#these complications with your body become all the more concerning because the only way to fix it is to force beneath the mouth

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i am not used to novelty, and i don't think i ever will be; i am used to cold limbs, white eyes, sharp teeth, soft brown sepia, liquid in the taste, the taint is what now fills my blurry eyes, everyone is sclera when the pupils cry (everything is merciful and everything is soft and we are all marshmallow candy on the 31st of the new month expiry is an option not an option but the sell-by-date corroborates strange things whenever we can come across)

[bubblegumgothglados]

This is my RACK focused judgment free primer for heavy impact play. It covers every part of the body from head to toe and at no point does it say you can��t do something just the risks of doing so. I don't normally put warnings on my posts but most of my writing is fantasy, this isn't. I'm going to talk about any number of painful deaths and heaps more ways of becoming disabled.

In this primer "you" means the one doing the hitting, "victim" is the one being hit, and "tool" is the thing you're hitting with which could be a fist, foot, hammer, bat, anything. I'm writing it this way because its fun for me.

This primer also assumes you know the different types of impacts and how they affect the body, if you don't go look at my other writings.

Finally i take no responsibility for anything you do. All this information is what i could put together from medical journals and car crash reports if I've got anything wrong (and you can prove it) please let me know.

Enjoy

Head. With hits to the head, the two major concerns are concussions and neck injuries. A concussion occurs when a person’s brain impacts with the inside of their skull, this happens because the brain is suspended in fluid so if the skull stops or starts moving suddenly the brain will move out of sync with the skull. Symptoms of concussions can include headaches, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, and excessive fatigue. If your victim lost consciousness for any length of time and is having trouble speaking or understanding your words, you need to get them to the ER. There is no cure for a concussion but the best treatment is pain medication and activities that won’t tax the brain to give it time to recover. There are any number of ways to damage a neck, but generally it happens when a person’s neck is moved suddenly and violently or pushed past its limit. Minor injuries should heal by themselves within a few weeks but if unlucky pain and stiffness can last months or even years. For more major injuries, physical therapy or a neck brace might be necessary but only if the pain lasts longer than a few weeks. It’s also possible to hit someone hard enough to break their neck or fracture their skull but that takes a lot of force. All of these injuries can be avoided by supporting your victim’s head and neck by bracing their head against a surface or holding their head with your hand.

Jaw. It takes surprisingly little force to dislocate a jaw, you can do so with a good slap Dislocations are talked about in Note 3 at the bottom of this primer. Heavy bleeding from gums or a tooth that feels loose could indicate a fractured root. This is a fairly minor issue and if you see a dentist quickly they should be able to fix it back in place with no lasting damage. A tooth that has been knocked out completely should survive; get your victim to rinse their mouth out and rinse the tooth off and shove it back into the gap, and then have them see a dentist to make sure it’s properly seated and avoid chewing with it for a while.

Eyes. A fun combination of fragile and complicated. There's no first aid tips I can give you and it'll be real obvious if something is wrong. I will say you don't have to hit someones eye to give them a black eye, it’s bruising around the eye socket that matters. Also check Note 1 about the use of ice when treating injuries.

Nose. It’s more difficult than you think to break a nose. You definitely can with a good punch but you'll have to really commit. A broken nose isn't that serious (I've broken mine twice now) and isn't even ER worthy. If your victim is leaning backwards after breaking their nose the blood will run down the back of their throat potentially making them vomit or very sick. There is a chance a broken nose will heal in a way that restricts breathing in which case your victim may need surgery.

Cheek bone. Below the temple but above the gum line, running from just bellow their ear to their nose. Special mention to this spot because it’s the best place to hit your victim in the head (in my opinion). This piece of bone is very sturdy and not that risky to fracture. Plus, when you hit them here they have to watch it coming.

Neck. The windpipe, jugular, cranial nerves, vagus nerve, carotid arteries, and spine all live here and damage to any of these can cause permanent disability or death. Seek medical attention if your victim has trouble breathing or swallowing, or a lot of pain or swelling. Stingy tools are far less risky here than thuddy tools.

Shoulders. Note 2 on joints. The shoulder blades can either be an ideal impact location or one of the most risky depending on how it’s sitting. If the shoulder blade is jutting out away from the rest of the back, it’s very easy to damage If it’s laying flat against the back, it’s protected by a thick layer of fat and muscle.

Biceps. Top 4 impact location. The main concern is damaging the elbow and shoulder joints, if hitting in a way that will pull on those joints. Much like with the head, bracing the impact area against a surface will minimize the risk. Repeated hits to this area can temporarily disable the arm, which is fun.

Forearm. As above, the main risk is damaging the adjoining joints. There are also several important blood vessels and nerves running through this area and not a lot of fat an muscle to protect them.

Hands. Very little fat or muscle, mostly tendons, nerves, and cartilage. See Note 2 on joints. Special note to the palm, which hurts like hell but is relatively safe because of the extra muscle and fat in that area, great for punishment. Once again, stingy tools are much less risky than thuddy tools.

Breasts/ biceps. Top 4 impact locations. Thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone protect anything vital.

Sternum. That is the bone running down the center of a person’s chest that connects to their ribs. Not in itself very fragile but the cartilage that connects it to the ribs is easily damaged and will take a long time to heal. A fractured sternum will likely cause shortness of breath and pain when taking deep breaths. There's not much to be done about these injuries just rest and avoiding strenuous activity.

Spine. The single most risky impact location. Any damage to the spine risks permanent paralysis of everything below that point. As ever, stingy tools present less risk than thuddy tools.

Rib cage. Designed to protect a person’s most vital organs, the rib cage is very strong. Fractured ribs will cause pain breathing but aren't particularly serious. Snapped ribs can pierce organs If this happens, it'll be immediately obvious and medical intervention is required to prevent painful death. Special note to the 'floating' ribs at the bottom of a persons rib cage which don't connect to the sternum and are therefore much less resilient. Second special note to the spot right above a persons heart. A significantly hard impact at exactly the wrong moment in their cardiac cycle can stop their heart. They will loose consciousness and you will need to give them CPR until they can be defibrillated. This is ridiculously unlikely but better to mention just in case.

Abdomen. If you feel around your victim’s belly, you can figure out the line where their abdominal muscles sit. If you have them tense these muscles, you can hit them fairly hard with relatively little risk because the muscles plus the fat in that area create a thick layer of protection. (Pro tip: "Stay tense or this will might kill you" is not only true but hot and terrifying). Outside of that area or if they don't tense, there's real risk of bruising or even rupturing their intestines, which carries a 50-70% survival rate depending on how quickly you can get them to the ER. Symptoms to look out for are bloating, diarrhea, loss of appetite, and fatigue. Special note to the kidneys, which sit next to the backbone just below the rib cage and are very easily bruised. The primary symptom to look for is blood when peeing. As always, stingy tools carry less risk than thuddy tools.

Gluteus maximus. That's their butt. Hit it as hard as your victim will let you. Enough has been said about this region; I don't feel the need to recover that ground. Note 4 on bruises.

Genitals. I'm not going to get into CBT, that's a separate kink. But the vagina is very durable as it’s pretty much just flesh and fat on the outside Minimal risk, go to town.

Thigh. Top 4 impact location. Outer thigh will hurt more and bruise more. As with the head and arms, the primary risk is damaging the adjoining joints. Note 4 on bruises because this is the primary place for DVT.

Calf. As above. Shins are also a great location for punishment because they hurt like hell.

Feet. Very similar to hands. The soles of a person’s foot are intended to impact with the ground frequently and with some force, so they can take a fair bit of punishment.

Note 1. Ice. It is no longer suggested injury procedure to use ice to reduce swelling. Yes, it is effective at reducing swelling but we now understand swelling is an important part of the healing process and although ice might make it feel and look better in the short term, it actually increases the amount of time the injury will take to heal. You want the blood to be able to flow to the injury to take away dead cells and bring nutrients and energy.

Note 2. Joints. Neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. The reason these are almost always labeled "red" or "no go" on impact play body maps is because these are choke points for blood vessels and nerves; they are made of fragile tendons and cartilage, and they have very little padding for protection. They're also important for movement day to day and very difficult to heal properly. If a joint is damaged, you can buy braces for every joint from most pharmacies.

Note 3. Dislocations. If you're lucky, a partial dislocation will relocate by itself if you move the joint around as you normally would, not forcing it or trying to manipulate it with your hand, just moving it with its own muscles. If it does naturally relocate but you still have pain a few weeks later seek a medical professional. If you're unlucky or if it’s a total dislocation, you will have to see a medical professional. DO NOT TRY TO FORCE IT BACK INTO PLACE!

Note 4. Bruises. Normally, bruises are nothing to worry about but there are situations where a deep bruise can be a health concern. If the bruise continues to get worse after a week, there could be a hematoma under the skin, which is like a blood clot, and might need to be removed. The other possible complication is Deep Vein Thrombosis, which is a blood clot and can be lethal, if not treated quickly. With DVT, the symptoms are tenderness, warmth, and a "pulling sensation" which are pretty normal impact play symptoms. But if you're doing impact play at the level that could cause DVT, then you and your victim should know their healing process intimately, so if something feels off or isn't healing right, get them to a medical professional; better safe than dead.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Comradery

🇺🇸Pairing(s)🇺🇸→ Pre-Serum Steve Rogers x Buff male reader ⚠CW⚠→ Sub top Steve Rogers, dom bottom male reader, anal rimming, Steve worships your body, he tries not to trigger his asthma, size difference, nipple play, breeding kink, and Steve whines from overstimulation. 🇺🇸Rating🇺🇸→ Explicit 🇺🇸Request🇺🇸→ Yes

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸→ 1.5k

🇺🇸Summary🇺🇸→ Steve was depressed after being rejected again by the U.S. Army enlistment. He looked in envy at you, his secret boyfriend. You decided to calm Steve down and alleviate him with sex. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

Steve was depressed after being rejected again. The rejections were chewing away at his sanity. He wanted to join the army desperately so he could be with his boyfriend– friend! He wanted to be with his friend while in service. He was mainly denied due to his numerous health complications. 

You were saddened by Steve’s mood and decided to visit him. You sneaked from the base in the middle of the night. It was risky because you could be caught and given severe consequences, such as being court-martialed for desertion. Only commanding officers can grant someone leave, but you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

It was important not to get caught sneaking or worse– being caught having sex with your boyfriend. The practice was heavily illegal across the country and it could have you kicked out of the military. However, that was the least of your concerns. 

That’s what led to the moment now. 

Steve was breathing raggedly as he looked at the sight before him. You were lying on his bed naked, and all the muscles you accumulated during training showed. Your pectorals were large and soft after all those bench presses, incline presses, and push-ups during the rigid training exercises. 

“They’re huge– In a good way! I like them.” Steve stutters as he tries to hide his embarrassment. He lays next to you, his hand reaching out and groping your pectorals. Your breath hitched as you felt him playing with the muscle. Steve was envious but marveled at the way it felt– it was firm yet soft to the touch. 

Steve continues his ministrations. He began groping both pectorals with his hands before moving down to play with your nipples, pinching the small nubs. “F-fuck, Steve…” you moaned as your cock was pointing upwards from your nipples being played with. The blonde man could feel his clothed cock straining against his pants,

You felt shivers going down your spine as Steve took one of your nipples into his mouth. His slick tongue swirled around the nub, his other hand tweaking the other nipple. Steve began rutting against your muscular thigh and you could feel the blonde-haired man’s erection. Despite the size difference, you being much larger than Steve, Steve had a bigger cock. 

“Please don’t stop.” You whimpered as you started thrusting into the air. Your throbbing cock bobbing as it oozes precum from the slit. Steve grinds as he is the only one who can make you like this. This feeling surged through him as he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his mouth and your nipple. 

Steve was getting hasty as he then buried his head into your neck, sucking and nibbling on the rough skin. His hands returned to pinching and playing with your nipples. He was gently and roughly sucking on your neck. Your moans were music to Steve’s ears as his hands moved further down your chest. 

“You’re so bulky,” Steve says as one of his hands glazes over your chiseled abdominal muscles. He went as far as to knock on your stomach, feeling how rough and hard it felt. You gasped as the blonde-haired man was touching all the right places. His ministrations caused all the stimulation to rush to your brain. 

“H-Hey, calm down. You’re getting too hasty.” You said as you noticed Steve’s breathing was becoming more ragged and you could hear him wheezing. He was so caught up that he didn’t realize he was breathing heavily from going too fast. Steve pulls back as he tries to control his breathing, holding his chest and calming himself down.

“You’re good. Just calm down.” You said as you turned over onto your side with Steve lying on his back. The room was quiet besides the heavy breathing of Steve and your movements as you repositioned to face the blonde-haired man’s pants. 

“Fucking hell…” Steve moans as he restabilizes before looking down to see his pants along with his underwear being pulled off. He groans from the feeling of his aching cock making contact with your cold hands. His eyes roll back as your large and rough hands slowly stroke his cock. 

For someone of Steve’s stature, he had an impressive cock. Looks to be 6.5 inches (16.5 cm) with a good amount of girth. You looked down to see a heavy set of balls, Steve must be pent up. It made sense since you rarely see him due to your military training. 

The blonde-haired man’s chest heaves as he looks to his right, being met with the sight of your muscular ass. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out and touching it. Your buttocks felt similar to your pectorals, firm but soft. 

Steve takes a big gulp of air as he feels your soft mouth wrapped around his cock. His hand squeezes your muscular ass as you sucked on his cock. He starts whining and whimpering from the warm and wet sensation. The blonde-haired man even started thrusting into your mouth, grinning at the sounds of you gagging and wet slobbering.

You change positions again, 69 position. Steve’s big cock in your mouth with your ass in Steve’s face. Steve was shocked momentarily before he grabbed onto your hips and pulled you closer to him. Like the munch, the blonde-haired man is, he began worshipping your ass. You made sure to arch your back to let Steve get more. 

Steve began kneading the flesh of your ass with both hands. As he did that, he began licking stripes against your puckering hole. His wet appendage glides against the tight ring of muscle as he squeezes your fat ass. A trail of saliva coats your crack as Steve completely buries himself between the two mounds. 

