dancing with the living that craved death.

The triangle was responsible for their condition?

He glided between the corpses, sliding his arms around a few of them. They kept dancing.  "I didn't quite get to a few of them in time, so I took the empty space where their souls used to be and filled them with an insatiable hunger to party," he said. "And look, they're good as new! Probably better than they were before, even!"

"These bodies should be laid to rest," the Axolotl said heatedly, "and the rest of you should be dead."

The triangle went still.

The Axolotl remembered, a second too late, that that was a perfectly normal thing to say to deceased clients and other gods in his line of work, but the kind of thing that scared the living daylights out of mortals.

"So that's a threat." His arms slid off the shapes; his fingers were stained with silvery blood that shimmered like static noise.

"No! No. But the condition that you're all in..."

"You'd better check yourself, frills," the triangle snapped. "You crash our party, in our eternal paradise, and start threatening us! Who the hell do you think you are, telling us we should be dead?!"

The Axolotl paused uneasily. "A fully licensed psychopomp...?"

"Well you'd better keep your psycho, pompous paws off my people!" The triangle blazed bright red, literally incandescent with rage. Some of his "people" slowly stopped dancing and turned their hollow eyes toward the Axolotl.

And the Axolotl couldn't say why, but he was suddenly sure he was in very grave danger.

He backed up from the triangle, moving in the direction that the edge of Dimension Zero should have been, although he was no longer sure whether it was still behind him. "I... think I should leave."

"I think you'd better."

He turned and fled. He couldn't explain his panic, but he felt in his bones like something was chasing him. He had to spend longer than he wanted searching for the edge of this bizarre reality—the triangle had turned and twisted and moved the borders so many times that he'd completely lost his bearings—spied the nearest exit, and darted for it between two unfinished planes of reality.

He thought he felt flames at his back.

The triangle's voice followed him out: "Next time, poop on somebody else's party!"

He tumbled through the membrane between the overbloated Dimension Zero and the higher dimensions with the relief of a suffocating fish escaping its net to plummet back into the water. He had to take a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings—time passing so that each moment took its turn and ended when it was over, space that felt like space rather than all distances collapsed in on themselves—and looked back at Dimension Zero.

The longer he stared into the kaleidoscopic miasma, the more sure he was that, no matter where he looked, right at the center of his field of view, he could always see a shining yellow fleck of triangular glitter.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I spoke out of emotion. I am glad that you—" well, "survived" wasn't the right word, "—still exist. And it was heroic of you to save as many people as you did. I shouldn't have said they shouldn't be alive; just..."

He felt like he could still see the shapes dancing in the corners of his eyes.

"... Just not alive like that."

####

Who was the triangle?

At their first meeting yesterday, it had been clear to the Axolotl that the triangle could see and perceive things off his wall while the rest of his people could not; he'd identified himself as "Magister Mentium" rather than by name; and he'd been surrounded by shapes, all turned toward him, listening: so perhaps he was a leader of some kind? He must have seen whatever destroyed their dimension coming and been able to use his position to evacuate a few people. The true believers and the worthy, he'd said—maybe his... congregation? Maybe he was a religious leader? At any rate, it was a miracle he'd saved as many people as he had with what must have been very short notice.

But... their forced dance... the bodies fused together... the living-who-should-be-dead bleeding and bleeding and bleeding without end...

The Axolotl didn't want to believe the triangle had any ill will. He reminded himself that he didn't know anything about his people or their culture. These shapes had been through something unimaginably traumatic. They'd watched an entire reality die; many of them were stuck in the process of dying in a place where they couldn't complete it. Any mortal would be insane with grief. Perhaps their magister was just leading them in some sort of cathartic dancing mania; perhaps this was how the shapes processed their grief. He hoped that was what it was. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak to the others—he didn't know how many could speak—but he had seen, for just a moment, how survivor's guilt ate at the triangle.

The storm cloud with the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force had said that every single living being from Dimension 2 Delta had been killed. Even the gods and the ghosts. So how had the triangle and his people survived?

And what were they doing here, in the singular heart of all reality?

And what had happened to their world?

####

(Hello, thanks for reading!! If you were lured in by the colorful art I laid out as bait and this is your first time here, welcome!! This is part 1 of a 5-or-6 part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna read more and learn the exciting answers to exciting questions like "Bill where in the good goddamn did you find a bunch of half-dead shapes??"

It's ALSO chapter 61 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out here. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: hey y'all remember when we had to skip over chapter 61 because it would've been posted like four days after TBOB came out and it needed MAJOR revisions? Well, here it is!! And also it's currently like six times longer than it was originally. We're gonna be hanging out with the Ax for like a month and a half, buckle up. 

Let me know what y'all think so far!!)

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

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[yuwuta]

RODEO STATION, 2 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

A collection of you and Megumi through the years, through Gojo’s eyes. 

content, warnings: childhood friends to lovers, canon-adjacent, satoru adopts megumi and tsumiki, reader has a cursed technique sort of delved into here

word count: 2.2k

part ii: you and megumi are ten, tsumiki is eleven, gojo is twenty-ish?, about six or seven months after gojo meets all of you, and adopts megumi and tsumiki. you can read part one here

The moment that Satoru met him, he knew that Megumi was a little troublemaker and there was little he could do to stop that. Satoru didn’t mind for the most part, and he couldn’t blame the kid either—honestly, he was more surprised that Megumi didn’t routinely get himself into more trouble, but he supposes he has you and Tsumiki to thank for that. 

He’d naively believed that you and Tsumiki both played the role of anchoring maternal figure for Megumi, but it only takes a few weeks for Satoru to learn that it’s Tsumiki that serves as the anchor for you two. Satoru then earnestly wonders if you were bullying Megumi with the way you’re able to keep him under your thumb, but when Megumi adamantly refutes this with the nastiest, most offended scowl Satoru’s ever seen on a kid before, he backs off and reasons that this is just how your relationship with Megumi works.

And, as it turns out, Megumi is the only one doing any sort of bullying. He’s ten and Satoru has been to more parent-teacher conferences than any other parent has ever possibly attended in their lifetime. He didn’t even know that it was possible for kid his age to get kicked out of school, especially at this point in the year. There’s only three months left until summer vacation, so Satoru enlists Ieiri’s help in enrolling Megumi into public school to finish out fifth grade. She also reassures him that this separation from you and Tsumiki is temporary, and that you would all be able to attend middle school together again in the fall. 

The major problem then becomes that you all get dismissed at different times. You and Tsumiki used to end your days at the same time, but Tsumiki starts staying late to take piano lessons. However, this is remedied by the mother of a friend of Tsumiki’s, who drives her home afterwards; an older woman that Satoru becomes eternally grateful for. Even so, you’re dismissed thirty minutes before Megumi, and some shuffling has to be done to align your commutes. Satoru knows that the three of you took yourselves to and from school before he came into the picture, and that most kids your age are more than capable getting home on their own, but after you told him that some old man from the Kamo clan came to talk to you after school one day, he can’t help but to worry. 

Satoru isn’t your guardian, not in the way that he is for Megumi and Tsumiki, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel responsible for you—morally, financially, emotionally, and more importantly, for his own safety because he knows he’d have both Divine Dogs biting at his ankles if something curse-related happened to you and he didn’t do anything to stop it. 

You were currently under the care of your elderly great aunt who hadn’t a shred of cursed energy from what Satoru could tell. He had Principal Yaga do a background check, and found no other sorcerers in your immediate family, nor any traceable Kamo relatives, and more importantly, you didn’t possess any sort of Blood Manipulation technique. Satoru’s seen what you can do so far to control water, has even seen you give the Divine Dogs trouble in a gentle sparring match—you’re impressive, even at your young age, so he can understand why a powerful clan might see the potential in you, but the Kamo clan isn’t historically welcoming of outsiders. If you’re not related to them, he can’t fathom why any member would physically approach you. 

The old man never revealed his name to you, but Satoru’s certain it’s either a clan elder, or the current head himself; neither of which bring him any comfort. In the spirit of their traditional ways, he doubts anyone would actually try to harm you out in the open, but Satoru still wants to keep you on close watch for a little while. He thinks he’s the best man for the job. He’s quickly proven otherwise. 

He exorcises curses with a bit of hastiness and little tact in order to be there when you get dismissed from school. Ieiri says it’s creepy to follow you from a distance, but Satoru is just doing what he can to protect you. If somebody else is following you, he wants to see who they are. They’ll never approach or reveal themselves if he hovers next to you, and if you half the pride that Megumi has, you’d run him out of town if he ticked you off by playing overprotective big brother—so, instead, he positions himself far enough away to observe you, and close enough to defend if need be. 

He never needs to. 

For as wild and boisterous as you are with Megumi and Tsumiki, you follow a simple, quiet after school routine. You walk with Tsumiki and her friends to the west gate to drop them off at piano practice, then cross the street to buy a snack—this differs, but you always get a carton of strawberry milk—and then walk to the train station. It’s a ten minute walk from your school to the station, and a fifteen minute walk from Megumi’s school to the station, which is why Satoru doesn’t quite know how the kid manages to keep you waiting for only seven minutes on average when he already gets out of school thirty minutes after you. 

Once he gets over the initial shock, he can’t help but to be amused. He knows that when Megumi first changed schools, he started meeting you on the train, two stops later—at the one closer to his new school. But in the last week, Megumi has walked himself seventeen blocks east, at what Satoru guesses must be an inhuman pace, just to meet you at the station closest to you. 

When two weeks have passed since the unknown Kamo elder has contacted you, and no other incidents have occurred, Satoru resigns his position as perimeter watchdog. He has a bunch of missions to catch up on anyway, and he figures that you and Megumi are safe in each other’s care for now. 

A few weeks later, after catching up on his assignments, Satoru decides to check back in. He knows he doesn’t have to, but something in his stomach is telling him to. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the curse he fought earlier today had some kind of toxic blood that has him thinking the worst could happen to you, or getting a call that Megumi had been cutting some of his classes, or that he’s tired and delusional and worried and scared, or maybe it’s just his blooming maternal instincts telling him something is wrong, but he rushes to spy on your commute home. 

He’s late. Megumi isn’t with you, and you’re already on the train when he makes it to the station and he can sense two sources of cursed energy trailing way too close behind you just as the train doors shut. His mind is racing irrationally—is this an unusual move by the Kamo clan, or perhaps someone else? Word had certainly gotten around that he’d picked up Toji Fushiguro’s kid, plus another kid with immense cursed potential, and Satoru himself and the Gojo clan have more than enough enemies. Whatever it may be, he doesn’t take his chances, using his newly honed short-range teleportation skills to make it to the next station before the train can. 

He’s panting, thinking about every worst possible scenario at once, wondering how to best deal with whoever or whatever was targeting you, especially in such a crowded place, wondering if you’re safe, if Megumi was safe—why wasn’t he with you? Has someone already gotten to him, too? Was Tsumiki even at piano practice? Oh god, if he hasn’t already been kidnapped, Megumi is totally going to kill him if something happens to you. 

Satoru rushes onto the train as soon as the door opens, eyes wildly scanning for you through the crowd, ready to strike when he finally finds you—seated towards the back of the car, reading the book that Tsumiki had loaned to you, quietly, and both the black and white Divine Dogs sitting on either side of you. 

And Satoru has to laugh at himself. If he’d stopped for even a moment (or if he’d gotten more than two hours worth of sleep in the past three weeks trying to make up all his assignments), he’d have recognized Megumi’s residuals, would have recognized the energy of the dogs, and would have pieced together that there wasn’t a single threatening aura in the vicinity. 

Oopsies. 

“Gojo?” you call to him, not too loud as to not to disturb everyone else’s commute. “How come you’re here?” 

Satoru shuffles through the crowd and holds onto the overhead rail once he’s next to you. The white dog moves to settle underneath your short legs, blinking at him with disinterest. “Got off a little early today, thought I’d surprise you brats, that’s all,” he says, then motions to the dogs next to you, “Where’s Megumi?” 