The blonde-haired man’s ministrations motivated you to suck him faster, bobbing your head up and down Steve’s large cock and fondling the set of heavy balls. You pulled back with a loud pop, breathing heavily as you looked to see Steve’s throbbing cock coated with saliva. After recovering for a few moments, you went back to deepthroating. 

Both of your sounds were muffled by each other. Steve’s moans and whimpers were muffled by your ass while you were with his cock. You then felt the blonde-haired man wrapping his hand around your cock, stroking it while eating you out. 

Your moans sent a tingling feeling through Steve as his cock responded by gushing copious amounts of precum into your mouth. The blonde-haired man strokes your cock faster, his thumb smearing and lathering your cock with precum. Your balls tightened as it was ready to spurt its load, but you didn’t want that. 

“I want you inside me.” You said without shame in your voice. You repositioned for a final time, now face-to-face with Steve. The blonde-haired man groans as he feels your complete weight on his frail body. Your thick thighs were on both sides of his as you positioned his aching cock at your entrance. 

The room was filled with sounds of moans and groans as you ground yourself on Steve’s large cock. You bite your lips as Steve’s cock pushes to the hilt. The cockhead pressing directly against your prostate. “You feel so good inside me…” you moan, there were a few minutes of silence as you waited for Steve to control his breathing.

After a few minutes, you started moving. Bouncing on Steve’s cock, the sounds of skin-slapping echoed through the room. It has been forever since Steve has been inside you, the warmth and tightness of your ass hugging his cock was too much.

Steve lets out a loud groan as his balls tighten before spurting thick loads of cum into your ass. You were shocked and surprised by how much cum was flooding inside. It feels hot and thick as it paints your velvety walls. “S-sorry for cumming early…” Steve said as he was embarrassed for cumming early. 

“It's okay, baby,” you said, collapsing beside Steve and stroking your cock. It didn’t take long before your load spurted on your muscular chest. Breathing was heavy between you two, the room smelt like sweat, musk, and sex. You could feel Steve’s hot thick cum oozing out your hole.

“I love you, Steve.”... “I love you too.”

XXX

Steve woke up to you no longer being beside him. You returned to the base before he woke up. He sighs before falling back asleep. ‘Curse this… curse my fucking life.’ He had to get up though since he was going to the Stark Expo with Bucky later in the day. 

This one decision would change everything for him. 

THE END

A/n: Hello, my strawberries! I hope this was good! I need to watch the Marvel movies so I can better understand. Does this fic follow the timeline of the MCU? Probably not. Will there be a part two? I dont know…

Anyways, very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethgaywitch

TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @meyocoko @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation

[t-a-a-1]

WAIT OK SO IK IT WAS ANGSTY BUT IMAGINE THE COMEDY. OPTIMUS WOULD PROBABLY BE IN AWE OF READER FOR THE PREGNANCY.

Things that humans have evolved and adapted to would fascinate and terrify this poor bot. He’d be so confused and concerned.

Optimus: The baby grows inside of you…where, exactly?

Reader: My uterus. It’s made to stretch and expand to accommodate the baby. When they’re born though, there’s going to be a wound inside that’s about the side of a plate.

Optimus:….wound…?

Or like an epidural! What you mentioned before.

Optimus: Will there be pain?

Reader; oh, definitely. But there’s this medicine that they can inject into my spine to make sure I don’t feel the pain. I’ll feel the pressure though.

Optimus: t-they inject medicine? Into your spine? How big is the needle?

Reader: Probably the length of your finger. It’ll have to stay there the entire time I’m in labor though.

Optimus: **FAINTS**

LIKE??? Optimus is just learning all of this and his human, the love of his entire existence, is like “yea I’m scared because of the alien hybrid thing. But humans have been doing this since they came into existence.”

Primus help him if he finds out that reader can develop chronic conditions after the birth. Like reader becoming Allergic to their own skin or developing an autoimmune disease. (It does happen!)

Optimus: y-your body can just turn against you? Because of this?

Reader: Yea, it happens. It’s more common than people think.

Optimus:….i need to speak to Ratchet….

He’s so concerned but also so amazed that humanity has survived as long as they have. This sounds like an evolutionary nightmare for him. Poor Ratchet is going to be hearing about this.

Optimus: After the sparkling is born. Their brain can just…stop working, Ratchet. Their immune system can just turn and attack itself. They will have a wound the size of my hand inside them, ratchet! And this planet expects them to only have 8 weeks to rest! What the fuck is humanity??? How have they survived this long??

Ratchet: ….please go recharge, Prime.

Optimus would probably look at birth-procedure videos and would totally faint.

Not only that but I think Optimus would be EXTRA EXTRA cautious about everything.

Then, he would ask Ratchet if there's less painful ways for you to give birth.

And Ratchet jokingly says: "Well, next time, what if you get sparked instead?

Optimus: .... hold up.

I have the head-canon that getting sparked is at random. First its you (the sparkling having more human-like-features) and then its Optimus (sparkling having more cybertronian features) BUT the comedy aspects starts when the one who's not preggos is the one who gets all the symptoms.

Like if you are the pregnant one then Optimus would be the one to have back pains, throwing up, feeling nauseous, cravings and even get emotional.

Optimus: Look at me, I let myself go ... I've become bigger.

You: You are fine OP. It's me who's gonna get bigger once the baby starts to grow inside of me.

Optimus: That's what everyone says but when you least expect it, you'll leave me for a new-model bot.

You: ... What?

OP: Don't say you won't, I see the way you look at new cars.

I see Optimus being the one to take classes for first time parents and even start writing a book: 'The Journey of The First Cybertronian-Human Sparkling: A Guide For Interspecies Parents."

If he is the one carrying the Sparkling then you get all the symptoms. Although he feels bad for you, he is assured you at least won't have to deal with the complications of childbirth. For your safety, he very much prefers to be sparked up by you<3

Thanks for the ask anon!

[fukashiin]

ACEYUU WOKE ME FROM THE DEAD

book 7 spoilers <3 very long rant im sorry!!

it was never meant to be this way. when he was such an ass to us in the prologue, when he laid those pesky remarks upon us and immediately assuming that we got into NRC as a janitor because we weren't good enough without any prior knowledge of how we were brought here against our will and having to adapt to such an unfamiliar environment where everything - trends, names, history, and even the currency - were different. he didn't know about the throbbing headache we had while the headmage was explaining the school's curriculum and suddenly bringing up the word "magic" into the conversation like it was foreign language.

he thinks he's above us just because we're a clueless student who couldnt cast any spells and took up the miserable job just for the sake of money and to live. he had this one-way "not my problem!!" mindset about us that he dipped the moment after because he never would have suspected that we would grow to be something more important, something more irreplaceable in his life.

he never meant to test the waters, and he's drowning by mistake.

his concern for you gets more obvious as each book advances (or was it always obvious??). you're just an otherworlder oblivious to the dangers that lurk in twisted wonderland, so it's only casual for him to fret about when you've been taken into scarabia with minimal escape routes, to be the first one to notice that you were missing among the entourage of people that have been kidnapped, to be the only one to point out that you weren't in the best condition AND suggesting to bring you back home in case the party was all too much. he knows how vulnerable you are, and he jumps into action as quick as possible because that's basically his brand. nothing deeper!!! (unknown dangers lurk around you on the daily, but you lurk in his mind so much more than he lets on. you're probably more used to the dangers of magic than he's used to the thought of you occupying his mind 24/7. isnt that ironic)

and he didn't consider the complications of how dangerous it could be for the headmage to send us back to our original world, possibly damaging the very fabrics of time and space and ceasing to exist while transporting - he just instantly goes to the part where the news was positive and that we could travel between Twisted Wonderland and earth in one piece, blocking out his surroundings just to see your smile, as that was possibly the happiest you could have ever been in front of him.

imagine each time he hangs out with someone new, or if someone has gained a romantic interest in him once you've left, he tries to find a part of "you" in them in his peripheral vision. whether they have an ounce of bravery that you had, whether they're as understanding as you are to know that he isn't just a human built of jokes and pranks, whether they won't doubt him like the rest did - as you were the only one who truly believed in his capability to truly lead the rest out of danger.

he could beg for other people to believe in him, to see that his skills could draw out much more if he really wanted to, but he didn't have to do that with you. in a flashing moment of possible failure, he turned to you in a heartbeat, uncharacteristically, desperately calling out for you to save him because he had no idea what was happening. he almost started to lose himself and quickly realises that the power he was wielding so suddenly wasn't some lousy spell, that it could possibly cause someone's life, and you were there to steady him when he needed it the most. a rarity of a scene he entrusted his entire body to you with. you believed in him. you ARE the betterment of him.

you held his hand like a vow, to protect each other and strengthen through every obstacle and turmoil that drives you one step closer to becoming a better version of yourself. your hand, tightly coiled around his, radiated the warmth and comfort he needed in his times of darkness and inner conflict.

it should've been you. you're perfect.

and that's why his dream still has you in it. it doesn't have to be one way or the other, you can simply go back and forth to his world and your own in just a snap! he could never dream of you leaving his sight and grasp, hindering him from ever telling you how much you actually meant. he has all the time in the world.

and that's what he wants, but his heart says otherwise, and that's fine. he just wants you to be safe and see him for who he is. you inspired him to take pride in his name, as an ace can do anything!!

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Stanford Pines & Borrower!GN!Reader

[PLATONIC] Borrowers are really tiny humans who "borrow" items and food! requested,,, am so sorry if this isn't what u expected 😔

Ford's toothbrush is missing.

In fact, many of his things have gone missing for the past few days. Did Bill possess his body again and decide to prank him?

His eyes catch color behind the toilet. Ah, there's his toothbrush. It must have fallen off.

When he picked it up, it was much heavier than usual. Of course, anything else could've been a reasonable explanation and not some tiny human holding onto the toothbrush for their dear life.

Ford doesn't let you escape, immediately bringing you to his office. You spit out profanities on the way, banging your fists on his fingers.

"Fascinating," he mutters, moving your limbs around. "You're just a tiny human."

"They call us borrowers," you say as you keep avoiding his hands. You notice something. "You have six fingers. Did giants always have that? Never noticed."

He suddenly feels smaller than you. "Not usually."

Ford learned that you actually lived under his floorboards. He had to compromise with you so that you would stop stealing his stuff.

"Roommates?" you tilt your head. "As long as you don't kill me, I guess. And I said I was going to return it!"

He doesn't believe you. He hums, scratching his chin. "Your species must have been hit by the light of height-altering crystals. I'm guessing the way your people survive is by stealing from others."

"Borrowing."

He gave you all sorts of delicious food. Well, they're mostly store-bought, but it's better than anything you've gotten before.

Not to mention his stuff. He had way more than what you were expecting. All the more to decorate your house and expand your collections! He's generous; you'll give him that...

There's something you can't shake off though. Ford's a weirdo if anything.

Bill Cipher knows about you. But he doesn't really care because you're just like any other creature that Ford has gotten. He'll only intervene if you manage to distract Ford from the portal.

So it's a good thing you're doing the opposite. You're actually helping in your own little ways, such as bringing him pen and paper.

Sitting on Ford's shoulder, you keep yapping about rats eating your house. He doesn't mind the noise, albeit he's not really listening, but it's so much better than silence.

He has fallen asleep. You grab the blanket from a nearby table and drape it over his body the best you can. This man does more work than your entire lifespan; it's so concerning.

"You don't want to try becoming a full-sized human? Why not?" Ford asks sincerely, almost concerned. You becoming not tiny is what you were supposed to be.

"Me? Turning into your size?" you make a disturbed face, "no thanks. I feel like my life would be more complicated. You're taking care of me, and that's enough."

He smiles. "Interesting."

Once again, you find him asleep on the desk. You search for a good spot next to his arm and curl up to his warmth, closing your eyes and drifting to sleep.

...You wake up to relentless movement. Looking up, you meet Ford's crazed, hectic eyes.

"You," he exhales, his voice sounding different. "Not here to steal my eyes, are you?"

Without warning, he grabs your body. You tremble. "Bill didn't tell you to, right? You're the perfect size to scoop out someone's eye..."

"Ford—" A bright flashlight shines on your eyes.

He forces one eye open. A few seconds pass. "You're, ah, clear. I'm so sorry."

The human finally lets you go. "What the hell was that?! Are you okay??"

"There's something dangerous here," he winces as he goes around the room, locking all possible entrances. "We have to stop everything we've ever worked for! What I worked for!"

He walks over to you, a smile curling on his lips. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, little borrower. Won't let him lay a single finger on you."

Before you could even blink, you're pushed inside something. You quickly run to the front, holding the bars that kept you away from escaping. "Wait, let me go! You're being crazy!"

"I know this seems bad, but it's only temporary," he replies, locking your cage. "Not until I finish the protection around the house. I'll have to call Stan..."

yes he has cages.... he caged shmebulock 😭

gotta thank @shabbyshoebox for this treasure (tell me if u wanna be untagged!)

[sttoru]

♯ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

love: |luv| - n. 1. an intense affection for another person based on familial or personal ties; 2. a deep tenderness, affection and concern felt for a person with whom one has a relationship with. featuring . . . toji fushiguro x fem!reader.

02.34AM. . . toji grumbles some profanity under his breath as he walks into your bedroom, only to find you already asleep, hugging your plushies — one between your knees, the other held tightly to your chest.

“hah. ain’t ya the one that said you’d stay up f’me?” the assassin whispers towards no one in particular. he removes his black shirt and disregards it on the floor with a low grunt — letting his sweaty skin breathe after the job he completed.

toji walks towards your side of the bed and hovers over your body that was curled up on the covers. you seemed to have fallen asleep without it being your intention, he guesses by the fact that you weren’t under the covers despite it being chilly.

and by the sight of your phone on the carpet beneath you. probably slipped from your hand.

“. . . y’re weird.”

the words spill from his lips in a quiet whisper. toji just cannot fathom it; why would you go through such lengths to stay up and await his return? you were clearly tired and yet still tried your best to keep awake to greet him — only for your exhaustion to catch up on you.

it’s the intention that counts, of course, but why?

toji crouches down next to the bed, now at eye level with you. his callused thumb brushes against your cheekbone, though his soft touch fades as fast as it could be felt.