You blink at him. Satoru knows you probably don’t believe him, but you spare him the embarrassment when you don’t push it further. “He had to make up a credit today, so he’s getting on at the next stop. Do you want a sandwich? They only had ones with peppers today, so Megumi won’t eat it, but Mr. Teuchi gave me two, anyway.” 

“What, is he allergic or something?” Satoru questions, accepting your offer, and the seat next to you when he starts to unwrap the sandwich. 

“No, he’s just picky,” you tell him, closing your book to unwrap yours, too. You’re quiet, taking your first two bites, before you turn to him again, “How did you know Megumi was missing?”

Satoru chokes. It gains him a few concerned stares, and even a pointed ear from the black dog, before he regains his composure. “Um... he tells me usually he follows you home from the other stop, that’s why.” 

“Then why didn’t you try to surprise us at the other stop?”

Satoru pauses again. Since when did ten year olds get so lippy and observant? “I did, but I was late. So I sort of,” Satoru leans down, crinkling the empty sandwich wrapper in his right hand and uses his left to beckon you towards him to whisper, “Teleported here.” He pulls back, prideful, and crosses his legs, “Pretty cool, right?” 

“So, why didn’t you just teleport to the first station when you realized you were going to be late?” You question, mocking his whispering tone when you repeat the word. 

“Hey, you think doing that kind of stuff comes automatically? I can’t just pop up anyplace at any time,” Satoru groans, a bit overdramatically, “Not yet, anyway. I’ll be able to do that soon.” 

You hum, kicking your legs happily as you take another bite out of your snack. “I think I get it. Megumi says it’s hard spreading out and controlling your cursed energy over long distances, but he’s been practicing hard. He can send the dogs way far away from him now.” 

“I see,” Satoru turns his chin down, eyeing the Divine Dogs with a gentle smile. He almost says that it’s easier to send shikigami on their own, especially those like Megumi’s, and particularly when you anchor them to another source of cursed energy such as yourself, but you look way too proud of Megumi for him to burst your bubble. He also declines to say that Megumi probably doesn’t send the dogs to you on days like this just for the sake of practicing. 

A crush isn’t quite exactly the motivation Satoru pictured when he told Megumi he’d have to work hard and get strong, but whatever works, works. 

Ten minutes later, the train comes to a steady halt. Megumi is the first new passenger on board, and unlike Satoru, he doesn’t need to turn his head wildly, every which way to find you. You’re like a beacon to Megumi, he easily finds the both of you in the last seats in the car, and steadily makes his way to you. 

Megumi greets you before he greets Satoru, taking the seat across and facing you before he turns to the taller man with a much less receptive frown, “What are you doing here?” 

“I believe the word you’re looking for is hello, Megumi,” Satoru teases, reaching across to ruffle his already unruly hair. Megumi grumbles, batting his offending hand away.

“Gojo ate your sandwich,” you chirp. 

“What?” Satoru yells, incredulous, “I did not. You gave it to me—tell him!” 

You have much more fun watching Satoru scramble than defending his honor. It’s only when Satoru gives his best pout that you admit to Megumi that you offered up his sandwich, consoling him with the fact that it included his least favorite ingredient and making it up by pulling out two cartons of strawberry milk for him. Megumi accepts them both with quiet thanks, cheeks growing pink to match the cartons, and you smiling widely when he takes his first sip. 

Satoru had a hunch those were for Megumi. So, this isn’t one-sided. Good for you kids. 

It’s another twenty-six minutes before it’s time for you all to get off the train. The Gojo-Fushiguro residence and your great aunt’s house are in opposite directions, but are both just a short five minute journey from the station exit. One you can certainly make on your own, and still, Megumi insists that you let the dogs walk with you and that he’ll release them once you’re home. 

“It’s good practice,” Megumi mumbles, shooing you on your way uphill, “I want to know how long I can keep them out, too.” 

You have that same look on your face that you had earlier, like you don’t quite believe Megumi, but just as with earlier, you don’t say anything, sparing Megumi and Satoru a formal goodbye and a wave before heading home. Satoru and Megumi turn to walk back to their own house, he can’t help but to smile every time Megumi turns his head to look back at your silhouette. 

Satoru decides that you’re not Megumi’s anchor, you’re the lighthouse that guides him to shore, a light that he follows with faith and reason; a safe haven that Megumi seeks to protect. Satoru can admire that, but he wonders what happened that could make the most unruly kid he knows pledge his allegiance like that. Megumi would have refused Satoru’s aid if he hadn’t agreed to let you stay in his life, and although he’d chalked it up to puppy love before, Satoru’s beginning to wonder if there’s anything he, or anyone, even could do to separate the two of you. 

Likely not, he concludes, when two weeks later, your class goes on a field trip and Megumi is the one who comes home exhausted and crashes onto the couch immediately. When Satoru asks, all he gets is a tired grunt; but shortly after Megumi falls asleep, he can feel a few extra shadows at his feet, and a glimpse of the white dog before she completely vanishes into the darkness. 

Satoru chuckles, leaning down to ruffle Megumi’s hair before heading to the kitchen to make a snack for Tsumiki. If this is the rate that Megumi trains to keep his loved ones protected, then Satoru has no worries about him getting strong enough to keep up with him.

[novemberheart]

{overview} Just because your pack is back together doesn’t mean things are back to normal

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly141, cursing, mentions of being scared, smoking, short chapter

Chapter 30 <- Chapter 31 -> Chapter 32

“Hi, Ms. Garrick,” you greeted. You heard her chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Well hello, lovely,” she greeted back. You smiled at the similarities between their pet names for you. She had gotten your number from John after Kyles accident. She called you leaving the kindest message in your inbox.

Hello, Sweetheart. Now you don't know me, but my name is Rosalind Garrick, Kyle’s mother. But don't think that just because you don't know me, I know nothing about you. You’re all Kyle talks about anymore and I’m just so happy he's finally able to get some peace amongst his chaos. I know how hard this all must be for you so if you ever need anyone to talk to please reach out to me. As far as I'm concerned you’re a part of our pack and we want to make sure you are taken care of.

Alright, sweetheart. Talk to you soon.

Since then you've called her every few days, mostly to give her updates about Kyle.

“How’s our beta doing?” she asked.

“He’s been doing good. Started to get up and walk with crutches. He's stubborn and restless,” you grumbled. As if on cue, the beta trudged out of his room, heading towards the kitchen.

“That’s the man I know,” she chuckled.

“Hey, mum,” Kyle greeted from the kitchen. You bounded over, hoisting yourself up onto the counter.

“The next time you all go on leave I want you to come home,” She pressed. You grinned wickedly, agreeing before the words had even reached Kyle’s ears. “I’ve only met Johnny. Now it’s a crime I haven't met your alphas yet, and I'm not going to let you get away with me not meeting your omega. In-person,” she added.

“Sounds right to me,” you agreed. That's why she loved you.

“You’ll love the city. Did Kyle tell you about all the museums? I know you love those.”

Kyle did tell her about you.

“We can work that out,” Kyle agreed. He did want to go home, and he desperately wanted to share that part of himself with you. You and Ms. Garrick both squealed excitedly.

“Can I talk to you about something?” you asked. He stiffened immediately, his mind jumping to the worst.

Had he hurt you again?

Your hands smoothed over his shoulder, your bottom resting against his knee. His relax was instantaneous. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours.

“I was wondering if I could get a job?” you said slowly. It wasn't slow enough with the way the wheels in his mind were turning.

“Why? Something you need? It’s my job”-

“No, nothing like that. It’s more social than anything.” you interjected. “I’ll be with Anais and Jane. It’s at a new bakery a little off base. It's just a few hours on Fridays and the weekend,” you explained.

He wanted to shut it down. You were social enough. Before Kyle was hurt you had activities nearly every day. Sometimes it felt like you did more in a day than they did.

Yet the look in your eyes halted him. You had forgiven him- he could feel it. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you after just making up.

“Alright,” he agreed. You gasped softly, a wide grin spreading over your face. It made him happy despite the feeling of something wrong clawing at him.

“Thank you!” you cheered, your lips colliding with his cheek.

“One of us will take you to work the first week. Then you girls can commute together. And you are never to go off on your own, you understand?” he urged. You hummed against his cheek. “And I need to meet your boss- and anyone else who’s working there,” he added, between your attacks.

You were just about to head to your room, when a strong arm wrapped around your middle. You recognized a familiar tattoo.

“Tavy,” you giggled. He said nothing, heading to his room.

“Seems like you've forgotten it’s my night, bonbon,” he teased, tossing you on his bed. He crawled over you, making you flush.

“I could never forget,” you lied, blinking up at him. He smirked down at you, completely still for a moment before pressing rapid-fire kisses against your cheek.

You squealed as his hands tickled up and down your sides.

“Mac, no!” you gasped out. “I was just getting tired,” you whined against him. He paused, his smirk pressing against yours.

“Alright, peaches,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm tightly around you, purring softly as you buried your face in his chest. Cinnamon mixed with some of your vanilla lotion he had stolen.

“Simon comes home tomorrow,” you sighed happily. Johnny hummed, a pleased rumble leaving his throat. “I thought you and John would be gone longer,” you yawned.

“So did we,” he yawned back. He said nothing more on the topic, yet you didn't expect him to.

When you woke up you were no longer trapped between him and the bed, but him and another body. Leather with an undertone of black licorice. There was more smoke in his scent than you were used to. He must have been smoking a lot. A purr vibrated through you, making his chestnut eyes flutter open.

“What’re you purring about?” Simon groaned, pushing the two of you closer to Johnny. He was playing dumb. You could feel the curl of his lips against the back of your head.

“You’re back,” you said weakly, your throat hoarse with sleep.

“I’m back,” he affirmed. His hand found your stomach rubbing small circles in an attempt to lull you back to sleep. He wasn't ready to get up yet. He had just gotten home an hour ago and the last thing he wanted to do was pull himself away from the warmth of this bed. “Go back to sleep, pup,” he urged. You didn't need much more convincing, your eyes practically sewing themselves shut.

“Welcome home,” Johnny grumbled, with half-lidded eyes.

“Thanks, pup,” Simon mumbled, his fingers digging into the Scots side, pulling all of you closer once more. That wasn't usual for Simon, needing to have his pack this close, especially after a mission. Something must’ve happened.

“You alright?” Johnny drawled, unburying his face from your neck. Simon hummed in assurance.

“Fine, mutt,” he soothed. “Get some sleep,” he pressed, his fingers racking up and down Johnny’s lower back.

The next time Simon woke he had a fever. It was hot enough to make you and Johnny wake up in a sweat. Johnny quickly grabbed you, plopping you on the couch next to Kyle- assuming you may have triggered a rut for Simon like you had for John.

“What’s happening?” John groaned, uncurling himself from Kyle on the couch.

“Fever,” you responded. Kyle's hand pressed against your forehead. “Simon,” you clarified, moving to stand so you could peek into Johnny’s room. “I don't think it’s a rut Johnny,” you mumbled.

“I’m fine,” Simon groaned. He peeled off his sweatshirt, flopping back down against the mattress. His wide chest rose and fell irregularly. You approached your hand resting on his stomach. His body seemed to relax slightly, and you decided to take the chance and curl up against him. His heartbeat was fast- too fast.

“I’m calling a doctor,” John pressed, gently maneuvering Kyle off of him. Simon flipped the two of you over, making you gasp. Johnny flung forward his hand gripping the alpha’s shoulder.

“Not gonna do anything, pup,” he mumbled, his heart squeezing at the sound that escaped you. “Need to feel ya,” he mumbled, just low enough for you to hear. His hand crept under your shirt resting against the soft skin of your back.

He couldn't explain it. It started two weeks ago, a light burning sensation under his skin, and an almost sour feeling in his mouth. It felt like he was going through withdrawals. He was shaky, his heart skipping beats. He went through two packs of cigarettes in a day and still no relief. Wasn't till he met you at the hospital after Kyle’s accident did he start to put it together. Yet it only got worse being around you.

He growled against your neck, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth creaked.

“Doctor’ll be here in fifteen,” John spoke, his shoulder taking up the doorway. “How long have you felt this way?” John pressed.