‘why?’ the question echoes through his head again. toji sighs in frustration. he couldn’t come up with an answer to the many questions forming in his head.

he never had someone do this for him willingly. hell, the man never had someone love him so unconditionally. he still doesn’t know why you do.

he’s always considered himself a horrible person — one that didn’t deserve an ounce of love. nor one that could ever be pictured in a romantic relationship.

and yet there you were. accepting toji as he was, not caring about his occupation nor his distant personality and the fact that he didn’t know how to love properly.

toji wishes he could understand his feelings better. he knows he has an undeniable attraction to you — the way you laugh, the way you carry yourself, the way you seem so. . . confident in showing your affection to him and the others around you — it was intriguing. it’s like you have it all figured out; even though he was the older one in your relationship and he hasn’t

“tch, this shit ‘s too complicated — it’s makin’ my head burst.” toji, once again, complains out loud to no one in particular. his finger flicks against your forehead ever so gently in response to his internal frustrations. his piercing eyes take in the sight of you — the sight of you being so vulnerable.

that’s one more thing toji didn’t understand; why you were so trusting of him when you knew of his job. weren’t you scared of him? weren’t you scared of the possibility of him harming you in your sleep?

maybe he was projecting. toji is a light sleeper. always has been. he doesn’t like being asleep, because it meant he was an easy target for any who intended to harm him.

it took him a few months into your relationship to be able to trust you fully — to take a nap whenever you’re around. he was slowly yet surely healing and you were becoming his safe space. which he didn’t actually think he’d ever have in his harsh life.

toji eventually finds himself sitting down on the floor, wanting to live this moment a bit longer. his rough hand finds yours and he gently grazes your skin with his. his head lands on the mattress, his eyes closing as his brain decides that it was probably okay when you were the only one around;

that it was okay to rest. that it was okay to be vulnerable. that it was okay to be himself. that it was okay to receive affection. that it was okay to be weak. that it was okay to heal.

that it was okay. . . to love.

[scribe-of-hael]

The complicated life of Starscream

Tw: mentioned of Abuse/abusive Realtionships

I think whats interesting is the dynamic that Starscream has with Megatron in some ways. Because seems like no matter WHAT Starscream does. Being helpful ,loyal, or being backstabbing and sneaky.

Megatron finds a way to abuse him. That comes back around to the idea of , "No matter what you do, your abuser will never be happy and find new ways to be upset at you."

This is shown pretty well in TFP. Where Starscream trys to break free, be on his own. He struggles, even looses his Tcog in the process but he is a problem to everyone. The switch between his loyalty form s2 to s3 is a bit drastic. He is, very clearly, trying to do what Megatron asks of him and never once trys to go behind his back again.

Yet, even for a simple mistake, he is beaten. Megatron is completely incapable of trusting Starscream fully (reasonable) but Starscream is never going to be able to please Megatron fully either. Megatron doesn't know how eles to communicate with Starscream that isn't violent because that's how he responses, to violence and fear.

Starscream isn't perfect in TFP, he's killed Bots (as he told us repeatedly about Cliff jumper) , but everyone was someone before the war. I always wondered what he was like?

That and the fact Starscream mimics Megatron's abusive behavior in order to try and get respect. He HITS people , somtimes with little reason. He shoves and even belittled those who have actively tried to help him and show him concern (Knockout). Somtimes it works, most times it doesn't. He knows fear and violence works on him, why wouldn't it work in others ?

It's kinda a real thing, a friend who has these problems , basically puffing out their chest and bullying people close to them in order to get a sense of power and control that they normally don't have.

It comes down to Control and Safety.

Alot of times, in IDW Starscream does become a leader of Cybertron but almost always finds a way to sabotage himself. Why? He's traumatized. Conditioned to think he can not be anymore than what he was, what Megatron thought he was and what ppl think he is.

Bumblebee even calls this out, and in a fit of emotion, Starscream says its because he is Alone. No one is there to protect or vouche for him. (Which isn't fully true but that's his reality, how he sees it)

In order to keep himself safe, Starscream has defense mechanisms and coping strategies that are built to protect himself. He lies, he backstabs, he starts shit, he is combative even verbally when he doesn't even need to be. These strategies that were once used to help him, now make life difficult when ppl are trying to be there for him. Pushing people away, trying to give the illusion of control and dominance.

Rounding back to TFP, there was a theory i saw, (I think so, but in pretty sure I'm not the only one who thought of this anyway) that in RID, Starscream puts back in his old armor or parts of his frame from before.

My theory was that Starscream in TFP looks alot like Megatron in terms of color. Why go from a blue, white and red color to grey ? And was the armor even off him in the first place ?

My theory is Megatron purposely stripped him of parts of his own body, to make him both smaller and physically more vulnerable. Being a good representation of an Abuser stripping away who a person is, will all is left is the then vulnerable and under their control.

To add intop of it, in s3, its clear Starscream is loyal. The bot trys to go get Megatron or attack the autobots for killing him. Shockwave has to DRAG him away. In the movie, he STILL flinches at Megatron's movement towards him depsite him saying he "now knows what oppression is". FLYS AWAY & LEAVES HIM BEHIND.

This Starscream still has Decpeticon values, has only ever served Megatron for Millions of years, is still clearly afraid of his abuser and atm purpose to keep going. And he just LEAVES. Leaving Starscream to pick himself of being confused, scared and no idea what to do i'm sure.

Not to mention Megatron never once got anything done to him for all the pain and suffering he ever cause ld. He basically got off scotch free. Which to me, reflects the injustice some ppl feel and get when an abuser just leaves you in the mess THEY made and you get NOTHING from it. No justice, no recompense, no apology. You have to figure out how to BE without them.

Point is that Starscream is a complicated character in media. Different versions to show case this behavior. What i hope to see in the future, what I pray for, is seeing Starscream not only be able to break free of this cycle. But become more than what he thinks he is, what anyone thinks he is.

[hyunjinsjeans]

Baby Brain (Seungmin x Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: Seungmin has to suffer with his pabo members… and now also his pabo wife.

Type: Fluff 🧸, SFW 

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, proofreading to a minimum (it’s my thing, I’m sorry)

Word count: 2569

AN: This fic is a part 2 to Seungmin’s version of the He Knows Series. It can also be read as a stand alone. I took my precious time with this one because I guess my period played games with me and the first versions were angsty af… And that was not the vibe I wanted for my man Kim Seungmin. I think I finally got it, and also huge spoiler for Hyunjin’s part 2 (which is posted too!)

Seungmin sighed as he let Choon-Hee paint his toenails pink and yellow. 

He was really working on his patience lately. You sat across from him on the carpet in the living room while Nari “did” your hair. 

The Hwang twins, or “dumpling girls” (as the boys called them), were happy to spend the afternoon with you and your husband. A little break for their parents to be able to go on a date alone, and a good practice for what was about to come for you.

“Ready!” 

Nari walked around you with a bright smile on her face as she saw the long braid she managed to make with your silky hair. 

“Already? Wow!” You smiled and reached for the hand mirror to see her work. “You did so good, Nari! Look, Minnie!”

He looked up at you, for a second his sight leaving Choon-Hee to find you. Initially, he did not like the idea of babysitting a set of three year old twins, but these two girls were pretty easy to manage and to please. 

“Woah!” He pretended to be stunned. 

In a way he was… Your hair, although maintaining its pregnancy glow and thickness, looked a lot like a bird’s nest. A true 3-year-old masterpiece. 

You giggled, you knew it was a horrible mess with tangles and odd twists… but you enjoyed indulging the little ones. 

Seungmin was able to see it; your motherly instincts were beginning to take over slowly. As the months began passing and your pregnancy became more evident, so did the signs of your body and mind getting ready become more evident as well. 

From the baby bump that grew in a slow but steady manner, to the way you began fixing and arranging things at home, making sure the nursery was ready, preparing spaces for the baby and worrying more and more about Seungmin too. 

Your husband only agreed to babysit for Hyunjin because you had already agreed to babysit for Hyunjin!Reader.

The afternoon went by in a blur as you sat with the girls to play and watch cartoons, Seungmin had to be the most responsible adult at home, seeing as your baby bump had begun to keep you from being too active. 

He prepared snacks and handed each of the girls (you included) a small bowl with crackers and baby carrots. 

“Thank you!” You and the twins said in unison, much to Seungmin’s amusement. 

At that point your husband realized he was now watching three girls. Poor Seungmin spent the rest of the afternoon watching you too. Keeping you safe while you decide to do little little somersaults with the girls on the living room carpet. 

The truth was that you had a lot of time on your hands lately. Since you found out for sure that you were pregnant thanks to the lab test, you have been a cause of concern for your husband… With all the pregnancy symptoms and the planning for the nursery, you decided to give in to Seungmin’s request of taking things slow. You reduced your hours at the hospital; working only part time. It was supposed to be like that until you went on leave but as things rarely ever go as planned you ended up developing some complications during the second trimester. Doctor’s best advice? Rest. And so you rested; you talked to your boss and you took time off from work. Now you are at home full time, spending most of your time reading medical journals or parenting books. Shopping online for what might be necessary for your little boy once he was born. 

Most of all, what you did during your free time was visit Seungmin and the boys during their dance practice and rehearsals. They would be dancing and you would sit with Han!Reader and both would marvel at everything and anything her small Haerin would do. Sometimes Hyunjin!Reader would be there too, her girls already went to kindergarten so she would have the morning’s to herself either to work or run errands. 

For your husband’s delight, anytime you and Hyunjin!Reader got together, it meant he would have to keep an eye on you. Even without her, the second you began joking with Lee Know and Hyunjin it was bad news for him.

You did not know it, or maybe you had heard it at some point… but you were considered by the boys as an honorary member of paboracha. You would dance with the boys, attempting to follow their dance moves but most of the time you would get tangled up and trip. Now you were pregnant and almost at the end of your second trimester, your brain was just not in it with you. 

Seungmin found you looking for your glasses while you were already wearing them, or looking for your phone while you were on a phonecall. He would see you trying so hard to understand the instructions on a youtube video while trying to knit something for your baby… and he would find a tangle of yarn on the sofa most nights, a clear sign that you gave up that day. He loved to see you cook, but nowadays it is also a struggle that gives him a heart attack every time. You do not seem to think much about what you are doing lately, and it shows in how you burned the toaster when you wanted to turn it on one day, for some reason you put it on the stove and turned on the stove instead… So for the last few weeks the stove and the dangerous appliances are off limits for you. 

Seungmin enjoys the quiet tranquility that putting the girls to sleep brings to your home. Finally, after several hours of chasing the toddlers around and keeping his eye on you, the girls got tired and accepted a glass of warm chocolate milk. You held Choon-Hee and he held Nari, each one held onto their favorite blanket and finished the milk from their sippy cups before falling asleep. 

“It’s like they’re drunk on milk,” Seungmin whispered, not wanting to disturb the sensitive girls. 

“Mhm…” You smiled, holding Choon-Hee close to your chest, effectively creating a perfect warmth cocoon for the little girl. 

If there was any difference Seungmin could notice from you in the last few months, besides the obvious physical changes that came with the whole “creating new life” aspect of things; it was that you were more tender. You kissed him goodnight and you touched his cheek in such a way that he could not help but feel his heart swell up with tenderness. You were also more drawn to children in a way you were not before. To Seungmin you were a sweet person, someone kind with no fear of showing their emotions. Now it seemed you were ten times that sensitive, he had to be more careful about his choice of words and the way he behaved - a single eye roll from him during your second trimester brought you to tears one afternoon and if he had to be honest, he was deeply ashamed of it.

He watched you holding Choon-Hee and he fixed his hold on Nari. He was guilty of not having the same change as you, he could not yet feel that tenderness for a little human made of half you and half himself. He was unable to wrap his head around the concept of loving the growing human in your womb. He was assured by his older members that what he saw you already feeling for your baby would come to him naturally as well. That it would happen when the time was right.

“Let me get these two to sleep…” 

He got up from the couch and fixed Nari in his arms, the girl already used to Uncle Seeungmin’s firm grasp, turned and held onto his neck while resting her cheek on his shoulder. Nari was the sweetest of the two, the quiet one. She enjoyed attention a lot less than her sister, but she was also the one who needed the most assurance. Seungmin brought her to their room, placing her on their bed with a blanket turned into a roll at the edge of it, helping her stay safely on the mattress without rolling off of it. 

When he came back to get Choon-Hee, he found you also sleeping. Your hold on the girl was weak and gentle- The youngest of the twins was the most trouble maker; but sleepy as she was, Seungmin managed to pull her from your arms and take her to sleep next to her sister. 

You felt Seungmin pull your legs up as he helped you find a comfortable position on the couch, getting you to rest with a soft blanket over your. He got to read for a little bit while you slept and the night set in. Hyunjin and his wife showed up almost thirty minutes later to get their twins. They looked happy and disheveled, but neither you nor Seungmin commented on it. You barely noticed, and Seungmin was making a mental note to tease his group member during rehearsals the following week… 

“They must have tired themselves out…” You told Hyunjin!Reader while Hyunjin and Seungmin carefully put the twins in their double stroller. 

“Oh, they didn’t give you trouble, did they?” Hyunjin!Reader offered you an apologetic smile, “We just needed some time for ourselves… and when you offered… I didn’t even think of warning you!” 

You laughed softly, aware that you needed to keep your voice down. 

“Don’t worry!” You squeezed your friend’s arm, “they were perfect… they’re such good girls! Right, Minnie? We had so much fun!”

Seungmin looked up at Hyunjin as he helped him cover the stroller with a blanket, Hyunjin looked amused as he saw the look on his friend’s face. 

“Did you?” Hyunjin asked him quietly, his doubt evident.

While Seungmin was not bad with children at all, he rarely ever offered to babysit for his friends. Most of the time it was you who offered. 

“As the only responsible adult in the house? Yeah, I guess it wasn’t that bad…” Seungmin sighed.

Hyunjin smiled up at you, assuming you had not heard him. “Did you really have fun?”

You nodded, smiling widely. “Yes! And it was great practice for us, Seungmin just needs to brush up on his playtime, but I would say he is ready!” You winked at your husband, obviously trying to tease him.

Seungmin grinned, mentally forcing himself to not roll his eyes, “yeah, maybe…but I’ve got nap time down!”

You blushed and looked back at Hyunjin!Reader, “I fell asleep too… I think I got carried away playing with them earlier” 

“Please come visit and get carried away playing anytime…” Hyunjin commented, “they don’t ever seem to run out of energy at home, even if one does, there is still the other…” 

Hyunjin!Reader nodded. “We’re signing up for dance lessons, they need to get that energy out somehow…”

You smiled “Oh, they’re gonna be so cute! What are you thinking, baby ballet?” 

Both parents nodded, “it’s that or taekwondo… but I don’t want them fighting so they’ll get tutus.” 

Seungmin chuckled, “yeah… that’s gonna keep them from fighting…” 

Hyunjin gave him a look before speaking: “Anyway, thanks for babysitting, we really needed the time off.” 

You nodded too and smiled at your friend, “oh, don’t mention it! We are happy to help, you’re basically family…” 

Seungmin agreed with that and said goodbye to Hyunjin before going to the door with them. 

You were alone at last, after spending most of the day running around preparing for the twins and then watching them and keeping them entertained the only thing you wanted to do was to get changed and go to bed. 

“Minnie, did you really not have fun?” You asked him as you grabbed his arm and leaned onto his side.

He sighed, “I did… it’s just… you’re so hard to keep up with. You need to take care of yourself, you know? I can’t be the only one taking care of you and the baby…”

“Oh…” You pursed your lips, letting out a small laugh, “I just… feel so restless, you know?” 

Seungmin nodded as you walked through the house and into your bedroom. 

“What do you mean?”

You sighed and explained, “well, I… I think I have a baaad case of this thing… uhm ‘baby brain’.” 

Seungmin looked a little defeated. You always managed to be the last person to get the memo it seemed. He felt somewhat amused and incredulous but he allowed you to elaborate. 

“I feel like I forget things and I do things that don’t really make sense, Minnie…” You frowned, “And I just can’t figure out how to make a stupid blanket!” 

He chuckled at your comment about the knitting project, he was already aware you were struggling with that but he knew better than to say anything, not wanting to hurt your extra-sensitive feelings. 

“It’s okay, Y/N…” He reassured you, rubbing small circles on your back. “Your body is working really hard to make a baby. I guess it’s normal that your mind is busy…”

You looked up at him and smiled, “you’re so good to me…” You wrapped your arms around his waist and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, a small smile appearing on his face. “I know you must be so frustrated with me… and you still cope so well.” 

Your husband kissed the top of your head, “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, Y/N. Only my wife gets my patience.”

“Only me? How about Eun-Jae?” You looked up at him, testing out the name you picked for your baby a few days ago. 

Seungmin smiled and looked down at you nodding. Watching the way you stare at him so lovingly he could not help but feel like there is a weight to the name you chose. He put his hand on your belly, rubbing it slowly. He felt some movement under his hand and his eyes widened in surprise, turning to you quickly. 

“Hm, he’s moving a lot today. Did you feel that?” 

You stared at him with curiosity, Seungmin had yet to experience the feeling of your baby moving in your belly. 

He nodded, dumbfounded. “He… moved?” 

With a gleeful smile you nodded and pulled his hand over your stomach so he could feel it again, where your baby seemed to be kicking. 

“I like to think he’s happy when he kicks like this, he is so strong already…” 

“Eun-Jae?” Seungmin asked quietly. 

It was true what his members said. That love for his son would come one day and hit him suddenly. And it happened right then, after a busy day while preparing to go to sleep. He watched your stomach with renewed wonder and love, and you touched his cheek softly before kissing it. 

“Oh, our baby boy is so lucky to have such a loving, patient dad…” 

You went to push your glasses up on the bridge of your nose and almost stuck a finger into your eye. Seungmin sighed and chuckled as he turned his attention back to your face, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Pabo, you’re not wearing your glasses today… you put on your contacts this morning…” 

“Right…” 

--------

Likes, Reblogs and Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading!

[sukunasweetheart]

the urge to throw trueform sukuna into the shoujo manga genre....

(fem!reader, sexual undertones towards the end)

it would be so funny yet so beautiful...i also think he would look so great in that flowery, feminine kind of artstyle <3-

in terms of cliche shoujo love interest, he's a lonely immortal god who is against everything that supports the notion of love... until he experiences what true love is like, for himself. you're his little servant toy that he mingles with for some time, until he realises something's wrong with his heart...

i love him for what he is, but wouldnt it also be lovely to see him in a softhearted story?? the almighty and powerful, but grows weak in the knees all because of one woman!

one day, imagine if he, the most renowned selfish man, with complete disregard for others, who had always valued himself vastly more than anyone else, comes to a point where he sees you in the way of an unstoppable attack from the wrath of an enemy, and rushes in to tank the would-have-been-fatal strike in your stead...

it happened in an instant. he didnt even realise he was moving until he had already been hit. he's bleeding for the first time in a thousand years. he's hit, and it should hurt, it should feel unpleasant, because he certainly wasnt planning to be hit, nor did he engage in this fight for his own pleasure, but for your protection.

yet, he feels relieved. you're tucked behind him safely, looking up at him with worried eyes, and he feels relieved, all because a weakling like you is alive.

after he sends you away to uraume (who gives you the stink eye), he promptly kills the opponent but becomes a little weakened temporarily afterwards as a result of the powerful attack

he's absolutely grumpy about having to be bedridden for a few days for recovery, often stares down at you with unreadable eyes, like he's in deep contemplation about his own feelings

oh fuck me, he thinks, when he finds himself wanting to comfort you as you're in tears over him, even though he's the one that's hurt.

its a confusing sensation, feeling like shit but also not hating everything about being in the centre of your concerns. look at you, feeling so guilty, so worried sick, fussing over him. as you should. he mulls over the incident where he uncharacteristically jumped in to protect you... but he's not one to over complicate things for too long. he'll just continue to do as he pleases, just like before. and if that involves showing you some affection, kissing you, holding your hand, shielding you from his woes... then so be it. if he's the strongest, if he's a god, shouldn't he also be able to save such a frail thing as you?

he orders for your presence in his bed to keep him entertained, but he doesn't even say a word when you're there laying next to him, he's only just staring at you and giving curt touches, like your body is a plaything to him. maybe palms your thighs and breasts, but it doesn't feel sexual at all.

"it's not so bad, having you in my debt," he suddenly says, as sukuna plays around with a lock of your hair. these new feelings he harbors, intrigues him just as much as they irritate him.

"i do owe you my life..." you tell him in response.

"so you're aware. and? what will you do about it?" he asks you.

"i'm not sure, my lord... what would you like me to do?"

"how sly of you, turning the question back onto me."

he thinks about it for a moment.

"well, i suppose there's nothing you could offer me but yourself," he says as he slowly undoes your robe, the other free hand grabbing your face.

"...and your everlasting devotion, to me."

as he's about to sit up to continue, your tiny hand pushes against his chest in resistance.

"you mustn't exert yourself, your wounds are still healing, my lord," you protest, much to his annoyance.

"cease your fretting. movement of this degree isn't enough to hurt me," sukuna sighs, grabbing your wrist and pinning it down against the sheets.

"i... i can do the moving," you tell him with determination, which earns you can amused smile.

"...oh? now that's certainly worth considering," he says, slowly letting go of you.

you carefully get up to straddle the larger man, sitting yourself down on his hips.

"alright then, my brave little devotee. entrance me."

and you do just that for him, all throughout the night. (it wasn't the first time, and it certainly wont be the last)

sukuna learns all about how some fragile things are worth keeping around.

at first, the relationship revolves solely around his own pleasure and satisfaction. but as the ice begins to melt, he sinks into a trap in which he's seeking more and more to keep your own happiness and your beautiful smile in place. he begins to hurt when you're hurting. it was exactly as he feared - his life becoming molded around one singular person who's somehow crawled their way into his heart-- his heart that should've been sealed tight.

at times, when his teasing goes too far, and your bright expressions dissolve into sorrow, his own mood drops considerably and there comes seeping in a crushing feeling in his chest.

he lifts your face up by the chin and says; "i'm only joking. don't make such a pitiful face."

but when he realises that you were merely feigning your hurt, giving him a little cheeky grin, he flies into a quick, but playful anger.

"you little minx. i've spoiled you a little too much haven't i? you're getting ahead of yourself."

he proceeds to lift you up into his arms, an extra hand keeping your wrists together, as he aims to litter his bite marks down your neck and shoulder.

"aah! forgive me, my lord!" you exclaim, writhing around in his tight grip.

but there's an audible giggle in your voice.

Masterlist

tagging; @vagabond-umlaut @yuujispinkhair @satkuna @skunaskitten @sukunastoy @theprettyarachnid @sunshine7queen @gojos-thot-patrol

[intimidating-fettuccine]

It's a complicated topic but... how would LJ, Sully and Jason (separately) react if they had a dream (although it would seem more like a nightmare) where Y/N tricked them?

The three of them like never dream in my opinion so it's definitely angst time but I tried to go more bittersweet. I hope you enjoy

LJ:

Jack almost never dreams, mostly because he almost never sleeps, as it's not necessary for him to function, but most nights it's still just usually quiet in his mind. Tonight, however, was very much not quiet. He'd been feeling quite stressed lately, especially because the two of you hadn't been able to have as much time together, and it seemed his anxieties had manifested as nightmares to haunt him that evening. The words you'd yelled at him, as you'd turned and left him, told him to never speak to you again, it had hurt him more than he thought possible. He wakes, scared and upset, before you even notice the state he's in, chest heaving and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He shivers as he looks at you, happily curled into his chest and sleeping peacefully, and does his best to calm his racing heart. He pulls you on top of him as he shifts onto his back, staring up at his ceiling and trying to relax.

The shifting causes you to wake, and you tiredly ask him what's wrong, giving him a tired look of concern that has him chuckling and pressing kisses to your cheeks. He tells you he just wanted to cuddle you a bit more, and of course, you're never one to refuse his cuddles, so you curl up onto his chest, snuggling your head into his neck and soon drifting back to sleep. The warmth of your body is enough to comfort Jack, after all; it's proof you're here. You're here, and you're real, and you're not going anywhere, it was just a bad dream. Although he chooses not to go back to sleep, he enjoys spending his time waiting for the morning listening to your calming breathing, and enjoying the weight of your body on top of him. He'll tell you what happened when you awake, the horrible dream he had, and he knows you'll refute the dream, swearing your love for him as you always do, and the thought makes his heart flutter as he hugs you tighter against him, looking forward to those familiar words.

Sully:

Sully doesn't often have dreams, although when he does he tends to be frequented by nightmares, however, they're usually never about you. About his shared trauma with Liu, about his fears and anxieties in general, but when they do happen to be about you, it's usually about him failing to keep you safe in a nightmare, not you being the source of the nightmare. The words you tell him cut deep, and feel so real and painful, but he doesn't want to believe them. You've never looked at him with such hatred, and you'd never say such needlessly cruel things to him, you'd never run away from him, abandoning him in his misery. As he becomes aware of his dream, he fights against it, he knows you could never do this, but he can't pull himself out. It's not until you wake him up yourself that he's able to escape, his teary eyes opening to see you looking at him in deep care and concern.

He doesn't have the words to tell you what's wrong, only being able to mumble that it was a bad dream, and the knowing, loving smile you give him has his heart racing in his chest for another reason. You shift in bed, pulling him into your chest and pressing kisses to his forehead, rubbing his back in the way he's always preferred, and he feels himself calming down. He nuzzles into your neck, quietly crying out that you'd left him, that you'd said he wasn't good enough, and while he knows you'd never say that it still hurts. You hug him tighter, reinforcing that you would never, ever say that, that he's more than enough for you and you'll never leave him like that. His brain is still anxious, but his body can't help but relax into your familiarity, and soon he's drifting off to more peaceful dreams, still clinging to your body for warmth and comfort. When he awakes the following morning, well rested and greeted by your happily smiling face, he knows for certain that everything will be alright. You're not going anywhere, and he'll be able to protect you forever, just as he always does. That thought brings him more joy than he feels he deserves, so he cherishes you and your love more than anything.

Jason:

Jason, as I've said before, also doesn't need to sleep. As my Jason is robotic, he simply enters a powered-down state when he lies beside you at night, and it's rare for his mind to wander and present him with dreams, but the occasional bad dream does sometimes torment him. While normally a still sleeper, as I've previously said, he tosses and turns on nights when he's having bad dreams, and tonight was no different for him. And, as usual, he's awoken by you powering him on and calling for him, holding him close, and asking him what's wrong. All he can do at first is look up at you in confusion and pain, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyebrows twitching as he tries to process what's happening before his lips tremble and he clings to you as though his life depends on it.

He cries out, saying he had a horrible dream, one where you left him, where you told him he'd never be good enough for you, that he didn't deserve someone like you, that you'd left him all alone so maliciously, and he was so scared because he loves you so much and it hurt him so badly. Jason is, in general, often scared that you'll realize you deserve better than him (which you always deny and say he's the best you could ever have), and it seems his worries became a nightmare for him tonight. You hold him close as he hiccups through his tears, whispering comforting words and smothering him in all the affectionate gestures you know he loves. You remind him that he's your one and only, that nobody could ever beat him for you, and when he asks if you truly mean it, you smile at him and tell him you swear your life on it. He shudders out a breath as he tiredly clings to you, snuggling into your neck and holding you close. The two of you stay up talking for a while, and it reminds Jason how much you care for him, and how much he cares for you, setting his mind and heart at ease as he finally relaxes once more.

[dashielldeveron]

Binding Magic and Other Medievalisms | 3 | Shinsou Hitoshi Series Masterlist Summary: A trip to your friend's magic shop, the beginning of your quest, and a night at an inn.

Warnings: female reader. Sexual content. Full bush, babey!!! I know what reader would be wearing as underwear would neither be called underwear nor shaped like modern underwear, but I’m vetoing that in the name of modern sensibilities concerning sexiness. Reader is slightly insecure about her body in a vague way (this is me projecting). Reader starts to show her self-destructive tendencies and other fucked-up-edness rooted in her PTSD. Note: consent continues to be complicated. Right now in the story, it’s still mostly dubious consent (sexual coercion + reluctant consent) in terms of what’s spoken about their relationship, but it’s made more complex by reader’s unspoken, half-supressed affection for the Shinsou she used to know (prompting her to both want and not want him). If this sort of tenuous consent is something that might be upsetting for you to engage with, please click away and do not read.