“Couple weeks,” he growled. A pang shot through his skull, he steadied himself over you, taking a deep breath. It only made it worse, yet he couldn't pull himself away. Johnny leaned against the desk causing it to creak, the sound sending Simon on high alert. You whined at the snarl that left him. “Sorry,” he apologized instantly.

“Sweetheart, how about we wait on the couch till the doctor gets here?” John offered, beginning to move towards the two of you. He didn't like the way Simon was acting. The sound that came out of Simon was deadly, making it known he disagreed with Johns suggestion. John released a sound of his own.

You were scared.

It didn't help when Simon's hand reached behind him, grabbing at John's shirt.

“What the hell?” Johnny growled. Johnny sprung into action, his arms reaching under Simons pulling him to the floor.

“Get out!” John commanded. You didn't need to be told twice, throwing yourself off the bed, curling up behind Kyle. Kyle held you with both arms, not caring about the uncomfortable stretch of his shoulder.

“Up we go,” Kyle pressed, grabbing his crutch and leading you into your room. He locked the door behind the both of you, cradling you against him as you shook.

You could hear them.

Cursing. The sound of someone being slammed against the wall. Growling. Shouting. Things breaking.

The smell of angry alpha began to seep under the door.

“Kyle,” you whimpered. He shushed you softly, his lips pressed against your hairline.

It suddenly went quiet.

Hi friends! See you in three days for chapter 32! 🧡🙌🏻

[heich0e]

Keep talking about poly!sunaosa and my life is yours

whenever rintarou is coming home (whether he's got a break in his training/game schedule, a long weekend, the off-season is starting, etc.) there's a palpable hum of anticipation that buzzes through your sunny osaka apartment.

osamu is whistling while he gets ready for work early in the morning, smiling into the brim of his coffee cup as he tucks yet another container of food into the fridge (one of rin's favourites) along with all the others he's been preparing the past few days. he leaves a note for you on the counter with a big lopsided heart, since he has to leave to get to the fish market long before you wake for the day, and another just next to it for rin, since he'll arrive before the restaurant closes, that says 'welcome home'—with another two lopsided hearts for good measure.

you're distracted all day at your own job, your sticky note with the lopsided love heart tucked in your pocket, chewing on the tips of your pens and tapping your foot under your desk. you keep a close eye on your phone, and grin every time suna sends you an update about where he is in his journey—if he's left yet, if he's at the station, on the train, on his way. he sends you photos throughout the day that only serve to rile you up more, to only make you more eager for his impending arrival. the clock always seems to be against you on these days—the minutes ticking by impossibly slow.

an hour before you get off work, you get another text, but your excitement is short-lived.

rin 👣 (new message): train's delayed and my phone's abt to die :(

rin 👣 (new message): think i forgot my charger too :(

'why's it delayed??' you send back, but suddenly your messages aren't being delivered. your phone clatters against your desk as you set it down and you sigh, a little frustrated but more disappointed than anything, before grabbing your notepad off your desk and heading towards the conference room where the rest of your colleagues have already started gathering for your end of day meeting.

you still haven't heard anything from rin by the time you're leaving work, and though you may be disgruntled, you figure there's no use in dwelling on it. you make your short commute home with your chin tucked into the collar of your coat—the wind outside is cool and nipping at your cheeks—and wish you'd brought a scarf with you to work that day.

you're halfway up the stairs to your apartment when you hear it:

the opening to that terrible anime that suna likes so much.

the rest of the trek up the staircase is a blur, and when you throw open the front door to your home, you're immediately met with warmth, the sound of running water, and the hum of the television—all telltale signs of life.

"rin?" you call out, your voice breathless from your run up the flight of stairs and your excitement.

the water stops and rintarou's head pops out from around the corner into the kitchen. he smiles when he sees you, and the pinch in your cheeks makes you realize that he's returning your own.

you drop your bag, and don't even spare the time to take your shoes off before you're leaping through the genkan and hurtling yourself into his arms. rintarou has to move quickly, but he doesn't falter—catching you when you hop up and wind your arms around his neck, your legs circling his waist. he lifts you easily, and when you kiss him you feel the click of teeth because neither of you have managed to subdue your smiles yet.

"welcome home," rintarou mumbles into your lips, and it makes you laugh.

you pull away to take a good look at him, brushing a bit of his hair back from his eyes.

"shouldn't i be saying that?" you ask him.

"by all means," he nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

you lean down to kiss him again, softer this time, and less frenetic. as your kiss deepens, you taste salt on his tongue. rintarou's hands slip down from your waist to grip the back of your skirt—that's ridden up considerably in your current position. when you pull away again neither of you are grinning anymore, but you're just as happy. "welcome home, rin."

your boyfriend carries you into the kitchen while you cling to him, laughing into his shoulder and urging him to put you down. he does, eventually, plunking you down onto the counter next to an empty takeout container—one of the ones osamu had left in the fridge for rin to eat when he came home. rintarou slips your shoes off your feet for you, and you're still giggling and trying to squirm away, and he takes them to the genkan to set them in the shoe rack for you before returning and slotting himself between your legs.

"i didn't think you'd be home," you say to him between kisses. they're just pecks, but they're insistent and unrelenting. you can barely get more than a word in before he's kissing you again. "you said the train was delayed."

rintarou's brow furrows. "only by fifteen minutes."

you swat his chest weakly, pouting a bit. "you didn't say that."

"phone died before i got the chance." rintarou ruffles his hair sheepishly, and you realize this is the first time you're seeing him in person since he got it trimmed. it's considerably shorter than the last time you saw him—a quick trip up to nagano that you made alone a few weeks prior to go to one of his home games. you reach up and trace your fingers through the dark strands idly as he speaks. "i was gonna plug it in when i got home, but i couldn't find a charger."

you took your phone charger to work with you that day, and samu must have taken his too. you accept his justification, given the circumstances. you slump forward, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

he smells like he always does—like laundry detergent and the deodorant he's been using since high school. he's warm and sturdy, and the chill of your walk is all but forgotten as you press yourself closer and leach his body heat from him. he's familiar. he's home.

"i'm glad you're here," you murmur into his throat, twisting your fingers into the material of his t-shirt and clinging to him like your life depends on it—like holding him this tightly makes up for all the time you were apart.

suna hums against your temple, his own hands brushing up and down your back. "me too."

something changes then without warning. the affection in the air seems to grow a little heavier, more palpable. the way rintarou is pressed between your legs feels less unconscious than it did before. you feel his fingers slip up underneath the hem of the blouse you wore to work, and you can't help the way your breath hitches when you feel his fingertips against your skin.

you nuzzle into the crook of his neck to hide your burning cheeks.

"i should shower," you murmur, almost shyly—though the days of any kind of modesty between you are long gone. you feel suna's forefinger trace a shape against your spine. a heart, like the ones on the sticky notes osamu left for you both that morning. you peek up at suna through your lashes and see his cheeks have gone an infuriatingly sweet shade of pink.

he wets his lips with his tongue as he watches you closely. the food osamu left him in the fridge did nothing to sate the hunger you see behind his eyes.

"can i come too?"

you laugh, and then you nod, and then suna helps you down off the counter and lets you lead him towards your bathroom by the hand.

how could you say no, when he's asked so nicely?

besides, osamu always takes the day after rintarou comes home off work, so with the promise of a long night ahead of you, what's the harm in starting now?

[kitashousewife]

my asks got deleted but this was a request!! sorry it’s taken so long but here you gooo

———————————————————————————

“go home already,” kuroo’s voice sounds closer than it is from his desk across the room.

“you first,” you type away, adding the last couple attachments to an email before you log off for the day. much later than you were scheduled, but your boss has no place to point this out.

cause he’s here too.

“c’mon, let’s go. the sun is going to be down by the time we leave the building,” he grabs his coat from the rack, slipping it on before grabbing yours as well.

“it wouldn’t be the first time,” you give him a smile when he holds out your coat, helping you put it on. “what kept you so late?”

he laughs, but not out of humor. the blue light of the monitors does nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes. “lining up meetings, confirming a couple conferences, and i’ve been working on this report that they-“

“keep changing the due date on?” kuroo nods, and you roll your eyes. “yeah, me too.”

you log out of the computer, grab your things, and begin walking towards the exit. this isn’t the first, and absolutely will not be the last time the two of you leave the building late. together.

ever since you started, you’ve helped kuroo out. managing his schedule, keeping his meetings in line, calling people when he needs it; the little things. it helps him, while at the same time, helps you as well. you get a break from your regular work, friendly conversation, and someone to confide in.

his good looks are a plus as well.

those good looks tend to be more of a distraction than anything these days. missing notes during a meeting while you’ve been studying his facial expressions. catching bits and pieces of what he’s saying because you can’t keep staring at his lips. tripping over your words because of the way he looks at you, the list goes on.

“i think we’ll be okay, though. we just need the headcount for the next event,” you yawn, stepping out onto the sidewalk. “and that’s all.”

kuroo shrugs. “until they add another component, sure.” you give him a sad smile, knowing he’s probably right. “hey, don’t give me that.”

“give you what? you’re completely right,” the two of you are facing each other on the sidewalk, stepping to the side to allow a pair of fellow commuters to slip past. kuroo shakes his head and smiles. “i know. but we both know you’re working too late. just wait until your boss finds out,” he gives a faux wince.

“too bad my boss is a massive hypocrite. leading by example,” you pat his right arm playfully. his cheeks flush, just a bit.

and yours as well.

he clears his through and laughs dryly. “i know, im the worst.”

you stare at him with a grin. the conversation is ending, but neither of you want it to. the last attempts to continue it die on your tongue when he opens his mouth.

“want to get a drink?”

“yeah, i would.”

he smiles, grinning as he nods down the sidewalk.

“first person to bring up work pays,” he holds out his hand. you shake it, lingering a bit longer then necessary.

“deal.”

unfortunately, however on purpose, kuroo brings up work the second the two of you sit down. you laugh, shocked at how quickly he gave up. but, that was his plan all along.

he’s wanted to take you out for some time, now.

[hwaightme]

My star

(masterlist)

⭐ pairing: bf!idol!seonghwa x gn!reader ⭐ genre: comfort, fluff, established long-term relationship, long distance ⭐ summary: many miles might separate you, but they mean nothing when your heart is with him, and his heart is with you. ⭐ wordcount: 2.3k total ⭐ warnings/tags: sfw, semi-edited, horrifically self-indulgent, longing/missing someone, matchy-matchy type of couple, balanced relationship, safe spaces, communication, heart eyes, stress/tiredness, rumination, unconditional love, comfort, being vulnerable, odd sleep patterns, lmk if anything else ⭐ taglist: at the bottom of the fic ⭐ a/n: seonghwa <3 i hope this brings comfort to anyone who reads <3 reblogs, thoughts and feelings appreciated. much love!

Some days were easier than others. Wrapped up in the hustle and bustle, sinking into meetings, letting yourself get carried away by projects. Some days it was easier to forget, at least for a moment, the hollowness that persecuted you with ever-growing vigour. Concealing sentimentality and melancholia, you skillfully navigated your life until you could hide away, and in the comfort of your own, empty apartment, allowed yourself to curl up into a ball in your bed and wonder why it was that some days were like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, while others, like a viscous putrid tar.

Today was one of those days. On edge, impatient and begging for a break, you stumbled over yourself as you counted down the seconds until you could be painfully alone. The hurt had become your best friend amidst all the changes, and you wanted nothing more than to drown in it when the times got tough. Accumulating short ends of a variety of sticks even when things were going well, you were caged in the creativity of your turbulent mind. You did not need enemies, being your own best one. 

Normally, coming home would be enough. It just so happened that you had the cure, the relief, the peace, who would stand and wait for you with open arms. You called yourself blessed - you well and truly were. In a world that was stuffed with defeat and enemies, you had someone who was always on your team. Without words, without explanation, you would be soothed. There was no need to ever dwell on complexities and tear into negativities - they all evaporated after the keeper of your heart, your starlight would embrace you. But when only the echo bouncing off the walls was there to greet your shattered presence, whatever had been gnawing at your defences would draw blood and turn into a brutal torturer.