~18.9k

You haven’t seen much of your husband since that night.

Probably for the best.

You suspect Shinsou’s avoiding you just the same as you’re avoiding him. Even when he was ordered to move into your tower, he kept quiet and to his designated chambers on the ground floor, the ones you’d been using for storage. He’s never ventured up the stairs to your study, or else he’s figured out a way to sneak in without your notice.

Either way. Quiet.

Last time you saw Shinsou had been when you were observing the fresh pages training under Captain Iida to scout the new recruits for someone with the potential to become your replacement apprentice. With royal secretary Midoriya and falconer Rody Soul in tow, Shinsou had arrived at the practise late, evidently summoned by Iida as the instructors for certain types of weapons-handling: Midoriya for two-handed swords, Rody for double-edged swords, and Shinsou for daggers and knives. Honestly, you’d thought it’d been rather too much for one lesson, but you’d garnered it’d given some of the pages an idea of what direction they’re going in.

Shinsou had only acknowledged your presence once—well, perhaps twice. The perhaps had been after the individual work pairs had broken out and Shinsou had been teaching a page about handle grip. Frowning at the way she’d been holding her wooden, practise dagger, Shinsou had crossed to stand behind her, flipping his own dagger to himself before handing it to her, watching how she initially grabbed the handle. He must have felt your gaze on him, because his eyes flicked up towards yours, holding you down from across the training grounds, where you’d perched on a half-collapsed scaffold, out of the way. He’d blinked slowly and returned to teaching.

Your only true interaction had been mortifying. Your relationship should have been acknowledged, yes, because it’d have been a poor sign for these children from both houses to see the marriage not going well, but he didn’t have to—ugh. After Captain Iida had disbanded the lesson, you’d leapt down from the scaffold to scuttle out after thanking Iida, but Midoriya and Rody Soul had interjected themselves into your conversation. You’d made a point of being warm towards them, because you could set an example of being kind to members of the House of Aizawa, especially since Iida had been curt with them during the lesson. Shinsou could’ve crept out without anyone noticing him, as usual, but he’d stopped by your group to rest his hand on the small of your back and to kiss your cheek—you’d snapped your head towards him, startled—and he’d slipped away, all conversation puttering to a halt.

You’ve been losing your mind the past few days in your study. The creaking of bookshelves as books rearranged themselves, the burbling and hissing of potions over your fire and stove, the muted chop of a knife against a cutting board and its scrape on the wood as it swept sliced herbs and roots into the pots, the scratching of enchanted quills on parchment and the curling of ribbon with scissors to bind messages to zip about the castle, the whizzing of your wands as they whooshed about the capacious study, emitting sparks and chippering softly to each other—usually, it all combined in a comforting, white noise perfect for concentration, but lately, you’ve been flinching at anything, in the case it might be Shinsou, listening in or, God forbid, stealing your books. To clear your mind, you struck out towards the castle town for the morning. Enough time had passed since the last battle to safely sell your scroungings to Keigo.

With your hood up, you scurried through the early morning crowd, already refreshed by shop bells and door creaks, daily itinerary repeated between children and parents, friends persuading each other to go into shops, chatter from barkers at their makeshift stalls—propped up a bit early for the upcoming festival, mind, and definitely too close to permanent shops to be legal (wait, three chimstalk for a yenner? You may have to stop. Not to mention this barker’s from the north, considering how he’s pronouncing yenner as yenna, and it might be a good opportunity to get a working class opinion on the new trading regulations in the northern provinces).

With your pockets a little lighter, you found yourself smiling as you passed a closed pub, its only worker singing to himself as he swept last night’s broken glass from the doorway, and you scurried around the corner, catching yourself before you could trip on the cobblestone, to thrust open the door to Fierce Wings.

With the tinkle of the door chime came the scent of cinnamon, cloves, and oranges, enveloping you like a hand sinking into a soft pillow as you shut the door behind you. Like many details about Keigo’s shop, that scent strategically endeared the customer while serving Keigo in some way—the smell covered the discordant brewing in the back kitchen for pre-made potion bases; the creaking of the wooden floor made the shop seem like a cosy, homelike building, when it actually ensured Keigo knew where every customer was; his enchanted, red feathers seemed to downplay the customer-hovering that human workers would have, but they allowed the shop to have an eccentric atmosphere that continually reminded the customer just what kind of place they were in.

One of his feathers greeted you with a standard chirp, and it chirruped more loudly when it recognised you, zipping up to weave itself through your fingers before zooming back through the shelves. From the back half of the shop, where more of the herbalist work was done, you heard the feather’s cheerful screech and the subsequent clattering of pottery.

“No, I get it. I’m going; I’m going,” came Keigo’s voice, speaking through a laugh, and his heels dragged along the wood as the feather pushed him up the aisle, steering him out of the way of a pair of customers. “Whatever shall I do; whoever could it be?” he was saying dramatically, the back of his hand to his forehead as the feather parked Keigo in front of you, and it wove through your fingers again when you thanked it.

Keigo’s eyes followed the feather as it swished away, and, grinning, he placed a fist on his hip. “Hi,” he said, “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Work stuff, y’know,” you said, waving it away, “Where is my wife?”

“She’s in the back. Come with,” said Keigo, turning and beckoning over his shoulder, “I assume you’ve got something for me?”

You followed him towards the back half of the shop, where the bookshelves opened into a wider workspace for perishable supplies—the bulk of the work Keigo did in-shop, rather than sourcing it outside. A couple of rather young-looking girls were seated in the chairs by the fireplace, already crackling at this time of day with a blue liquid in a seahorse-shaped glass bottle heating over its flames, and they were passing jars of herbs between themselves (they must be just starting out; maybe you should talk to them later). The cinnamon-clove-orange mixture wafted more strongly here, probably to conceal the scent of whatever pearlescent nonsense he's got brewing in a cauldron featured front and centre, lilac droplets tossing themselves into the air before diving back into the pot.

You plopped your bag onto the work counter as Keigo crossed behind it, lifting his apron off the hook, and you strode past the tables of crimson feathers peeling bark from branches and grinding fungus with mortars and pestles towards the enormous owl Uotani, dozing on her perch.

“My beautiful wife,” you said while Keigo snorted, and you stroked the side of her face as she slowly brought herself out of sleep. Uotani was a great horned owl on whom Keigo had cast a colour-change spell to match the red of his own feathers, to craft the illusion that the magical feathers were hers (it also didn’t help that Keigo told people that she was a wizard in disguise). “What idiocy has that man who calls himself your owner gotten into lately?”

“You can’t have her,” said Keigo, tying his apron around his waist, “She contributes to the shop atmosphere.”

“I wouldn’t have her, regardless,” you said, scratching her head, which she turned to encourage you to pet a certain spot. Would be nice if you could have a pet, though. During wartime, it had been because a pet wouldn’t know where you went, in the chance you’d died. Now that retirement loomed closer, perhaps you could get one—but you wouldn’t count on it. “Mind if I let my wand loose?”

Keigo halted at the bag’s first buckle, and he narrowed his eyes. “Who do you have with you?”

“It’s my gingko one, obviously. Magnolia’s at home in my study. Probably never to see the light of day ever again, because of rude shopkeepers who—”

“I tend to get upset when much of the merchandise is destroyed, however inadvertently,” said Keigo, sweeping his hair back from his forehead, sticking up due to drying sweat, “Go ahead. But you’d better take care she doesn’t work the wand display into a frenzy again.”

Still petting Uotani, you reached into your cloak and unbuttoned the loop binding your wand flat against your side, and the wand whooshed out to hover at eye level, rolling over midair and laughing a sunny, yellow spark before she sped towards the dried bunches of flowers hanging from the rafters to scan the shop for the wand display. When she spotted them, she gave a cheery zoot and, leaving a leafy rustle through the dried flowers in her wake, rushed towards them, all clamouring from their cubbies and clinking their thin chains that kept them from similarly speeding about the shop.

“Shame you’re the Court Mage,” said Keigo, clicking his folding magnifier open, “You could’ve made a living making wands, considering how much life you seem to put into them.” He flipped a scuffed ring from your bag over in his hand, and he held it up to the light. “I’ve had people ask why their wands don’t seem to have as much give or power as yours do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use yours in public so often, because it’s giving people unrealistic ideas of what the average wand can do,” said Keigo, scrunching his face around his eye so that the magnifier would stay in place, “Now, if you wanted to supply me with wands you’ve made—”

“Forget it,” you said, giving Uotani one last stroke before she nodded off again, “The problem’s in that these people are distanced from the wand-making process. You really should have a relationship with the tree and its surrounding land if a wand’s going to truly listen to you. I still say it’s fine to get someone else to make your wand, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing, so long as you’re familiar with the materials it’s made from. But I get why these wandmakers are making multiple wands from a single tree; it’s a real hassle to call to the heart of a tree. Takes too long. If these wandmakers are looking for profit, they’ve probably found the most effective way to do it.”

Keigo sighed and set the ring down. “Talking to you takes the magic out of everything.”

You shrugged. “Hey, once you know how to do things, it’s harder to be impressed by shoddy work. But then again, I’ve only made a wand three times, and even that took a lot out of me.”

And even so, only your gingko and sycamore wands could still perform heavier magic. Your magnolia wand could only reliably execute non-organic minutiae nowadays. Barely hoddling along by magical standards, the magnolia wand would’ve been disposed of long ago by anyone else, but your own guilt kept you from doing so: she was so drained because you’d used her for the one other fae spell you’ve cast.

From over the shelves came the jangling of wand chains. “It sounds like you’ve got plenty without my help.” You approached the counter, dragging your fingers along it. “Need me to do anything while I’m here? Though I see you’ve got things covered,” you said, nodding towards the feathers working at the tables.

“Yeah, actually,” said Keigo, not looking away from a scrounged booklet with goldleaf, “Mind sorting through some lumstol and siltarian moss? Always better to have human eyes on it. The feathers can’t tell when the fronds are wilted or where to pluck off the stems.”

You untied a cluster of each from the wall and spread them out on the counter. While you silently worked your way through them, Keigo was arranging what you’d scavenged into piles on the counter, already inventorying them in his mind and muttering to himself. You caught a bit of the conversation between the girls at the fireplace, and you smiled to yourself (“What do you mean we have to practise daily recitations? Nobody told me we had to do it every day; that’s mad.” “Yeah, Kameko, that’s why magic is a discipline.”).

Flattening the curling leaves of the lumstol, you scanned the counter. Right next to where Keigo finalised sales was a tray of tiny, pink-tinted bottles, and you picked one up, reading the label: Bibimi’s Charming Love Potions, in overexaggerated cursive. Well, that’s confusing phrasing, since a charm is different from a potion. Small dosage, it looked like, since you could’ve held around four in your palm.

“Why’re you selling these at checkout?” you asked, flipping it over to read the ingredients.

“Eh, a new practitioner in magic’s making them,” said Keigo, and he removed his magnifier from his eye, rubbing his face where it’d sat. “Didn’t want to discourage her, especially since she buys everything from here in bulk. I almost make more from her than I do from you.”

“Fascinating,” you said, squinting at the small letters, “You may want to tell her to relabel them, though. Since she’s using ardithorn and cottoncrown as her base, she’s not pulling from emotions; she’s pulling on bodily sensations. This is more of a lust potion than anything else. A bodily aphrodisiac.”

Keigo shook his head. “They’re probably weak and don’t have much effect. I don’t think she brews them for as long as you’re supposed to.”

“Well, you know my standard for a good aphrodisiac: could it keep you warm during the winter? If it doesn’t increase my body heat enough for me to only need one blanket, it can’t be any good.” You rolled the bottle over in your hand. “Have you tried it?”

“No,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron, “and they haven’t been selling well, either. Why don’t you take one, and let me know how it goes?”

“Sure,” you said, pocketing it, “Why haven’t they been selling?”

Keigo grinned. “If the Court Mage doesn’t rely on love magic for her marriage, no one wants to. Too bad natural feelings are never as pretty.”

“Great,” you said, turning back to the piles of moss, “Fabulous.” If people wanted to experience the marital estrangement you were feeling, they’re welcome to it. A comfort, at least, that this distance was genuine, instead of magically compelled, like the love spell Yamada originally proposed would have been. “Speaking of which. Keigo, what’s the—” You bit the inside of your cheek, grimacing. “—general impression, you’d say, that you get from the public about my marriage to Shinsou?”

“Haven’t heard a word about him specifically,” said Keigo, turning over a gold bracelet, “but some of the older folks blather about being happy that you’ve settled down. Or that the House of Aizawa has been defanged. I don’t think you and he have made enough appearances together for there to be a collective impression.” He shifted golden links over his fingers to examine another section of bracelet. “He came round here recently. Shinsou.”

“He’s shit at magic; what would he need to come here for?”

“To get information on you, idiot. Put the fronds in here. I have a rubbish bin behind the counter for the stems,” said Keigo, sliding a wire tray your direction, “He came in here, what, last week? Just after I’d opened. No one else in the shop. Sneaked up on me like a shadow; somehow, the floor doesn’t creak when he walks—maddening.”

“Loathsome, isn’t it?” You platted the wet fronds, one by one, into the tray. “Wish I knew how he did it.”

“They say he was Aizawa’s spymaster—bah. He didn’t even bother making mindless chatter first, about the shop, and whatnot. He plunged headfirst into asking after you. Wasn’t circular about it at all, not even trying to hide. Though he did start with something odd: he asked what books I have that you’ve read, and I haven’t kept up with that. I directed him towards what titles you keep mentioning, but—”

“You told him?” You splatted the last frond in the stack and slid the tray towards Keigo. “Why would you tell him? Not that it matters, I suppose, what books I’ve read, but he’s not gonna do anything good with that information—”

“Also, after how long you’ve known me, how often you stop by. Didn’t seem interested in me at all once I’d said I’m simply your broker.”

“Good. If you’d said we were friends, he would probably get weird about it,” you said, sweeping the stems off of the counter and into your hand, “Bin?”

Keigo ducked to retrieve it and held it out to you. “Why would Shinsou—”

“Because he was my only friend for a long time. He might feel like you were replacing him,” you said, brushing the last of the stem residue off your hands, “Well. Actually, I don’t know. Speculating. But I wager he’d at least dig into your background, if you said we were anything more than professional, and I’d rather keep you as my source for dried dragons’ blood and dagebane and—”

Keigo shushed you, snapping his fingers and glancing nervously at the girls by the fire. “Keep it down. You never know who’s listening,” he said, rooting around at the bottom of your bag, and you bit your lip to suppress your smile when he frowned at an odd clink.

Several red feathers perked up and peered around shelves as Keigo swore under his breath and cupped the Impractical blade in his hands, rolling the tiny, iridescent dagger between his fingers. “Good Lord,” he said, running the pad of his thumb over the blade and sucking at the blood from the paper-thin cut, “How’d you get this? Find a fae on the battlefield?”

Shaking your head, you hunched over the counter, leaning on your elbows. “Took it off a human. I don’t think he’d had it for long, because he hadn’t a deliberate place for it on his person. I know nothing about it otherwise,” you said, running your tongue over your lower lip, “You think you can fence it?”

“No, yeah,” he said after a moment, still caught up in the awe of seeing an Impractical in real life, “I’ve got a buyer out in Ketsubutsu who’s into faecraft. They’ll—” Keigo slapped his hand over his eyes, and he dragged his hand down his face to cover his mouth, and he took a deep breath, staring at the blade in his hand. “Do you know how fucking rare these are?”

You had an idea.

(Fae had been outlawed, in all six provinces and beyond, for around a century.

They’d been taking too many children and leaving changelings behind, and, in turn, humans had kidnapped fae to work for them. It’d become something of a status symbol, to have a fae servant in the household, controlled by their aversion to iron, but one night, across all kingdoms, the fae had vanished. Evidently unlocked their iron shackles on their own and sneaked out of their masters’ households, leaving everything behind. No violence. No signs leading up to it. An entire race, disappeared into the nothingness of the night mist.

Reports came, here and there, of seeing one. Legitimacy was always debated—lukewarmly now, because most people said they didn’t exist anymore, if at all. Never mind the fae magic that was too harrowing for humans to cast; never mind their lingering influence. Not much of it affects daily life. Just bedtime stories. Nothing more.)

You propped your chin on your fist. “How much could we get for it?”

“I could kiss you for saying we instead of I. I’d have to make the trip to Ketsubutsu, but I was thinking—”

(But not to you.

Yamada was fae.

An eccentric. An outcast. A fae too invested in human affairs. He’d disguised himself as human almost forty years ago now, using both talent and charm to ingratiate himself into human nobility, and he’d thought it was so interesting, so messy, so different from the fae court in which he’d been raised. He’d been some type of nobility there, too, and King Nezu must have noticed that Yamada was a bit too competent at that sort of thing and made him one of his heirs. Fascinating, really, that a fae secretly climbed to the top of the social order in the human realm, that he’d lead one side of a human war.

And you were the only one who knew. Yamada had told you his true identity a few years into your tutelage, and you’d devoted yourself to him ever since—out of gratitude for taking you out of your horrible situation, out of loyalty to him as a person, out of the desire for otherwise unobtainable knowledge—the reasons blurred together, and it’s always been too late to back out, hasn’t it?

Yamada let you in on an incredible number of secrets, including practises that helped you become a better magic practitioner—he’s your source for binding magic; he’s the reason you can spot faecraft from something as small as the angle of a frame; he’s why you even know Impracticals exist—but he’d always been spotty with what information he gave you. Kept his books on fae magic locked up. He’s still keeping secrets, and you resented that. No matter. You’ll dig them up in time.

[That blasted old freak. Who on earth tells his greatest secret to an eight year old? To his credit, you’ve kept that he’s a fae to yourself to this day, but you’ve berated him over the years for telling you when you were so young. Yamada always chuckles and promises he’ll never do it again.])

“Right,” you were saying, “Sounds good. I hope this works. I need all the funding I can get to keep my archive access; I’ll be damned if they boot me out ag—listen. Since you’ll be travelling, can I ask you to get something for me? I’m almost out of dagebane and cantindine pods, and—”

“Slow down,” said Keigo, beckoning over a feather, which dipped itself into the inkwell and scribbled on the scraps of parchment Keigo kept at the ready, “How soon do you need this?”

“And around half a dozen terradyme crystals, just when they’re starting to honeycomb. I think I’ll be out of town, myself, for a while, so no rush.”

“Oh?” Keigo checked over the list; he’d told you long ago that feathers had trouble spelling. “Where’re you going?”

You glanced over your shoulder at the girls by the fireplace, who were standing, stretching, and delegating who would put what bottle back where, and then towards the front few tables, where a few other customers had wandered. “Do you have anything else for me to do? While I’m here, I mean, and while I—”

“Of course,” said Keigo, rolling his eyes, “Let me help these women make their purchase while you go sit your ass down by the fire and be still. You’re away from the castle, yes? Stop forcing yourself to work.”

You took a quick detour to check on Uotani again before sinking into one of the armchairs by the hearth, plaid and plush enough to fall asleep in. Your leg started bouncing in the time it took Keigo to finish up with the other customers, but he eventually left it to the feathers, grappled with the iron pincers hanging on the mantle, and unhooked the seahorse-shaped glass bottle from the spit.

“If you still, for some ungodly reason, feel the need to feel useful, you can try out a new concoction,” said Keigo, using a quiet, wind manipulation spell to twirl the seahorse in the air to cool it, and two feathers brought a pottery mug each. “Now, what’s this about a trip?”

You had the cup of boiling, bright-blue liquid heating both of your hands for a solid minute before you could bring yourself to talk. “I don’t know, Keigo,” you said, “Captain Iida was really rude to Lord Midoriya, Rody Soul, and that man who calls himself my husband today. All of whom are of the House of Aizawa.”

“Shouldn’t bother you,” said Keigo, pulling his armchair closer to yours and scrunching the rug in the process, “That’s the general attitude, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m glad some public opinion is turning positively towards the House of Aizawa because of my marriage, but I don’t think it’s enough.” You rotated the cup in your hands, its reflection of the overhanging flowers refracting. “Because yes, what Captain Iida did wasn’t horrible, but it’s just another symptom of resentment that I’m seeing in court. I don’t think the legal efforts that have been made to reconcile the houses are going to mean anything unless something emotional happens.”

Keigo laughed. “Wasn’t your wedding emotional? If that doesn’t count, I don’t know what would.” He took a sip of whatever it was, smacking his lips thoughtfully. “Does this have an aftertaste to you?”

“My wedding was emotional for me, and I was barely there. No one else probably got much out of it besides a spectacle,” you said, appreciating the steam rising into your face before drinking. “Something’s got to happen to make the higher members of each house like each other, or else the truce will fall apart again. We’re too used to being at each other’s throats.” You exhaled, blue-tinted steam coming out of your mouth. “No aftertaste. The hell’d you put in here? Am I supposed to be tasting almonds and apples?”

“Yes. Thanks,” said Keigo, and he gestured towards the feather writing at the counter, who copied the note. “You don’t have much direct legal power, and I’d bet that a good deal of them can detect an amiability charm between them. I’d forget about it if I were you. There’s nothing—”

“I don’t think I can,” you said grimly, “I’m so tired of fighting, Keigo. So, I’m willing to put in a last, enormous effort to keep it from happening again. I’m going to make these people like each other, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Keigo crossed his legs, his sigh as soft as the distant, papery rasp of herbs crushed with the mortar and pestle. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

“No one else will do it correctly,” you said, matter-of-fact, taking another swig of the blue drink, “May I have some of this for the road?”

***

In the dead of night, you packed your bag and sneaked out through your tower window, sycamore and magnolia wands prodding at you to stay, but you instructed them to maintain an air of normalcy and shimmied down the ivy clinging to outside of your tower. You crept out of the castle grounds and the surrounding farmland with every spell possible to conceal your presence.

With a wave of relief about half an hour’s walk into Tiirnham Wood, you dropped the spells once you reached the first clearing, and you estimated the time based on the position of the moon through the overhead lattice of leaves. No one would be out this late, lest they encounter a wandering night wyrm.

Good. Now, you could relax a bit. Take your time.

You swept dead pine needles off of a slab of rock to sit on it, taking your weight off your feet for a moment, and you listened to the insects churring and wind whistling around tree trunks.

In about a year, you’ll be able to grasp this peace any time you want.

You don’t think you want your cottage as close to the town as this; you’ll want it deeper in the woods, where there’s more deadfall and brambles to dissuade people from seeking you out. Sure, the distant yip of foxes and howl of wolves was a bit unnerving, especially when paired with the strong scent of rotting wood and decaying peat, but all the more to help you stay alone. Besides, there’s nothing you can’t handle behind flagstone walls with a fire lit.

“Would you care to explain—”

You unsheathed your wand and whipped around so rapidly you hadn’t taken a breath, but you huffed when you saw whose neck you pressed its point into.

“Would you care to explain, my lord,” you said, dragging the tip of your wand from underneath Shinsou’s ear and along the underside of his jawline, “why you’ve abandoned your post?” The tip of your wand reached his chin, and you used it to jut his face upwards.

“I haven’t,” said Shinsou, hunched on the rock behind you, stretching his neck to expose more of it as the wand tip pressed into his skin, “I’m investigating why the Court Mage has absconded from the castle in the middle of the night, in the opposite direction of where she said she’d be headed.”

Damn. He’d read the sealed letter you’d posted on your door for Lord Yamada with the lie that you were off to Port Tyr’squith. You’d hoped you’d be unreachable before the news of your abrupt departure broke.

“If you read my letter,” you said, retracting your wand from his neck but keeping it out as you backed away, “you’d know that I’m going to Port Tyr’squith to replenish supplies. My point of contact at Fierce Wings isn’t going there any time soon.”

Shifting from his crouch, Shinsou crossed his legs, taking up all the clean space on the rock. “That doesn’t explain why you’re leaving in the dead of night.”

“If I left during the day or announced that I was leaving at all, then someone would stop me—obviously—with their own rubbish.” You took another step back, snapping a twig and startling yourself. “This can’t wait.”

Shinsou nodded. “All right. Now, please rationalise why you’re headed towards Renfield, instead of Port Tyr’squith.”

“Because I—” Fuck. Fuck! You ducked your head, trying to look ashamed to buy time, and after a beat of the rustle of leaves and animals rooting about in the underbrush outside of the clearing, you tried to look like you were bracing yourself. “It’s stupid,” you said, eyes scrunched shut, hands clutched in front of yourself and fiddling with your wand in what you hoped was a nervous-looking way, “It’s…”

Elbow on his knee, Shinsou rested his chin on his hand, fingers tapping his cheek in a ripple, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Come here,” he said, holding out his other hand.

Okay, okay. You’ve got this. You glanced over your shoulder and then back at him. “Do I have to?”

“Please,” said Shinsou.

You scratched your cheek and averted your eyes. “Fine,” you said, stowing your wand inside your cloak again (you didn’t latch the scabbard shut, though, should you need her to fly out on short notice), and you took the few, uneven steps back to the rock and, after a moment of what hopefully appeared to be anxious floundering, you let your fingers curl into his palm.

“That’s good,” he said, tugging you the final step closer, your knees against the stone, close enough to graze his crossed legs, “Very good. Thank you.” He flipped his hand so that he could lace your fingers together, and he cradled both of your hands with his other one. “Now. Why are you in Tiirnham Wood, hm?”

You swallowed and tried to look self-conscious. “I—hm. Sorry. I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone yet, but you already know part of it—how I want to get out of there. Retire.” Whenever you lie to someone, you can make it seem more like truth by admitting something embarrassing, especially if the embarrassing part is partial truth. “I was thinking that I could build a cottage somewhere deep in Tiirnham Wood. Somewhere where no one could ever find me. It feels like—like I belong here.”

“Does it?” Shinsou cocked his head, staring up at you. “Tiirnham Wood spans almost three provinces. You could lose yourself in here.”

“Yeah, I—yeah,” you said, and you sighed, breath swaying his hair. “I was—I know it’s stupid—but I was allowing myself a moment to imagine what my life could be like here. Just taking a minute totally for myself. And then I was gonna go to Port Tyr’squith.”

“Uh-huh,” said Shinsou softly, and he reached up to cup your face, calloused fingers cold and gentle. “Why don’t you tell me what you need from there? Maybe, with merchants coming in for the festival, we can find it locally.”

You placed your hand over his, holding it to your face. “You would take my rare time off away from me?”

“Of course,” said Shinsou, smiling, teeth cutting into his lower lip, “since it takes you away from me. What’s Port Tyr’squith got that you need?”

“Cheltfish scales. Snapdragon. Sheerifhs oil, hellebore, Gold Comb, the gumbo recipe from The Greasy Lantern for Lady Hagakure, brackish redweed—”

“Damn it!” Shinsou tilted his head back to bark out a laugh, rocking back in his seat and leaning back on his hands. “You were doing so well, too,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him, making you scramble out of the way. “Did you like that I played along? Said all the right things?”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, taken aback, mindful not to trip over a knobbled tree root.

“You’ve gotten a lot better at lying, your excellency,” said Shinsou, grinning widely at you as he came down from his laughter and running his hand back through his hair, which fluffed back up immediately, “You do a good job playing into the physical signs of insecurity. That’s skilful misdirection. Much needed for lying well. But, as usual, you talk too much. You gave me too much specificity, and that let me know it was a prepared answer, in the case you got caught. The truth is often vaguer than we expect.”

“Come off of it,” you said, crossing your arms, “I would know what I’m shopping for.”

“Maybe so,” Shinsou said, shrugging one shoulder while adjusting the strap of his bag on the other, “but you’re carrying your bag enchanted to carry much, much more than merely tiny bottles of herblore supplies, and you’re wearing your climbing boots. You’re headed towards the mountains, aren’t you? And for a much longer time than you’ve written you’d be gone.” Pursing his lips, he kicked a clod of dirt towards you, and you stumbled to avoid him and fell back on your hands.

You scowled up at him from the forest floor, wishing with every fibre in your being that you could strangle that glint out of his eyes.

“You did well. Trust me. But not well enough.” Shinsou crossed one leg over the other and smirked down at you. “So, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing out here.”

You weighed your options. He’s a spymaster. He deals in information. If you tell him what you’re up to and describe the obvious merit in it, he might leave you to it. You shifted your weight from your hands to your ass to sit on the ground, and you began, “Okay, you fuck.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s not what you call me.”