You slid off your shoes, moving exclusively by inertia left over from powering through your commute. After washing your hands, you decided to forgo the kitchen, ambling towards the bedroom that you had gotten so used to sharing. Ghostly, dim, exhausted interiors that would glow whenever he was around. You touched the switch on the floor lamp, hesitating for a second before remembering what you had been told before - if your own sun wasn’t shining too bright, turn on all the bulbs around you until you believed the same could be done to you. Was the room always this dark?

It was impossible to say when you fell asleep. At some point after changing out of your office wear and into your pyjamas, which consisted of a half-hearted combination of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, along with a hoodie which your boyfriend had made a point to leave for you, you ended up crawling onto the bed, only just managing to lift the sheets and snuggling under into a somewhat comforting huddle of cotton before darkness enveloped you. Was Seonghwa asleep? Was he awake? Has he been eating well, working and relaxing in balance? Questions flooded your mind as your bleary eyes attempted to blink away your sleepiness. At this point, you were not quite sure if it was a mere physical state, the heaviness of your eyelids having become near-chronic.

He was out there, under the same sky, seeing it in slightly different shades, but he was out there. Was he lonely too? Hopefully no negative thoughts plagued him. Seonghwa deserved better. But… you could not help but listen to the little selfish worm in your mind - did he miss you? You could not deny that a part of you did long for the sensation of being missed by him. A lot. You clenched the edges of your, or technically his, sleeves and sighed. Pulling the hood over your head, you shut your eyes, trying to picture the last time you embraced the love of your life. How warm it had been. How safe. Washing away all the anxiety, all the pins and needles of stagnancy that came with unwelcome solitude. How he would say he was proud of you, and how you would be able to sit with him and listen to him talk about his day, running a hand through his soft, tousled locks. You have always been a listener. But what was there to listen to now, except the roaring waves of rumination?

What time was it where Seonghwa was? One quick unlock of the phone that you fished out from under the covers brought you the dual clock that you put on your home screen, and along with it, the realisation that you had slept through the entire evening, and through the majority of the night. Again. He was probably settling down, lying on his bed in the hotel room and playing Animal Crossing. Or did he find something else? Did he have the time and energy to play? Or perhaps there was another schedule that had crept up on your boyfriend out of the blue… You mused in total silence while inspecting the background you had set - a picture from a date some weeks ago. Right before work summoned him to leave once more, and you were left standing by the window, watching as his silver suitcase disappeared in the back of a minivan. Rolling over onto your back, your eyes travelled to the skylight - another companion that attempted to soothe your loud mind with vistas and ever changing colour palettes of the universe above. The skies had been clear yesterday, and you wished that it was the case over there, where he was, too.

Your fingers moved on their own accord, opening the messaging app you two preferred to use, flicking through his and your barrage of back and forth texts, videos, photos, voice messages… a little life in the digital space. It would be a lie if you said there was little communication. In fact, if anything, you knew almost all the details about his activities, him gushing to you about whatever he could, and smiling sheepishly when something had to be kept a business secret. You were proud of him, most certainly. If only you could say this face to face. Then, for a short while, nothing would exist except you, him and endless conversation about everything and nothing as you would be entangled in one another, cuddling on the couch as some drama you two picked would be inevitably forgotten. A new message startled you out of your dream, immediately followed by another, and another that made you scroll all the way back.

> i just found your favourite ice cream at a store here!!!

> oh?

> love i can see you are in chat… are you awake :(((

With a quick turn, you stretched and flicked on the lamp on the bedside table, deeming the still-on floor lamp no longer sufficient. Wriggling upwards so you could hold your phone vertically, you pondered how you could write a message that did not sound too desperate. You were perfectly well aware that Seonghwa did not mind a little bit of clinginess - in fact, you had had a dedicated conversation early on in your relationship about affection and he had reassured you numerous times that, especially when on tour, he adored, and reciprocated that fondness and longing. But nonetheless, the annoying bugs that lived in your head and littered it with doubt and anxiety made you want to pull back and pretend like you were unaffected. And so, you kept on writing, and deleting. Writing and deleting. Until Seonghwa took the lead and messaged you again.

> call?

> i’m in my room

> [my star <3 sent 1 image]

The ghost of a smile danced over your lips when the picture loaded - an adorable duck pout, face incredibly close to the camera, but still giving enough space for you to be able to spot the backdrop - a painting, completed in spectacularly bland tones, that served as a prime example of how the hotel where your boyfriend was staying favoured ‘stock footage’-core, if you were to borrow his words. Your gaze could not leave the picture. Your silly, precious Seonghwa, pretty inside and out. On its own accord, your hand moved upwards until it hit ‘video call’, and simultaneously ignited a sudden nervousness. What if now was not really a good time? What if Seonghwa was tired and your less than cheerful disposition would only weigh him down?

“Hello lovely… ah, I see we are matching- wait let me make the light brighter-” you watched as he played with a remote, clicking through and checking his appearance on the screen until he gave a victorious giggle, and pointed at the hoodie, “see?”

“You look so cute and cosy, Hwa… And hello to you too,” you mumbled, settling into a more relaxed position.

“I should be saying that to you, you are literally huddled in bed…”

“Join me,” you suggested, half joking, half hoping that he would play along. Clearly you were long past playing guessing games with each other, as almost instantly, Seonghwa was rushing to his bed, rolling into a burrito until only the top half of his face was peeking out. For the first time in a while, you chuckled. 

“You come here often?” he wiggled his eyebrows before squishing his face into the pillow, only to turn it back to you again, a mixture of worry and love in his eyes, “...can’t sleep, angel?”

“Hmm… if anything I might have just accidentally slept too much.”

“Ah…” both of you knew all the reasons for your behaviour. The same exact ones that prompted your boyfriend to overfill his suitcase with trinkets and clothes that he could sense you would like, or that reminded him of you. Understanding washed over you both as you quietly regarded one another through the phone screens. In moments like these, the many miles that divided you appeared so miniscule that it was agonising.

It was impossible to reach out and brush back the strand of hair that was threatening to poke his eye. It was impossible to fall into a dreamless slumber while listening to his calm, soothing heartbeat. It was impossible to gingerly squeeze his hand - an unspoken ‘I love you’, while floating in his starry eyes. But nothing in the world could take away the sincerity. The promises that turned into actions. This was your person, and you were his. As you studied Seonghwa, you felt the frustration, the pent up rage, the fatigue start to evaporate, leaving behind only a soft cloudlike fuzziness. A crush that would never go away, no matter how many years you would be together. He was your clarity, and with him it was the easiest thing in the universe to look at your troubles once again and see that you could take them on. No challenge on your path could hurt you. Not when he made you feel invincible, and even just by being present, reminded you of how you were simply priceless.

“So… tell me about the ice cream,” you tried, your voice sounding a little raspy. Seonghwa’s face, which had previously been painted over with concern, turned into the brightest sunlight. He beamed, and launched into a detailed recollection of what to anyone else would be beyond mundane. Not to you. Never to you. Never about your lovely star.

As he moved just a fraction, forcing the hoodie to glide forwards and expose more of his collarbones, you noticed that he was wearing the necklace you had gotten together - a two-piece set. Instinctively, your hand moved to feel for the chain that adorned your own neck. Two lego pieces that when put together formed a heart. The epitome of sickeningly sweet couple cooing, but it ended up being the best representation of you both. Unbeknownst to yourself you smiled even wider as the piece grew more prominent against his skin whenever it caught the light that enveloped his room in a warm optical lullaby. The change in your expression evidently did not go unnoticed, as Seonghwa paused, and with a light smirk, sat up to let the light cast wondrous shadows on his features. It was probably silly, how deep you had fallen for him, and how obvious it was, no matter what you did and how you acted. All he had to do was turn his head or say the word, and you would come running all these thousand miles to do anything at all. Really, what was stopping you?

Maybe the fact that someone had to water your boyfriend's beloved pet moss. Or that you had committed yourself to dusting and keeping the apartment pristine despite not being fond of the activity. Or, well, your own life, of course. If anything, your boyfriend would be most distressed if you gave up on yourself. As Seonghwa continued his monologue, now having moved onto discussing the next group activities and travels, you realised you had much to do. Much to work and live for. Distance or not, you were with him. And the least you could do was to balance and maintain a smitten hopefulness. With a partner like Seonghwa, who stopped to check the countdown on his phone to announce that it was only ‘a week, five days, and sixteen hours’ until he would take you to one of the many restaurants he had marked out in the city, you were safe to love hard. Forever and always. And could, in fact, live easy, knowing that while your heart was out there conquering arena after arena, stadium after stadium, his heart was right here with you. Your star with whom you could fearlessly conquer the dark, and celebrate the shimmering dots of happiness that decorated your cosmic canvas. Your story. You and him.

⭐ perma-taglist: @shakalakaboomboo @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? do consider reblogging <3 thank you, all the love <3

[angelpuns]

Doodles of this separated au lmao

Some info about Todd and Leo!

Todd's actual name is Todd Capello. When H and M left Leo at his door he had just recently graduated college and was working at a nearby zoo :)

After several years he starts his puppy rescue and then that's when things sorta start going downhill, so him and Leo move into the RV full time and live kinda off the grid. He stilworks at the zoo but he's barely makin ends meet :/

As for Leo, he's going to school and even has an after school job :D he was in the chess club, but he doesn't really have time for it these days :/ he's also on the swim team!! Other schools hate this guy cause he's literally a turtle but he's incredibly stubborn and the coach likes him so :) yeah.

He's a v busy high schooler lmao. He also helps with the puppies when he can. He doesn't go to April's hs cause he ended up having to move to a school closer to the woods cause the commute was a little too far :/ they probably met once in like elementary school but other than that haven't crossed paths.

He's got a similar personality to rise Leo, the main difference being that he's nicer. However he's not overly trusting like his dad and tends to be suspicious of new people. He knows Todd won't stand up for himself like EVER so he's got to be the one to do it. He doesn't really have any close friends, but he's alright with that :)

Uhh yeah so that's those guys :)

[kingkatsuki]

Thinking about Dabi developing a borderline obsession over a Pro-Hero’s pretty girlfriend, to the point that you see him everywhere.

It’s flattering and exciting at first— how dangerous it feels to be flirting with a villain with a powerful quirk. Catching you when you’re leaving your favourite coffee shop, or in the last carriage you always take on your morning commute.

But it starts to scare you when he’s literally everywhere. Finding you when you’re at a friends birthday party, or baby shower. You even see him across the room during your lowkey dates with your Pro boyfriend, trying to avoid meeting his piercing gaze as you stare down at your plate.

Things in your home feel like they’re out of place too. Looking for your favourite perfume bottle or the matching panties to a lace set you’d just bought last month. Noticing your toys have moved too, certain your boyfriend wouldn’t bother himself with a rummage in your panties drawer as you think about what could’ve happened.

And you start getting calls and texts from burners. A different number every few weeks, as though he’s deliberately changing SIM cards and phone numbers to go undetected. Some messages are nicer than others, some are pure filth that have your thighs rubbing together shamelessly as you read them in your bathroom, and others are borderline threats— or promises.

You’re scared, but it’s not like you can tell your Pro-Hero boyfriend that you indulged in it at first. That you leaned into his advances and you flirted back. No matter how innocently. But you’re safe. Your boyfriend would always make sure of it— wouldn’t he?

Or so you think until you find yourself pinned against a dirty brick wall just outside your local train station, barely a five minute walk from your house as Dabi weaves a palm around the column of your throat.

“There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

[daddy-kinard]

“You ever wonder…” Tommy trails off, shaking his head a little dismissively.

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just,“ he shrugs, kinda sheepishly, he knows it’s a stupid thing to waste time thinking about what ifs, “you ever think about how different things would be if Chim hadn’t called me up with that collective death wish? If we’d never even met that night.”

But Evan just smiles.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“We’d’ve found each other some other way.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. We’ve been circling closer and closer for years, Tommy - the 118, the calls we now know we both responded to, even that night when I met Red instead of noticing the hottest guy on the planet at the other end of the bar - we would have found each other some other way, eventually.”

Tommy snorts, partly at the hottest guy on the planet comment, and partly at how sure Evan sounds about it. As though it was fate bringing them together.

“You really believe that?”

“I really do. I don’t believe there’s a single universe where I never get to meet my soulmate.”

Soulmate.

It’s possibly - no, who is he kidding - it is definitely the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Tommy. Maybe the most romantic thing someone ever will. It sounds like a line lifted straight out of one of his most re-watched romcoms, something that people don’t just come out with in real life, and certainly not in Tommy’s real life. His thoughts drift to the small box hidden in the lower compartment of his toolbox, if Evan’s casually pulling out shit like this as they lounge on the couch waiting for Eddie and Chim to arrive with pizza and beers, Tommy’s suddenly not sure he’s going to survive the wedding vows he hopes are in their future.

He doesn’t say that, obviously, he wants to maintain some element of surprise when he asks. Instead it’s -

“Didn’t have you down for the soulmates type.” Because, sure, he knows Evan is superstitious in the way a lot of firefighters are, but he didn’t think that extended to his love life. He loves love, that is true, but every conversation they’ve had since that second do-over of a date, about being willing to put in the work, to communicate, to learn how to show up for each other, it doesn’t scream letting the universe just do it’s thing.

“I’m not. Or, I wasn’t. And then you came along. Tommy, I didn’t even know I liked guys,” he stresses, “but I wanted to be with you. More than I knew how to deal with. And then, you gave me a second chance that I probably didn’t deserve, and I just…this isn’t me saying I’m taking it for granted okay? I know that we’re not magically perfect for each other or whatever, I just, part of me just knows that it was always meant to be you, y’know?”

Which, Tommy supposes, is kinda what he was getting at in the first place. He slots his fingers in between Evan’s and squeezes, thumb rubbing a familiar pattern across the back of his hand.

“I do.” He smiles.

a silly little something for my only contribution to @bucktommypositivityweek, written in my notes app on my commute home

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Could you write a Shoto x reader Christmas smut? Love your fics btw, you’re a great writer!🫶

Ohhhh heck yesss! Here you go, dear reader! ❤️

All Wrapped Up with a Bow 🎄❤️ | Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x AFAB Reader 💋

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance

Summary: Being a Pro Hero is hard...especially when you and your boyfriend Shoto Todoroki's busy schedules often keep you apart. When Shoto asks to spend Christmas Eve together just the two of you, you decide to spice things up with some lacy lingerie. Note: This is an unedited fic :)

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, fingering, unprotected sex, light ass play, lemon, Smut, Dirty Talk, All characters are in their mid-twenties!

Shoto’s been working insane hours lately.

To be honest, you both have. Being heroes in your mid-twenties, it comes with the territory. You’re still new enough to the hero scene that you need to prove your worth by working extra hours, taking extra interviews and booking extra press events.

Extra. Extra. Extra.

If only you had “extra” time to spend with your beloved boyfriend Shoto Todoroki.

But unfortunately, your plate is too full and work/life balance is a distant dream. Maybe when you’re thirty. For now, it’s time to keep grinding and hope for the best.

Your relationship with Shoto is as strong as ever. You’re both steady, dependable people. You rarely quarrel. You both take the time to share updates on your schedules and workload. Your relationship is strong in every way except…you rarely get to see each other in person. And that means that the physical aspect of your relationship is nearly non-existent.

On the rare nights you both have off-duty, exhaustion seeps deep into your bones and prevents any romantic or “spontaneous” acts from commencing. Instead, the two of you order takeout and cuddle up with a movie until one of you nods off halfway through. Maybe you’ll exchange a quick shoulder rub, or use Shoto’s theragun on aching muscles before brushing your teeth and calling it a night. It’s not romantic or glamorous. But it works – having a supportive partner who understands the exact strain of your job is rare in this line of work. And that makes what you and Shoto have even more precious.

And so, you continue your non-routine routine. Go on missions, meet with the press. Text Shoto a cute photo of you volunteering at the local animal shelter in between patrols. Grab dinner and fall asleep at Shoto’s apartment once a week. Sign up for an extra night shift with your sidekicks. Get assigned a mission out of town and send Shoto a text apologizing for missing his birthday. Receive an encouraging call in reply extolling your many great attributes as a hero and as a partner. Refocus and get back to your hero work. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

That is, until Christmas Eve.

The end of the year approaches so quickly, you feel like you’ve been hit with a time warp quirk sending you speeding forward in time. Looking back, it’s been a great year for your career. But your social and dating life have been massively neglected.

You wake up the morning of Christmas Eve to a text from Shoto. You’re in your own apartment near the agency, getting ready to commute into work. You pause in putting on your hero costume so you can read the wall of texts coming through on your screen.

Shoto: Hey Y/N. I miss you.

Shoto: I feel like I haven’t been able to see you much lately and it’s starting to really upset me.

Shoto: I told my agency I’m taking off tonight so I can spend time with you. I’m going to shut off my phone.

Shoto: Can you get the night off last minute?

Shoto: It’s been so long since I’ve touched you

Shoto: See what you can do?

You pause. It’s so rare that Shoto asks for physical affection. You call your team and  rearrange your schedule so you can take off the entire day. Your sidekicks are more than eager to fill in for you and get a few more patrol hours under their belts. You click your phone closed and breathe out slowly – it’s been so long since you took a little time to chill. The hero world can wait. Your relationship with Shoto cannot.

Y/N: I took the night off! Want to spend the night at my apartment?

Shoto: Yes. Love you.

You stand up and stretch – no need to wear your hero costume anymore today. You strip it off and hang it back in its special case with care before dawning leggings and an oversized sweater. You think quickly through how you want to optimize the day – there are quite a few errands you’ve been putting off. You still need to get Christmas presents for a few friends and family members that you’ll see on the New Years Eve. Plus you should probably run out for groceries so you can surprise Shoto with a yummy home cooked meal…

The mall it is!

You grab your coat, apartment keys and purse and head out to the local shopping center to check everything off your list. You dash to the local train with exuberance – it’s been so long since you’ve had an unexpected day off. What a treat! Maybe you should stop and get a mani pedi at the local salon…it’s been quite a while since you’ve glammed up a bit. You start scouring Pinterest for the perfect holiday nail color.

By the time the train pulls into the station, you have 5 options screenshot and saved. You speed walk from the station to the shopping complex, grateful that everything you need can be found in one place.

You start at the nail salon. The staff is excited to see you – everyone waves excitedly and cheer as you pick your color. You know that you’re their only regular Pro Hero client (they have a poster of you in your uniform framed on the back wall as a reminder), most other Pro Heros employ private glam squads to take care of all of their beautifuication needs. You, however, would rather be treated like a normal person when possible. Plus, you love all the ladies who work at the salon and treat you like a friend.

Your favorite nail tech Lisa beckons you to a reclining chair and starts to fuss over you. She’s tall and in her mid fifties, with beautiful long hair swept into a plait down he back. She’s the mother hen of the salon and is up to date on everyone’s tea. Within minutes she’s cleaned up your cuticles and layered on the first coat of nail varnish.

“You still dating that Todoroki boy?” She asks, always keen for gossip. You love that she refers to Shoto as “that Todoroki boy” as if he’s just a normal guy from the neighborhood and not one of Japan’s top heroes. You giggle and nod.

“I’m surprising him with dinner tonight. We both took the night of to spend together.”

“Ohhh, how romantic! He seems like such a fine young man for you. What are you going to wear!?” She layers on topcoat as she gushes.

“I didn’t even think about my outfit yet – I only just decided to take the day off! Any suggestions?” You hold up your freshly manicured hand and the paint glints ruby red in the light.

“Well…” Lisa gives you a mischievous look before calling over her shoulder to one of the younger girls. “Dina – grab that Cosmo magazine from the break room?”

Dina, a woman closer to your own age, appears a moment later in a flurry of magazine pages. “I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I grabbed a few.”

“The December issue, dear.” Lisa holds out an expectant hand and Dina hands over the magazine. There’s a pouty-lipped model on the cover wrapped in nothing but Christmas bows. You don’t tend to focus too much on looks and beauty magazines (your hero work has been all encompassing for quite sometime), so you’re curious what Lisa is going to recommend.

Lisa used that dazzle dry top coat that makes your nails try extra fast, so you’re able to handle the magazine with ease when Lisa hands you the copy.

“Flip to page 35, dear.” She says as she starts to paint your toes to match.

You do as she says, and your jaw drops. The pages are covered in snapshots of lingerie.

“The key to that Todoroki boys heart?” Lisa says nonchalantly as she files your toes softly. “It’s a home cooked meal and one of those outfits.” She points with her nail file to the page. “Men can’t resist fancy underwear.”

You gape at the spread. You’re surprised at the wide variety of lacy thong and underwire bra sets that stare back at you. You’ve never worn something sexy like this for Shoto before…he’s never had a problem with your cotton Aerie underwear and comfortable sports bras. You wonder if he’s be into any of these strappy monstrosities.

“I don’t know Lisa…” You hold the magazine closer to your face to get a good look at a pair of crotchless panties that look like a collection of strings bound together with a small bow. “These don’t really scream ‘me.’ I don’t know if Shoto would be into this?”

“If you’re looking for something to make the night special, this could be a good option.” She says, layering down ruby paint on your big toes. “You can get something more subtle – look at the little Santa themed number at the top of page 36.”

“How many times have you looked at this that you know the pages by heart?” You ask her curiously.

“I have a photographic memory as part of my quirk.” She shrugs, finishing the first layer of red across your toes. “And yesterday was slow, I basically read this cover to cover twice.”

You look over at the outfit she’s recommending. It’s a tiny bit more subtle – a bra and panty set that’s supposed to emulate Santa’s Christmas suit. The bra is lacy with red bows and the panties have white trim with a tiny gold belt buckle on the waistband. It’s kind of cute, but still way sexier than any underwear you’ve ever owned.

“Just think about it.” Lisa says as she finishes up your toes with some topcoat. “They sell all of this in the lingerie store down the way. I promise you that if you buy a set of these, you are gonna get the best dicking of your life tonight.”

That does catch your attention. It would be really nice to have a good fuck with Shoto tonight. And that lingerie set would match your nails…

“Do you give sex tips to all your clients?” You raise an eyebrow at Lisa as you take a photo of the magazine spread with your phone camera. She smiles gamely and shrugs again.

“People come to my salon for advice of all kinds. It’s my job to know what they need to hear on any given day.” She winks as she cleans up her supplies, placing all of the little nail polish bottles and files on a small wheely cart.

“Well I’ll let you know if I end up going for it.” You say as Lisa leads you over to the nail drier for your feet.

“Please do, dear. I’m a sucker for a romantic story. Do tell me, though…how big is he?” She cackles and the rest of the staff look over curiously. Your face turns bright red as you realize what she’s asking.

“Big enough.” You say conspiratorially.

“So over 6 inches. That’s what I had my money on.”

And that’s how, an hour later, you end up in the fancy lingerie store. Everything is covered in holly and bells and bows and your eyes don’t know where to look. You’re instantly over stimulated, looking around desperately for a helpful sales associate. You try not to look at the price tags – you make great Pro Hero money now, but you’re still not used to splurging on silly things like underwear.

You wander the aisles, stopping at the holiday section. You warily eye a string bikini-esque number on an mannequin. It looks restrictive and uncomfortable, a bit like something a villain would use to restrain a civilian in peril. You shy away from the ensemble and continue browsing.

Finally, a perky salesgirl approaches you. “Hey there! Merry Christmas! How can I help you today?”

“Oh thank God.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m looking for something a little more…subtle.” You point vaguely at the strappy monstrosity to your left. “I have a big date tonight.”

The sales girl nods empathetically. “Let’s find something more your style!” She leads you up and down the aisles and points out a few pieces that are a bit more conservative for what she calls “beginner lingerie girlies.” It doesn’t take long for the two of you to pick out a few cute sets that are a bit lighter on the straps and lace.