You inhaled sharply. “Okay, my lord, you fuck,” you said, seething, “I’m ensuring that members of both houses are bonded enough that there can be no more war.”

“A noble cause,” said Shinsou, “How do you plan to do that?”

“An effective, long-lasting way for people to bond is to experience something emotionally significant and possibly harrowing together. I’m secretly setting up a quest that will provide just that,” you said, rubbing your sap-sticky hands together, “I’ll set up certain tasks for them to do, designed with the quest-takers in mind, and when I’ve finished, I’ll ensure the quest is presented as legitimate to the court. As if I had nothing to do with it. As if it’s naturally occurred. The right people will go on the quest, bonding in their hardships, and by the time they return, they’ll never think of betraying each other again.”

For a moment, Shinsou did nothing but frown in confusion. You took advantage of the silence to pluck the pine needles embedded in your skin from the fall. In the distance, you caught the faintest slip of a bellowing gargle, coming off of the tail end of a wolf’s howl—but it was too far away to matter, really.

“That’s unbelievably asinine,” said Shinsou eventually, “Quests aren’t planned. Or set up by anyone. They just happen.”

“Which is why the one I’m creating will be thematically resonant for the people who’ll go on it. You can’t trust a naturally occurring quest; what if they learn the wrong things from it? What if it has too few steps? What if an unbalanced party embarks on it, letting some members feel left out? Not to mention that I don’t have time to wait around for one to, as you say, just happen.”

Shinsou just stared at you. Blinked. “Are you fucking serious?”

You lifted your chin. “Dead.”

Covering a yawn, Shinsou nodded and looked behind him at the way you’d both come, and he pushed on his knees to stand. “All right. You’ve had your fun,” he said, pressing on the small of his back to pop it while squinting up at the moon, “Time to go home. We can tear that letter off your door before anyone even knows we left.”

“No, thanks.” You stood in a rush, hand flying to your wand. “You can go back and tell them I’m off to Port Tyr’squith, like the reliable husband you’re pretending to be.”

Shinsou glowered and took a step towards you but halted at the thunderous, reverberating gargle that shook the forest, bats flying across the clearing from their disturbed perches as dying leaves fell to the ground. A crow cackled at being woken, its wings heavy as it flapped through the shadows.

Tensing, Shinsou tucked his collar closer to his neck, and his eyes darted around the clearing, guard up.

You turned towards him, eyebrows raised. Did he not…? “Must be closer than I thought,” you said lightly, “Or there’s more than one of them.”

“More than one of what?” He rolled his shoulders back and braced himself in what must be a comfortable scowl, but he closed the distance to stand next to you. “We should get out of here. I didn’t think to bring any teleporta—”

“I’m not leaving. You can, if you like,” you said, stooping to gather a couple of pine cones, “Have you never been out when the night wyrms wander, my lord?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

Another ear-splitting gurgle juddered through the forest, shaking peeling bark from trunks. Closer this time.

Shinsou clamped a hand on your shoulder, and he spoke tersely. “We’re going back, now. Night wyrms are carnivorous, aren’t they? We need to—stop collecting—what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said, arms full of pine cones, “We’ll be fine, so long as we stay in the clearing.”

With that, you pelted him with a pine cone, and, in the time it took for him to recover, you dashed into the forest.

You were laughing to yourself a bit too loudly, but it didn’t really matter, not when you’re trampling through underbrush and rotting detritus so swiftly. You leapt over a fallen tree and yanked your cloak out of a briary bush, shoving the overhanging moss and branches out of your way as you ran deeper and deeper, following the horrible gurgle.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen a night wyrm, and they’re always so unnerving, especially the inside of their mouths, and you can’t wait to see one again at a safe distance. You’d like to study them, if you had the time and—

“Come on,” Shinsou was saying as he grabbed your wrist and knocked the remaining pine cones out of your arms, somehow catching up with you the second you camped out behind a gnarled tree, “You’re mad; why are you going right towards it? You’ve got to be—”

You flipped him over, holding his back to your chest and smushing him against the tree trunk, and you clamped a hand over his mouth and used it to direct his line of sight. Past the echoing bellows, you detected the shuffling of the wyrm’s nose through the canopy of trees not fifty metres away, and you guided Shinsou to look in its direction.

As tall as the trees themselves, the night wyrm glided through the wood with the slow-moving weight of a whale, its thick fur standing on end as it hovered above the ground, nearly swimming through air. Its eyes were cloudy, slightly crossed, and a little too closely set, and its long, tapering nose snuffled and flicked like the back end of an agitated snake. It groaned, and it took great pains to unhinge its jaw, spreading it wider than the circumference of the rest of its body. The inside of its mouth flexed with white gills, trailing into an endless black.

“Listen,” you said as quietly as you could, “Their eyesight is poor. Night wyrms primarily track through scent, and what it’s scenting is magic. They’re filter-feeders, looking for any magical residue drifting through the air. They’re incorrectly classified as carnivores, but they do sometimes eat other living creatures, like humans, because they’re producing magic. So long as we’re fairly quiet and don’t have any active spells, it’ll pass us by.”

You planted your chin on Shinsou’s shoulder, and you pressed down on his mouth when he squirmed in your grasp. “Relax.”

The night wyrm snuffled. It sneered. With a booming gargle, it turned its lumbering snout in your direction and swam towards you at the lethargic pace such mass had to employ, its wide, white gills spread and looming.

“My lord,” you said in a rush, thumping his chest as you edged around the tree, “Drop any spells you’re using! You’re not using—do you have any active magic on you?”

“I don’t—”

“The spell you use to move so silently—I don’t care; drop it—”

The wyrm’s nose sniffed and shuffled down the trunk of your tree, its eyes spinning in its skull.

“I don’t use magic to—”

It snuffed, its hot breath hitting you.

You inhaled, holding your breath, but at the tickle of its whiskers grazing the top of your head, you couldn’t take it. Shinsou’d kill you for this, if the binding magic would let him.

You turned towards the castle and cast a spell to punt Shinsou all the way back.

You sped the other direction, shaking off all magic from your cloak. You didn’t pause to glance back at the night wyrm, but considering it hadn’t even turned around (you were running alongside its long body), it might just be snuffling the dirt where you cast the spell.

Well, you thought, wincing from a branch that slapped into your face, that’s one way to get rid of him.

***

When you arrived in a stormy, dreary Renfield after a day and a half of travel, you booked a room in the New Moon Inn and slept through much of the following day. In the evening, you were woken by the pelting of a sleeting rain on the window, cracked just enough for the biting, early winter wind to penetrate the room. You shut the window, sealing off the storm and ushering in blanketed silence.

You went downstairs to the dining area, ordered something warm from the innkeeper, and parked yourself at a back table, away from the wet, raucous groups that traipsed inside now that it was around time for the evening meal.

You pulled your journal from your cloak and opened it to your quest planning notes. If you stayed back here, at a darkened table underneath the baskets hanging from the rafters, you could eavesdrop enough to gather impressions of the inn’s characters. If you could find someone who could keep secrets and their word, you could use someone who spends a good deal of time here as a fixture in your quest—give them some information to belay to your questers.

Renfield was always going to be the first stop in your quest: it got your quest-takers out of their immediate environment while still remaining familiar enough. A step beyond the threshold. Tests their abilities to observe and conform to people they don’t know. A quest has to start fairly simply, which is why the next step is just that enchanted statue.

Let’s see. The innkeeper’s the obvious choice; she’s maintaining an air of elegance and nonchalance while bustling in and out of the kitchen, and she’s still performing hostess duties graciously under the brusqueness from miners coming in from a grim day’s work, scuffing up her floor. Coated in grime, the miners were locals and spent a fair amount of time here, judging by how they appeared to have tables set aside for each of them near the front, each one with a favourite seat—but you wouldn’t rely on someone so dedicated to being part of a group; he’d probably share your quest information with the rest of his friends. Locals, locals—a couple of workers at the bar, the scrawny boy turning a spit over the fire with soot smudged on his hands, a group of older women all sharing a plate of kabobs—no.

It didn’t seem worth picking from any of the less dependable-seeming characters, even if they did contribute to quest atmosphere: the spindly, shrouded figure repeatedly spinning a coin on the bar and occasionally bending to pick it up off the floor; some weirdo wearing a porcelain mask and badly concealing his sword; the amateur fortune teller getting her client liquored up to make her fortune more believable…

What you wouldn’t give for just some bookish-looking person sitting alone. Looks like the innkeeper was going to be the most reliable option, but she’s busy right now. You’ll wait until it cleared out.

You jotted down variations of what information you were going to give her to direct your adventurers to the next step in the quest until your spoon scraped the bottom of your bowl. You sat back to rub at your eyes, flexing the stiff muscles in your writing hand, and after a faint, metallic rolling, you felt something thump against your boot.

Blearily, you stooped to check under the table, where a two-yenner coin was clattering to lie flat. You bent farther to pick it up, and when you closed your fingers around it, a large hand closed around your own. The hand was connected to the shrouded man at the bar who’d been playing with the coin, and—your face fell as you locked eyes with Shinsou, grinning up at you with his hood pulled down over his distinctive hair.

“Sit. Down,” said Shinsou, exasperated, as you moved to leave, and he squeezed around your hand too tightly. “There’d be no getting out of it if I announced the Court Mage were here, would it? Since everyone’s looking for you. So, stay where you are, all right? The night can stay quiet that way.”

“Get up. Get up off the floor,” you said, jerking your hand away, “How did you find me? I gave no indication where I was going. I’ve been using a pseudonym. I’ve been—”

“Your magic—how shall I put it,” said Shinsou, sliding into the booth across from you and propping his feet atop yours once seated, “has an echo to it, of sorts. An aftertaste.”

You traced the table’s wood grain with your finger. “I thought I’d gotten rid of that. I worked really hard to.”

Shinsou put his chin on his fist and, seemingly bored, glanced out across the room. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It’s subtle. Once you know what you’re looking for, though, it’s unmistakable. You’re just unlucky that I was there when your magic first started leaving the taste of oranges at the back of the throat. You left all of our classmates wishing it were winter so that we could taste the real thing.” He drew his attention back to his coin, and he flipped it to himself before spinning it on the table. “Though, I notice you’ve mostly covered it up with something else, rather than truly getting rid of the oranges, which is why I could follow you. You dried yourself off with magic just outside of this inn. Really careless of you. Led me right inside.”

“I’m glad you’ve had fun,” you said, crossing your arms and resting them on the table, “Answer me seriously: would anyone who is not you be able to track me based on that?”

Shinsou cracked a smile. “I wonder.”

“I’m gonna cut out your larynx. I’m gonna grind you into a mealy grit,” you said, wiping at your nose and frowning, “I’m gonna—hold on. Backtracking. You said that everyone was looking for me. What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Shinsou shrugged and picked up his coin. “What did the Court Mage do? She left in the middle of the night without so much as a note to explain her absence.”

“Oh, you scoundrel,” you said, pushing yourself up from your seat and scrambling over to his side to yank him by his collar, “You didn’t have to destroy my letter when you got back.”

“You didn’t have to send me back by hurtling me through the air,” said Shinsou, unconcerned with your grip on his shirt, “I admit I was quite unsettled by the affair. Would not a teleportation spell have sufficed?”

“You know those are difficult,” you said, grumbling as you released him, folding in on yourself and crossing your arms again as you leant against the table, “What’d you say to the people back home? Did you tell them that I’ve made off with the key to the treasury, or something?”

Shinsou returned to spinning his coin. “I’ll leave my threat to your imagination, where I’m certain it will be more absurd and terrifying than anything I actually said.”

Twisting backwards, you slapped your hand over his rotating coin, clinking it still. “All right, then. You’ve found me. What do you want?”

Shinsou’s eyes flicked from your open journal across the booth, the rolled sleeve of your cloak exposing your wrist, and back up at you. “Kiss me.”

You scoffed. “Get real—”

The inn’s door slammed open with a crash of thunder, and, to your horror, eight knights with Yuuei’s insignia and the House of Yamada’s colours filed inside, soaking wet and agitatedly grim, with one calling over the innkeeper to question her.

Inhaling sharply, you asked through clenched teeth, “Did you call for—?”

But you didn’t get to finish your sentence, because Shinsou was muttering, “Take this off; it’s too recognisable,” and yanking your patchwork cloak off your shoulders to wad it up in the corner of the booth. Before you could complain that they could identify you by your face, Shinsou was sliding you off the table and into his lap and then guiding your legs to spread across his (“It can’t be tame enough for them to want to look.”), and he clutched the back of your head to force your face into his neck.

“At least act like you’re kissing me. Damn,” said Shinsou, hiking your leg higher over his hip, and he snaked his hand underneath your skirts—no, only under the overskirt, so that there was still fabric between your ass and his hand when he clenched a strategic fist to make a bump underneath your clothes.

You weren’t acting because your brain had emptied. Since when has Shinsou been strong enough to manhandle you like that? Yes, there’d been a bit of it your wedding night, but…but just now, he’d wanted your body in a position, and he’d just moved it there, without any meaningful setbacks from you. His sturdy arms held you in place, clutching you firmly enough to prevent writhing, and he tilted wide shoulders away from the doorway, pressing your head farther into his neck, smushing your mouth and nose against his skin. And his chest, rising and falling underneath your palms, was feeling very, very solid. Immovable.

(You thought back to two days ago, when you’d had a hand over his mouth and pushed him against a tree to hide from the night wyrm. There’s no way he hadn’t let you manoeuvre him about like that.)

Your stomach sank, and that brought your attention to—oh, gracious, you were straddling him. Your legs were spread a bit too widely to be comfortable to accommodate his thighs, but Shinsou must have caught your frown as you glanced down, because he shifted you upwards in his lap just a hair, relaxing your legs minutely as his hips slotted neatly into your own.

You scrunched up your face, shutting your eyes tightly as you tried to focus on anything other than he had a hand on your ass and his cock between your legs—both, admittedly, hindered through layers and layers of fabric, but still.

“They’re scanning the room,” said Shinsou against your temple, “Rock your hips for me, hm?”

You huffed against his neck, the heat of your own breath bouncing back to you, and you turned your head slightly to speak. “I am not going to rock my—I’m going to kill you.”