“Now this one is sure to knock ‘em dead.” The salesgirl pulls out a ruby red bra and panties set that perfectly matches your nails. The bra is lacy but provides a good amount of coverage, with a few small bows and affixed to the straps and bra cups. The panties, you’re relieved to see, are not crotchless. They have a perfectly fine cotton gusset, thank goodness. The waistband is lacy and adorned with a few bows to match the bra, but it’s nothing crazy.

“This is honestly perfect. Just what I was looking for. You’re good.”

The girl smiles and laughs. “I’m a professional when it comes to the art of sexiness! Now let’s go have you try these on in the fitting room.”

It’s not long before you’re paying for the bright red set and the sales girl is packing it into a bag filled with glittery tissue paper.

“Good luck tonight!” She gives you a thumbs up as you put your wallet back in your purse and reach to loop the bag around your wrist. “Hold on…aren’t you a Pro Hero? Isn’t Shoto your boyfriend?”

“And that’s my queue to leave!” You sweep out of the shop before the girl can snap a picture of you lingerie shopping for your boyfriend. “Merry Christmas!”

You get home and deep clean your apartment, throwing your sheets into the wash and emptying the dishwasher for good measure. It’s been a while since you’ve made soba, so you pull up a few recipes on Pinterest and arrange all of the ingredients on the counter. Shoto will be thrilled, you can’t wait to see that bright starry look in his eyes when he realizes that he’s going to get to watch you busy in the kitchen. You see your cute checkered apron hanging on the back of the closet door and grab it in a sudden fit of inspiration. You’ll use it later.

After laying out all of the ingredients and tidying up the living room, you make your way to the bedroom where you layout your lingerie purchase. It’s cute, you decide. You like it a lot and you feel like it looks good on your muscular and scarred Pro Hero body. You’re a little bit jittery as you wonder at Shoto’s reaction. It’s been so long since you’ve felt sexy and fluttery like this – it reminds you of how you felt just out of school when Shoto asked you to dinner for the first time. It feels like that was forever ago…you’re so glad you still feel flirty and fun with Shoto a few years into your relationship.

You take your sheets and bedspread out of the drier and smooth it out onto your mattress, taking care to bat out any wrinkles and to fluff the pillows. You’re going to fuck Shoto senseless on this bed tonight, and you want it to be absolutely perfect.

You check your phone for the time and with a thrill realize that Shoto will be home to your apartment in less than a half hour. You quickly take off your clothes and grab the lingerie, ripping off the tags haphazardly and tossing them into your tiny wastebasket. You pull on the underwear and turn to look at yourself in your full length mirror. You’re pleased with how good you look – the bra makes your breasts look full and bouncy in a way that your Pro Hero costume simply does not. The panties are high waisted and cinch in your waist in a pleasing way, hugging your booty. Your ass looks down right smackable.

You finish the ensemble by tossing on your puffy checkered apron over the lingerie. You tie it in the back with a sweet little bow, pleased at how the skirt flares out and compliments your figure even more. From the front, you look fully clothed and as if you’re wearing a cute mini dress, the apron’s bib hiding your cleavage favorably. But from behind, you look sensual and illicit in your lacy, bowed underwear. You shiver a bit at the chill in your apartment – you don’t typically navigate your living space in nothing but underwear, and you make a mental note to turn up the heat before Shoto’s arrival.

You hurry back out to the kitchen to toss some slice and break crescent rolls into your little oven before Shoto arrives so that you’ll both have something to munch on as you prep the soba. Within ten minutes the dough has risen into beautiful golden brown rounds of bread on the cheap tiny pan. The oven has warmed up the apartment nicely and you don’t feel chilly anymore in your skimpy little outfit. You rest the hot pan on top of the oven and switch off the appliance. Shoto will arrive in any minute.

You dash back to your room to put the finishing touch on your outfit – throwing on what you affectionately call your “press event heels.” They are a pair of short patent leather kitten heels – a sleek and shiny black that compliments any outfit. You admire the full look in the mirror, pleased with yourself.

There’s a buzz at the door – Shoto!

You carefully sashay through your apartment, feeling hot and confident. You hit the button to buzz him up and smooth your apron-skirt as you wait. You hear his gentle footsteps down the hall, followed by his characteristic light knock on the door.

Demurely, you open the door.

Shoto walks in, already shedding his coat as he starts to speak about his day. “The agency was very busy today. I’m so glad I left when I did.” He turns to give you a kiss on the cheek and then catches a glimpse of your outfit. He steps back to admire the full look. His eyes bulge.

“This is…unexpected.” His jaw is slack and he stares at the way your long bare legs are exposed beneath the skirt of the apron. “Is this for me?”

You ignore him, biting back the Cheshire cat grin that threatens to give you away. “Sho, let me take your coat. I’ll hang it in the closet.”

He nods silently, still staring at your legs as he hands over his coat. You drape the jacket over the crook of your elbow and smooth out the wrinkles, tucking his bright red scarf into the coat sleeve for safekeeping.

This is your big moment. You take a deep breath and make a show of turning around so you can walk towards the closet.

You hear Shoto’s sharp intake of breath as he sees your backside. You can’t suppress your grin any longer as you make a show of swinging your hips the four steps it takes you to walk across the room. You let the jacket slip from your arm and onto the floor.

“Oh – oops!” You throw up your arms in surprise. “Let me pick that up…”

You slowly, sloooowly bend down to scoop up his jacket, giving Shoto a generous view of your lacy ass on the way down. You even wiggle it a little, letting your cheeks bounce with the movement. You grab the jacket and straighten back up.

“Now let me hang this up.” You open the closet and slip the jacket onto a hanger, glancing back over your shoulder with a dimpled smile to take in Shoto’s reaction.

He’s still standing in front of the door, absolutely dumbstruck. His jaw might as well be on the floor, and his eyes are bright in that special way they get when he’s horny.

“You like what you see?” You flash him a cheeky grin, slowly pressing your closet door shut. Before the door clicks into place, Shoto is striding towards you. In a rare show of aggression, he dips down and levels you, throwing you over his shoulder forcefully. You gasp in surprise as he hauls you towards your room, kicking your bedroom door open as he goes.

“Sho!” You cry out in shock, wiggling over his shoulder. He says nothing as he easily tosses you onto the bed, all Pro Hero muscles. You land with a soft thump on your tummy, bouncing a bit on the soft clean bedspread.

“Y/N.” Shoto says, his voice low and husky with want. You try to turn over but he places his hand lightly between your shoulder blades to hold you in place. “I can’t wait any longer. I need to have you right now.” There’s urgency in his voice you’ve never heard before – an edge. Your usual love making is fairly vanilla – all soft sighs and slow movements. Shoto likes to look at you while you fuck, likes to drink in your body with that intense gaze of his. This directness, this neediness – this is something new and thrilling for you. It zaps lightening bolts of arousal straight to your pussy in a way you never could have expected. You feel your brand new panties get damp at his tone alone.

“How do you want me, Sho?” You ask slyly, stopping your attempts to roll over to look at him. Instead, you slowly arch up your back and slide your knees forward to your chest so that your ass is tantalizingly up in the air.

“God. Just like that.” You can tell he’s struggling with his words right now as you shake your ass at him. He slips his thumb up the side of your bare leg and under the lacy material of your underwear where it covers your hip. He draws the fabric an inch or so into the air and then releases it so that it hits your skin with a light snap!

Fuck.

“You like what you see, pretty boy?” You call behind you, continuing to gyrate your hips in what you hope is a sensual way. You can just picture Shoto’s face right now –you bet he’s biting his lip the way he does when he wants you but he’s too polite to ask. He has far too many tells.

You feel his large hands grab the sides of your legs and slowly trace up up up over the sides of your thighs and ass, coming to rest on your hips. He lets his fingers get a good grip round the dip of your hips before he quickly pulls you backwards. You slide down the bed, letting out a small squeal of surprise and delight as you go. When he releases you, he has you bent over the edge of the bed, having guided your heel-clad feet to the ground. He uses his knee to spread your legs apart, keeping your ass on full display for him.

You never noticed how your bed is the perfect height for this. You shiver with delight as Shoto continues to run his fingers up and down your legs appreciatively. You hear the floor creak as he gets down on his knees behind you. You have no idea what he has in mind, but squeak in surprise as he brings a hand up to grab at the meat of your ass. He squeezes your right ass cheek experimentally, enjoying the way it jiggles. He then releases your skin, opting to smooth his thumb across the swell of your cheek gently. You feel yourself getting wetter with every caress and touch.

He lets his hands explore every hem and stitch of the lacy underwear. He starts at your butt – murmuring appreciatively as he pulls at the string-like thong that dips between your ass cheeks. He smooths his thumbs over the little bows sewed on at your hips, and traces light fingertips across the lace pattern at the elastic.

Once he’s had his fill with your backside, he slides his hand between your legs and gently caresses your pussy through your underwear. You let out a strangled moan as his index finger traces its familiar pattern over your leaking hole and up towards your clit. He plays with you for a bit through the thin, lacy fabric until you’re practically begging for him to strip you down and give you his cock.

“Sho…Sho please make love to me now. Sho I need you inside of me. I’m so wet and desperate and I need you to feel how much I love you. Shooo…” Usually this works – Shoto is a sucker for sweet talk and typically does anything you ask of him. But tonight, things are different.

“You’ll have my cock soon enough, sweet heart.” His voice is muffled as he presses a chaste kiss to your left ass cheek, pausing to nuzzle you with his nose. “Is this an early Christmas present for me?” He continues to play with your clit through the ruby red underwear. “You want me to unwrap you?”

“Yes. Yes – please Sho.” You groan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. At this point, your panties are soaked through and you know he can feel that. He drags his fingertips down from your clit and strokes gently up and down your slit through the panties. He’s teasing you, and you’re absolutely loving it.

In an unexpectedly swift motion, Shoto hooks his thumbs up under the lacy garment where it rests on your hips and he tugs it down, letting the panties rest down around your thighs.

“You’re so wet already.” He says in surprise, looking down at your practically ruined underwear. The entirety of the cotton gusset is dark with your arousal. You make a muffled noise into your bedspread as the cool air of the apartment hits your exposed pussy. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you soon – just hold on a little bit longer for me, okay?”

He grabs your cheeks and spreads them apart a bit, making you feel vulnerable but not in a bad way. You feel a finger explore your soaked pussy and you try to lean into the touch, but his caresses are so feather light you can’t get any good friction. He circles his finger lightly across your lips and up towards your core, gathering your slick on him like honey on a wand.

What happens next is something you never could have expected. He drags his wet dinger up, up, up and slowly begins to circle the pad of his finger against your asshole. He swirls it lightly so you can get every bit of sensation, gently so that you don’t buck up in surprise. You gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Relax into it. It’s alright, baby.” Shoto whispers reverently as he watches your body twitch with pleasure. This is not something you’ve ever done before. To be fair, it’s something you chatted about a few months ago when you discussed sexual interests and things you might want to try someday…but to be perfectly honest, playing with your ass is not something that Shoto has everexpressed interest in before.

And yet…he does it like a champ. Easing you in slowly, letting you explore the sensation of his finger pressing lightly against your tight hole. The unexpected pleasure makes your pussy clench and flutter and you let out a low moan of appreciation as he uses his other hand to press a finger inside your weeping cunt.

“How’s this, Y/N?” He lightly fingers you with his left hand while he continues to play with your ass with his right. “Does it feel good?”

“Oh yes Shoto...fuck. Fuck that feels amazing.” You choke out, hands gripping the bedspread desperately as he plays with you like he has all the time in the world.

“Just relax and enjoy it. For once, we have nowhere to be.” He says quietly. And you realize he’s absolutely right. This is the first time in a long time that the two of you aren’t on a tight schedule and can just…be.

“Fuck I love you Sho.” You say through gritted teeth as he presses a bit harder against the tight knot of your ass, sending sparks of pleasure deep into your body. Your cunt grips at his finger hungrily as he steadily pushes into you, letting you take whatever you need from him.

“This outfit is just…” Shoto can’t seem to find the words to describe what your lingerie set is doing to him. “The heels. The apron. The underwear.” He slides his finger out of your pussy and shifts away from you, you groan at the loss of contact. However, your disappointed grunt becomes a moan of pleasure as Shoto presses his face into you so he can lap at your pussy.

His tongue is magic as it presses into you, his hands coming to rest on your cheeks for leverage. He laps up your delicious taste, swirling his tongue around in a delightfully irregular pattern. It feels forceful and intentional in the best of ways, but you feel like he’s trying to do something specific.

“Shoto!” You gasp out, backing that ass up into his face and trying to grind into his tongue. “W-what are you – ah! – trying to do?”

After a moment, Shoto comes up for air. “I’m spelling my name with my tongue. Denki told me people find it hot.”

Okay, that is so unexpected but also…yeah! It’s weirdly hot! You want him to keep going.

“Fucking claim me, Shoto Todoroki. Write your name in my pussy with your fucking tongue.”

Shoto doesn’t move for a moment, you wonder if he’s considering your words. “You’re on the naughty list this year, aren’t you? I never realized what a dirty mouth you have.” Shoto says this in his typical flat tone, matter-of-fact.

“Yeah I’ve been pretty naughty, haven’t I?” You’re gonna dirty talk this bitch into fucking you. “Did I mention that I bought this outfit on your credit card? I might need someone to…” you wave your ass in the air, not caring that your slick is dripping down your thighs and that your underwear is still stretched between your legs like a hammock beneath your pussy. “…punish me.”

This sends Shoto over the edge. You hear the floor creak again beneath him as he moves to get to his feet. You grin stupidly into the bedspread as you hear his buckle come undone and his pants drop to the floor. He steps forward, slotting your legs between his own. Dress shoes framing your patent leather kitten heels.

A moment later, you feel the head of his thick, hard cock pressing against you. You mewl in satisfaction when he takes a moment to rub his hardness against your clit the way you like. It’s taken a lot of communication over the years, but Shoto now knows that you like to build anticipation up a little before you do the deed. He plays with your pussy for a moment before sliding his cock down along your lips and lining up with your entrance. His hands shift to grip your hips tightly.

“Let’s get you back on the nice list.” He says as he slowly pushes his cockhead into your throbbing pussy. The soft stretch around his cock is delightful and you cry out as he pushes inch after inch into your hungry pussy. A dicking down indeed.

It’s rare that you don’t use a condom – birth control made you feel like shit so you weren’t on the pill, and Shoto was typically such a gentleman and had assumed all contraceptive duties. He has your bedside drawer stocked with all varieties of condoms and spermicide. But tonight…well, tonight is something special because Shoto is sliding into you raw and unprotected.

The feeling of his bare skin is too much for you to handle and your legs start shaking before he even bottoms out inside of you. He must notice that you’re already close to falling over the edge, because he takes it extra slow. He sets a cruelly slow pace, sliding in and out of you so that he can feel every tremor of your pussy around him.

“Fuck, Y/N. I wanted to make this night special, but I never imagined…” He thrusts into you with a little more force this time. “I never could have dreamed up this outfit of yours.” He picks up speed, a wet smacking noise fills the room as he fucks into you.

“I wanted to look – oh! – good for my favorite guy.” You practically purr. “Smack my ass?” You’re rewarded with a swift slap to your right cheek. You cry out in pleasure and your pussy throbs around Shoto’s cock. You feel him shudder in reply.

Shoto is usually one for slow missionary (or cowgirl if he’s feeling frisky). So being taken from behind is a novelty for you. You decide to throw it back, meeting every thrust with a bounce. Shoto grips your hips a little harder when he realizes what you’re doing, and you’re sure you’ll have finger print shaped bruises ingrained in your skin when you wake up in the morning.

“Y/N.” Shoto gasps out from behind you, definitely close to coming undone. “Y/N I love you...” He thrusts into you, hard. “So.” Thrust. “God.” Thrust. “Damn. “ Thrust. Thrust. “Much.”

“Fuck. Shoto – I’m gonna cum.” You cry out. It’s all too much for you – he’s just too damn hot and this position feels so fucking good and you think that doggy style might be forevermore your favorite sex position. At your words, Shoto starts to go deep. You feel yourself fluttering around him, desperate.

“Sweetheart. Cum around my cock?” Shoto’s voice is deep, near an octave lower than his usual voice as he groans at the feel of you around him. You can’t resist the way he talks to you. You fall over the edge moments later, your pussy throbbing and pulling at his cock as you ride out your high.

“Sho!” You cry out, creaming around his cock like some sort of porn star, throwing your ass back as you let him fuck you through it.

“Ah – fuck! Y/N. You feel so good, I can’t…” Shoto scrambles to pull out of you before he cums. Honestly, you’re surprised he makes it out alive. He hear the gentle smack of him jerking at his dick a few times before you feel his warm cum splatter across your back and ass, painting you with his pleasure. He finishes himself off before dropping onto the mattress next to you, breathing hard.

You lay in silence for a moment – you on your stomach and he on his back. You both take a moment to catch your breath.

“That was…” Shoto finally breaks the silence, unable to come up with the right words to describe the scene that just transpired.

“Yeah.” You say, laughter bubbling up inside of you. “Sho, where did that animosity come from? You’ve never picked me up like that before. And then you played with my ass? Were you planning that!?”

Shoto turns to look at you, his usually stoic face cracking into a smile. You turn to look back at him, noting that he looks a little silly wearing a dress shirt with nothing on from the waist down.

“You’re rocking a pooh bear look, by the way.” You add, pointing at his current outfit situation. He laughs at you and sits up.

“It’s just been so long since we’ve made love. And something about this outfit of yours just…” Shoto shrugs; getting to his feet and walking to the drawer he knows contains clean towels. He grabs a thick grey washcloth and returns to the bed so he can smooth it across your back and ass, cleaning up his thick ropes of cum. “I’ve been wanting to explore more with you for a while. It felt like a good time to try something new.”

“I liked seeing that side of you.” You hum appreciatively as he lifts your left leg and carefully removes your foot from the kitten heel. You didn’t realize how sore fucking in heels can make someone. He helps you to remove the other shoe so you can shift into a more comfortable position on the bed. “So you like lingerie, I take it?”

Shoto smiles as he pulls back on his boxers. “It seems that I do.”

You flop back on the bed, watching him unbutton his dress shirt. He’s so beautiful like this – his Pro Hero abs peak out from under his shirt delectably. You want to worship this man and his beautiful body. You want to press kisses to each curve of muscle until he fully understands just how much you adore him.

 He walks back to your dresser and pulls open his designated drawer so he can grab one of his favorite old All Might shirts.

“And you haven’t even seen the bra yet.”

His eyes widen comically in response. “…there’s more?”

You reach behind you and undo the bow at your back before slipping the apron up and over your head. You toss it to the floor. Shoto drops his All Might shirt to the ground in surprise.

He stares at you, awestruck, as you sit atop your bed in nothing but a lacy red bra. Your pussy is fully out and you’re sweaty with messed up hair, and he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess that’s just descended from the heavens. You can’t help but laugh at the dumbstruck expression on his face.

“Alright, so I think we’ve found a new kink for you, Sho. Good thing the local lingerie store has plenty of options for us to try.”

Shoto tries to shake his head to clear it, but fails miserably. He just keeps staring at you with that intense gaze of his. “Okay. Yes. This is something that I definitely like.” He bites his lip the way he does when he’s turned on, and you know in your bones that round 2 will be even more mind blowing than round 1. You start to spread your legs apart to invite him back to bed, but then your stomach growls loudly. You think longingly of the hot crescent rolls waiting in the kitchen on the stove.

“Babe…I have an idea.” You say, motioning for him to pick up his t-shirt from where it lays in a sad heap on the ground. “Let’s make dinner first, then we can come back here and explore this new kink of yours.”

Shoto’s face perks up at the mention of food. You bet he hasn’t eaten since lunch a the agency – he’s likely starving too.

“We’re going to cook dinner?” He asks, not even trying to hide the excitement in his voice. Takeout is usually the go-to for you both.

“Correction – I’m going to cook dinner. In my new lacy lingerie. And you’re going to watch.” You smile widely as he blushes. You can see the wheels turning in his head – he’s loving this idea. You’re tired and spent but you already can’t wait to be back underneath him with that wonderdick inside of you.

He nods enthusiastically, his own smile wide and bright. He reaches down to grab the tee and pulls it on in a single swift motion. You follow his lead and scamper to your dresser to grab a pair of clean panties. You find a nice plain pair that’s a shade of red off from your bra, but it will have to do. You step into the clean underwear and pull it on snuggly.

You grab Shoto’s hand to drag him to the kitchen.

“What are you making?” He asks eagerly, eyes roaming appreciatively over your body as he follows behind you.

“Your favorite – cold soba.” You smile over your shoulder, coming to a stop in front of the stove.

“You are the love of my life and this is officially the best Christmas Eve ever.” Shoto says, grabbing your face so he can kiss you soundly. You lean into the kiss, happy to have a rare evening off with Sho. He presses another kiss to your mouth. "It's like you're all wrapped up in a bow just for me tonight."

"Only for you, babe." You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Shoto."

The End. ❤️

---------------------------------------------

Okayyyy I hope you liked this holiday one shot! I churned this out and didn't get a chance to edit, so I hope it's alright despite not being my cleanest work! I purposefully didn't put in a lot of dialogue because I think that Shoto is more of an "actions speak louder than words" kind of person in the bedroom. He has slowly learned to add dirty talk into the mix because the Reader has asked him to over the years, but honestly he still doesn't talk that much during sex. I personally love a man who will talk you through it, but that's just not our Sho!

Alright...back into my cave so I can work on Shoto's First Kiss Part 8!

Happy Holidays, all!

XOXO,

RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

P.S. Here's my Master List! 🔥

[emeryleewho]

I've noticed that people take writing advice way too literally and then get really mad about it, so here's a quick guide of what the typical "bad' writing advice is actually trying to tell you.

[Note: you don't have to take literally any piece of advice. It's just there for your consideration. If you hate it, leave it and do things the way you want. But the reason all of this advice is regurgitated so often is because it has helped a lot of people, so it's okay if it's not for you, but it may still be life changing for someone else.]

Write Every Day

"Write every day" is NOT supposed to be a prescriptivist, unbreakable rule that dictates anyone who doesn't write literally every day isn't a real writer. It's supposed to be a shorthand way of saying "establish a writing routine. Get used to writing at certain times or in certain places or in certain patterns, both so that you can trick yourself into writing even when you don't feel like it by recreating certain conditions, but also because if you only write "when you're in the mood", you may never get around to finishing a project and you likely won't be able to meet publishing deadlines if you decide to pursue publication."

The point of this advice is basically just to get used to seeing writing as part of your daily routine, something that you do regularly. But if you decide you can't write on Tuesdays or weekdays or any day when you have certain other activities, that's literally fine. Just try to make it a habit if you can.

2. Show Don't Tell

"Show don't tell" DOES NOT AND HAS NEVER meant "never state anything plainly and explicitly in the text". Again, "show don't tell" is a shorthand, and its intended message is "things tend to feel a lot more satisfying when your reader is able to come to that conclusion on their own rather than having the information given to them and being told they just have to accept it." It's about giving your reader the pieces to put the puzzle of your book together on their own rather than handing them a finished puzzle and saying "there. take it."

So if you have a character who's very short-tempered, it's typically more satisfying that you "show" them losing their cool a few times so that the reader can draw the conclusion on their own that this character is short-tempered rather than just saying "He was short-tempered". Oftentimes, readers don't want to take what you tell them at face value, so if you just state these sorts of details, readers will push back against that information. People are significantly more likely to believe literally any information they are able to draw conclusions on without being told what to believe, so that's where this advice comes in.

3. In Medias Res

This one is so often misunderstood. "In medias res" or "start in the middle", DOES NOT MEAN to literally start halfway through your plot. It also DOES NOT MEAN that you should start in the middle of an action packed scene. It just means that when you start your story, it should feel like the world and the characters already existed before we started following them. It shouldn't feel like everything was on pause and the world and characters only started acting the moment the story begins.

This is why starting with a character waking up or something similar can feel jarring and slow. We want to feel instantly compelled by your character, and the most efficient way to do that is [typically] to have them already doing something, but that something can be anything from taking a shower to commuting to school to chopping off a dragon head. We just want to feel like the story is already moving by the time we enter.

4. Shitty First Drafts

The idea that you should let your first draft suck and not revise it as you go is a tip presented to combat the struggle a lot of people have with not being able to finish a draft. If you find you've been working on the same first draft for five years and barely gotten anywhere, you might want to try this advice. The point is to just focus on getting to the ending because finishing a draft can give you renewed energy to work on the book and also makes it easier to get feedback from readers and friends.

That said, if your story is flowing fine even as you go back and make edits, then don't worry about this. This is advice specifically designed to target a problem. Likewise, this doesn't mean that you can't clean up typoes when you see them or even make minor edits if you want to. It just means not to let yourself get completely bogged down by making changes that you never move forward.

A "shitty first draft" also doesn't mean that your story has to be completely illegible. It just means that you shouldn't let perfectionism stop you yet. I see a lot of people say "well, I can't keep going until this first part makes sense", and that's totally reasonable! Again, the point of this advice is just to get you out of that rut that keeps you from making progress, but if you spend a couple weeks editing and then move on or you find the book is still making forward strides while you edit, then you're fine. You don't need this.

5. Adverbs

The idea that you "shouldn't use adverbs" DOES NOT MEAN that any time you use an adverb, you're ruining your story. It just means that you shouldn't *rely* on adverbs to carry your story, namely in places where stronger verbs or nouns would do a lot more heavy lifting.

For instance, you can write "she spoke quietly", but generally speaking, that "quietly" there is a lot weaker than just subbing out this clause for "she whispered". You probably have the word "spoke" all over your draft, so subbing out one instance of it here for a stronger verb in place of the same verb + an adverb makes for stronger prose. This doesn't mean that you'll never want to use the phrase "spoke quietly" over the word "whispered". For instance, if I write, "When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, like that was all the volume her weakened lungs could muster." In this case, I'm using "spoke quietly" specifically *because* it echoes the previous spoke earlier in the sentence, and it evokes a certain level of emotion to have that repetition there. I also used it because she's not actually "whispering", but trying to speak at full volume only to come off sounding quiet.

So when people tell you to cut adverbs, they're saying this because people often use adverbs as a crutch to avoid having to seek out stronger verbs. If you're using your adverbs intentionally, having considered stronger verbs but ultimately deciding that this adverb is what does the job properly, then there's nothing wrong with using them. This is just a trick to help you spot one common weakness in prose that a lot of authors don't even realize they have.

6. Write What You Know

This is potentially the single worst-underestood piece of writing advice. "Write what you know" DOES NOT MEAN to write only what you know or that you have to put all of your life's knowledge on the page. It just means that drawing from your own experiences and already there knowledge will help you craft a better story.

So, for instance, being an eye doctor doesn't mean you have to write a story about an eye doctor. It doesn't even mean you need to write a story that directly deals with any eye knowledge. It just means that there are likely things you've experience as an eye doctor that can help inspire or inform your story. Maybe you remember a patient who always wore the same yellow shoes, and so you include a character who does exactly that. Maybe you spent a lot of hours dealing with insurance so you decide to write about insurance agents. Maybe your practice was located next to a grocery store so you decide to write a zombie apocalypse story that takes place in a location inspired by that shopping center.

The point is that, as people, our lived experiences allow us to relate to other people and craft more believable worlds. So don't limit yourself to your lived or experience or feel obligated to only write the things you've done, but when you find yourself wondering what to write about next or how to give a character more depth or how to describe this random location, pull things from your life and let what you already know bring a certain level of unique you-ness to your writing.

And the MOST important advice I can give you is to stop looking at writing advice as some holy, unbreakable rules passed down by the gods that you cannot ever deviate from. And if a piece of advice sounds totally bonkers, do some research on it. There's a good chance that whoever's passing it to you has no idea what they're talking about. But even if every other writer swears by a certain piece of advice, you absolutely do not need to take it. Try it on if you want, and throw it away if you don't, but stop making yourselves miserable by letting random internet people dictate your life. Most people giving advice on the internet aren't where you want to be anyway, so don't expect them to be able to guide you somewhere they've never been.

Everything's made up, and nothing matters. Write what you want.

[irisfixation]

it is generally understood within the adventuring community that some sort of contract should be preemptively made in order to protect oneself from an untimely death.

[original hypnosis fic, second-person narration from perspective of the subject. gender-neutral, little to no sexual content. please read accordingly, and enjoy.]

now, the act of seeking out such a contract, let alone the fact of its normalization, would have been taboo a few decades past. "we don't negotiate with pact-entities", the old elders crow; anti-demon and anti-fae rhetoric was accepted as the norm.

it only took looking at the rate of mortality, the expenditures of the local church, and getting over themselves to at last shake up the in-culture of heroics.

of course, that didn't mean they weren't diligent with their new protocols; information on prospective patrons was inscribed down in ledgers half phone book and half grimoire, noting the terms of agreement, the trustworthiness of pact-entity after pact-entity, any bargain a little too faustian struck through in red.

you'd watch your peers peer through the book, discussing the pros and cons of each. was an unlucky fate too much to pay? were compulsions too obstructive, did the bodily changes contrast too much with one's self-identity?

of course, they all ended up choosing sooner or another. better that than dying young and alone.

it was under this sort of necessity that you went to the house.

-------

it was closer to home than you expected, really - you anticipated some kind of ominous manor on the cliffs, or secluded cabin by the forest's edge, so the three minute walk from the town square came as a welcome surprise. its residence looked the same as any other lodging - you'd no doubt walked past it on your regular commutes countless times without batting an eye.

you knocked, and the door fell open, as if it had been awaiting your arrival; afternoon sunlight bouncing off the gossamer-thin threads adorning the hallway.

make yourself at home, she says. i'll be upstairs when you're ready to talk. you nod and ask if there's any consequences for eating any food or drink. i promise you this; all food i've set out here is yours to eat and drink without consequence comes the reply; perhaps a little verbose from anyone else, but necessary caveats for a pact-entity's trust. you oblige.

with throat wet and stomach sated, you ascend the stairs. the bedroom is small, humble even; you've seen more expensive homes by far from some of your more show-off rivals. more fit for a pauper than the-

"than Her Lady of Marionettes?"

yeah.

"i never cared all too much for the trappings of nobility. i'm satisfied simply living in peace here."

then why the contracts?

"it's mutually beneficial, no? i quench my thirst for control for a time, and you don't meet any horrible, lonely fates. it's no different from any other line of work."

more reasonable than any would-be evil queen you've ever met, let alone one considered an enemy to the hero's guild not so long ago.

"please. i never cared all too much for that arrangement."

she rolls in her bed to face you. despite her role, she looks little different from your sister or partner; eyes still closed, hands still set upon her crosses.

-------

you discuss business. she will string you up, she says; and then, if she were to find yourself in an otherwise fatal scenario, she will pull your body back, mend you, even clear your mind from any hostile entities trying to take it over.

what do each of you get out of this?

"i get to observe the world through your eyes. i get the joy of commanding a body beyond my own. you cede a small, negotiated amount of control, and in return you are freed from tragedy's grasp forevermore."

it sounded like a hell of a better deal than half of the faustian bargains you saw other contract-entities propose.

"if you'd like, we can provide a demonstration here and now. no permanent alterations, and you can back out any time you wish. is that amenable?"

it does indeed sound amenable.

-------

you're sitting by her side on the bed. she's set her crosses down in place of a needle she holds deftly between thumb and forefinger, pinched together like a bee ready to sting. "hold your left arm out, please? we'll begin now."

you do so, and she passes the needle through skin. you feel it travel up across the veins in your wrist, her other hand steadying you in place with the tenderness of lily-petals. your elbow twitches as it passes through; the nerves firing once in shock, but no more. up through bicep, then shoulder; and then out, a release in pressure from within as the needle finally leaves your insides, leaving a trail of silken fibres behind it.

she plucks the taut string left in its wake, and your arm twitches with it, pulled from within. "see? no pain at all."

next is the right arm, then the legs. she flutters around you like a sprite alighting upon forest blossoms, soft fingers and steel-precise nails moving you, adjusting your wrist or shoulders or rotation with studious diligence. the intimacy of being studied and guided like this is almost palpable.

"...and, done." she declares, finishing a line of thread across the shoulders and through the nape of the neck. "well, how is it? comfortable, right?"

"yes, miss", you are made to say; and then, immediately, recall the strings through your upper and lower lip alike, a third running through the seam in your tongue. right. you move your eyes to meet hers; she's smiling brightly, but it's more the naive smile of a child than the former evil queen's smirk you expected. the effect is equal amounts unsettling and genuinely cute.

"well, let's begin." she picks up her crosses again, and with one subtle rotation of a hand's balance, she guides you.

it's easy to follow through. your right arm raises with a poise and natural nature that shocks you, outstretched to one side. she returns her hand to neutral, and your arm falls back once again, more sudden and limp than you were expecting.

("excellent", she says.)

with that first test done, she guides you down the stairs. your eyes are still your own, so some reflexive part of you fidgets as your body glides down each flight of steps; you have no control over if you fall or not. she could throw you down the stairs now, and you'd be helpless; passenger in your own tumbling body.

but she doesn't. your hand remains firmly upon the balustrade, and your every footstep is delivered with care. by the time you reach the landing, your heart may be pounding, but you're just glad to have made it through.

("well done," crows her voice.)

the near-invisible threads all throughout your body continue to urge you forward - sometimes single strings tugging suddenly, but other times shifting in a steady unison, almost imperceptible from your body's natural movements save that no thought of your own guides it. you're in the kitchen, before too long - a rack of dried dishes shows that she, too, has been here recently. your fingers and palm grasp onto each bowl and glass, one by one, filing them away in procedure through the unfamiliar house.

with your body outside of your control, you'd think your mind would wander to idle thoughts; to the birdsong from beyond the window, perhaps, or to thoughts of how your companions are faring in their own attempts to find their own contracts. but all thoughts seem to be silenced by each consequent string's plucking, a resonance within yourself that numbs your brain under its force.

before you know it, the rack of dishes is clear, and you are ascending the stairs again. it's less scary going up, and she knows it; she takes each step faster now, with a fluidity of movement that your legs accept graciously. there is no joint pain, no hesitation - each step is placed with pinpoint precision, each movement following the next.

a puppet's dance, you think; then dismiss the idea just as quickly. you're just here to obtain insurance from danger, not to humor thoughts like that.

she's lying back down on the bed when you arrive - exposing her back to you, vulnerable. but her hands are still outstretched, each one holding those crosses linked to the many strings pulled taut across, within, and around you. "welcome back", she tells you. "i trust it wasn't too uncomfortable?"

"no," you say, "it was fine."

"i'm glad to hear it!" she says, turning to smile at you. "and you took to it so well, too! good doll."

there's something about meeting her eyes as she says those last two words that feels different from everything prior. something deeper, like the strings are mycelial network growing their own nerves to entangle around yours, setting them alight in a microcosm dance, your whole body twitching just subtly as you are affixed within her gaze, burning up from the inside out-

"oh, my apologies. old habits die hard it would seem."

she doesn't gesture you to sit next to her, but your body does so, so you can assume it was her will all the same. she turns to you and explains that the demonstration has concluded; that the act of forming a pact with her is something you can now think of on your own, that you can return to her any time you need and in fact she'll completely understand if she never sees you again. she snips off the strings, one by one, with a pair of ornate scissors - the ones within will dissolve organically, she notes, metabolized by your own body. nothing to worry about.

you're not worrying. you're not thinking much at all, in the aftermath of everything that's happened. but she is patient, and you have all the time you need to recover.

-------

she walks you to the door and waves you out with a flourish. you're reminded of how mundane the house is, and now you can see that same mundanity in the Lady's face; no different from any number of passers-by through the town square.

"safe travels~!" she says, and you walk out the door; your steps faltering just a little as you once more acclimate to control over your own body.

well, for a contract patron, that wasn't so bad. and she seems well-meaning enough. maybe you'll go back there sometime again, you think to yourself, and shrug as you make your way home.