“You promise?” said Shinsou, eyes on something across the room, “Do it later. Keep your head down.”

“Why’d you get rid of my letter? I just,” you said, and you took a deep breath to ground yourself. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Only a bit odd and manipulative.” You tried to settle into his hold, and you skated your hand up his chest to fiddle with one of the leaf-shaped clasps on his waistcoat. “You didn’t have to say anything, especially since—since we agreed that you’d serve me in public. That you’d work in my favour, as a reliable husband.”

“And you haven’t died for me once.” Shinsou spoke more softly, hunching slightly. A knight must be nearby. “I showed a sign of submission towards you at that pages’ training session.”

“Is that supposed to explain the unbeckoned kiss on the cheek? I was trying to hold a conversation.”

“I stepped away, didn’t I? I let you have privacy,” said Shinsou, tilting your head up slightly to drag his lips across your cheek, stopping just before your ear. “Midoriya and Rody Soul know me well enough to note that as deference.”

“It’s not the House of Aizawa that needs to be convinced—”

“Not so loud,” said Shinsou, curling his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck.

You swallowed but continued at a whisper. “Do you not understand that I’m trying to help you? That I’m trying to ingratiate the House of Aizawa to the public?”

“I do,” said Shinsou, and he kissed your cheek, once, twice—moving closer to your mouth, glancing over your shoulder—thrice. “It’s rather unfortunate that there’s no one in all six provinces I trust less to go on a quest by herself. She might just leave us all behind.”   

Shinsou pressed his lips to yours, and you scrunched your nose in fury in the second before you reminded yourself he’s doing this for show, so you made yourself relax into it. He’s a little too skilled at this—keeping the back of your head towards the rest of the room, draping the excess of his coat over you to hide more of your body, shifting to make it appear like he was debating laying you down in the booth seat—all while flicking his tongue against yours and running his hand back and forth along your thigh, goosebumps rising despite the contact being through fabric. He made a particularly loud smack on purpose, and your face burned with shame even as he pulled away.

He was grinning while he rubbed his thumb over your slightly swollen lips, and you flinched when he pressed down a bit too hard. “The knights have settled down at a far table. You’re safe.”

“You’re insufferable,” you said, and you ducked your head, burying your face in his neck again, this time to prevent him from seeing your embarrassment for too long. “You’re a cad and a knave and an ass, and I want nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah?” He shifted you in his lap. “Tell you what. Give me your underwear, and we’ll call it a day.”

Your eye snapped open. “What?”

“You heard me. Take them off,” said Shinsou, stroking the back of your head, “I’ve just helped you out of a perilous situation that would delay your plans even further. You’re safe from being recognised now because I’ve chosen to play as a protective, reliable husband, so unless you want me to march over to their table, you’ll fulfil your end of the deal as my acquiescent wife.”

You sat back to look him in the eyes, and he raised a brow, his gaze falling to your lap.

With a scowl, you muttered threats under your breath while you got off of his lap and onto the seat next to him in the booth, and once you ensured he was blocking the view, you faced the wall and took them off, only exposing bare leg to the side of the booth.

“I hope your balls shrivel up,” you said, clumping up your underwear and shoving them into his fist, “As soon as I get back in the archive, I’m researching curses to curdle your insides.”

“That’s fine,” said Shinsou, unfurling them for a fleeting moment before tossing them onto your wadded-up cloak, and he grabbed your thigh to sling it over his own, manhandling you into a straddle again. When you moved to get off, all ten of his fingers dug into your hips until you stilled. “Thank you,” he said, biting his lower lip while he looked you over, “Bet you’re feeling nervous.”

Your tangled skirts obviated you from touching his lap directly, but that didn’t stop you from flinching at his slightest movement. “How could I not be?”

Shinsou flashed a small smile, so brief it might have been genuine. “I appreciate that you’re being honest.” He tilted his head back to thunk against the back of the booth, and he pulled his hood farther down his face. “Tell me: do you want me to touch you?”

Averting your gaze, you let out a breath and sat as far back in his lap as he and the table cutting into your back would allow. Feeling useless with your hands idle, you twiddled with the ends of his bejewelled belt, the metallic clinking of the chains muted at your touch. “What do you even get out of this?” you asked, “I mean—I’m your wife, yes, but I don’t understand how you benefit from this situation. You don’t get anything besides being bound to an old sore and getting to pick at her until she bleeds.”

Shinsou sighed and poked his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he rubbed a thumb over your hip. “I already told you,” he said with a slow blink, “I want the parts of you that you don’t give anyone else. You’ve crafted a very public persona, your excellency, at the expense of suppressing yourself, and I want my fingerprints on every tiny shred of your private self that you’ve shoved out of sight. I want to invade every crevice in your heart.” Shinsou slid his hand between the small of your back and the table to bring you closer to him, and you had to prop a hand on his chest to keep your distance. “That includes touching you and finding out what you like, especially because it appears you haven’t fully figured it out yourself. If you eventually can no longer separate me from your concept of sexual pleasure, then that’s one part of you that I’ve completely won over.”

“You are insane,” you said, shaking your head, “Something is deeply wrong with you.”

“Kiss me about it?”

“No.”

“That’s fair,” said Shinsou, nodding, “Now, I answered your question. Back to mine: do you want me to touch you?”

He cupped your face before you could turn your head away, but you kept your eyes on the ceiling, counting the baskets hanging from the rafters, swaying in the firelight. “It’s complicated,” you said, every fibre in your being protesting your honesty (with another part screeching back that he’d know if you’re lying, anyway), “but not—not really. Not in front of all of these people, anyway.”

“I see. You’re one, lucky woman, then,” said Shinsou, playing with the hem of your overskirt, “because I don’t plan on touching you. I want you to move so you’re straddling one leg—the one more on the inside of the booth is fine.”

Your legs had started to ache at being spread so widely; straddling only one would have been a welcome relief, but you did so with caution. He’s not going to make you grind against his thigh, is he? That’d be despicable, making your first orgasm in the presence of another also be in the presence of many others.

He was adjusting your skirts, and you tensed when he first grazed your bare skin underneath them, just on the inside of your knee.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to touch me.”

“I said I don’t plan to,” he said evenly.

You looked down at his hand, a lump at your knee under your skirts. “Is that the only hand you’ll be using?”

He nodded.

“May I see it for a moment?”

Shinsou slowly withdrew his right hand from underneath your skirt and presented it to you, palm up, eyeing you carefully.

You traced a rune into his palm with your index finger and muttered the word for cleansing, and after a white glow passed through his hand, from silver band at his wrist to fingertips, you said, “Thank you. Proceed with your debauched instructions.”

Shinsou clamped that same hand over his mouth and pulled down his hood to darken his entire face, but he couldn’t do it quickly enough to conceal that he was laughing.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“I could’ve cast a cleansing spell myself, had you asked. I could’ve even gotten up to wash my hands,” said Shinsou, letting his hood ride back as he composed himself, and he returned his clean hand to your bare skin under your skirts, running the backs of his fingers along your inner thigh. “But let’s proceed with my debauched instructions. You’re about to hover over my hand while I ask you some questions. You’re not allowed to rest your weight on my leg anymore, nor are you allowed to lean against the table. I shan’t touch you, so long as you stay upright—so long as your thighs hold out. And no magically strengthening yourself, your excellency; no one likes a cheat.”

Swallowing, you ran your fingers back through your hair, grappling with how to get out of this, but all you could come up with was “Do I have to?”

“Of course not,” said Shinsou, hand pausing, “but I don’t have to go alert those knights that you’re here, either.”

While you sat forward, guided by his arm around your waist, and parted your legs to strategically shift your weight, you imagined caving his skull in with the fire poker, but you were jolted out of that glorious daydream by the presence of his hand almost all the way up between your legs, fingers and palm curved as if he’s cupping all of you (holy shit), with less than a centimetre between his skin and yours.

“Onto the interrogation. Whom do you plan on going on your quest, my dear lady enchantress?”

“Huh?” you said, frazzled. The heat you’re feeling was simply your own reflected back at you, as emphasised by the shiver that coursed through you at the coolness of his hand, seeping across your labia—but really, you’re certain you were creating enough body heat for the both of you. “I mean—from the House of Aizawa, Lords Bakugou, Midoriya, and Kirishima, and from the House of Yamada, Lords Todoroki and Kaminari and Lady Ashido. They’re—” You flinched. “They’re the ones who argue the most. The ones who cause the most trouble.”

“I notice Yaoyorozu and Uraraka aren’t on the list. Nor is Tokoyami. You’re choosing to elide the best and the brightest from the House of Aizawa.”

“No, of course not,” you said, trying to focus on bracing your thighs instead of how the heel of his palm was positioned to perfectly grind against your clit, should you falter in the slightest, “Correction: I’m choosing to omit certain magical specialties. Lady Yaoyorozu would make the quest too easy, and I can’t have adventurers who can fly. Part of the bonding comes from a horrible journey across the landscape together.”

“I see. How will you ensure the people you want are the ones to embark on the quest?”

How can Shinsou ask such inane questions when, with just a bend of his finger, he could press into your cunt? “I have a friend who’s—who’s been studying divination for the past few years, and she’s working as an oracle. After I set everything up, we’ll workshop a poem she can present as a prophecy. The quest-takers will be listed in it.”

“Hm.” Shinsou tilted his head, his eyes half-lidded.

“Hurry up,” you said, an ache seeping into your thighs and a wave of dread shooting through your body—how were you nervous and twitching when he wasn’t even touching you? You could kind of feel how your pubic hair brushed against his hand, and he seemed to be enjoying that; when he noticed how you just barely shifted your hips away from his hand, he started twisting a few strands together before releasing them. “You cheat; stop touching me.”

“I’m not touching you,” said Shinsou, rubbing another curl between his fingers, “Just playing with something nice of yours.”

“I’ll give it to you that you’re not touching my skin,” you said, almost spitting, “Ask your next fucking question or rip your own tongue out.”

“Fine,” he said, giving the curl a tug before returning to practically cupping your sex, and he pursed his lips, watching your face grow more heated.

Stupid, stupid. How could heat, however faint, be nestling into your lower gut when all he’s doing is hovering nearby? It’s—you told yourself it’s the exposure; it’s the hyperawareness of being exposed and the sting of adrenaline coursing through you because of the probable fact that, since neither of you were gaining pleasure from this, he’s doing this purely to watch your humiliation. And because this illusion of being wanted (sexually, romantically, even just as a plaything) was so new to you, your body and your brain were not getting the message that they shouldn’t be reacting to this version of Shinsou.

Praying nothing leaked onto his hand, you shifted your weight in what you hoped was a subtle manner, and you steadied your voice to sound calm. “Are you done with your questions, my lord?”

“I might be,” said Shinsou, brow furrowed, “I wager this would’ve been easier for you if your pockets weren’t weighing you down.”

“I’m climbing off, if you’re finished,” you said, denying to yourself that your thighs were beginning to quiver (which he might’ve deduced from the soft tinkling of the contents of your pockets shifting).

“Stay where you are,” said Shinsou, “How long will your quest take?”

“I’m guessing two months.”

“Where are you going next?”

“The next step of the quest.”

Patient as ever, he asked, “Where’s that?”

“The statue of St. Tsutsumi.”

“What’s your source on binding magic?”

“Nice try,” you said with a heavy exhale, and you slumped forward to rest your head on his shoulder, releasing the tension from your legs (for a moment, your hand floundered between his pectoral and lower on his chest, and, a bit put-off, you elected for your own lap).

“Worth a shot, I suppose,” said Shinsou, shrugging his other shoulder, and, at his side, the thumb on his free hand fiddled with one of his rings.

“For a spymaster, you’re not very good at interrogations.”

“They don’t usually unfold like this.” He twisted his ring up most of his finger and then used the edge of the seat to force it back in place. “Do you want me to be cruel? I can be.” He tapped your nose. “You’re cheating, by the way. By leaning on me.”

“Fine, you—my lord,” you said, thumping his chest, “But if this goes—”

You choked on nothing, your hand slapping over your mouth, because when you sat back, you’d rocked back onto his hand.

You could’ve sworn he moved it forward from his original place, but—but—you’ll murder him; his hand curved to perfectly slot against you, applying light, even force across your labia (his fingers spreading them minutely so that you felt more exposed), the pad of his middle finger just barely pressing into your cunt, the heel of his palm wide and firm against your clit—not feeling around, not moving at all, just a presence.

A thousand sunrises flashed before your eyes as you dripped onto his hand.

“Good Lord,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “Are you sure you can’t kill me? I’d invite it right now.”

“Gather your things.” Shinsou withdrew his hand and patted your waist to prompt you off of his lap. “We’re going upstairs.”

“What? Why?” you asked, reaching for your journal and clapping it shut.

Shinsou collected the bundle of your cloak and underwear under his arm before standing. “You said you didn’t want me to touch you in front of these people, didn’t you?” He held his hand up to the light, inspecting how it glistened.

You smacked his hand down, shooting frantic looks about the inn. “Well, yes. But aren’t we done? What was the point of…all that, then?”

Shinsou raised a brow. “You were too flustered to lie to me, correct?”

“Shut up,” you said, deflating.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go tell the knights that you’re nowhere in the vicinity, while you head upstairs.”

“No. I want to see you tell them.” You turned towards the table. “Do you think I leave my dishes here, or should I take them to the bar?”

While you returned your dishes to the innkeeper near the kitchens, you watched Shinsou approach the knights, and surprisingly, the majority of them seemed eager to listen to Shinsou (you recognised at least two of them as belonging to the House of Aizawa, but you couldn’t place the others). From the entrance to the staircase, you scrutinised their body language, how the tension left the knights’ bodies at the news Shinsou broke. One of them started packing her things right away, even.

Shinsou sent them off with a brisk wave and jogged towards the stairs, where you shoved all your shit into his arms again to make him carry it up the two flights to your rented room.

“Shoes off,” you said when you opened the door, with Shinsou striding in past you, “Put my stuff on the dresser. Did you not rent a room?”

Shinsou doubled back to unlace his boots. “Aw, sweetheart, you only booked a room with a single bed? I’m devastated.”

You kicked his leg while he was crouched down. “I didn’t exactly expect company.”

“No, I like it. I like the small bed,” he said, wincing at the impact and peeling off his first boot, wet clods of dirt falling to the floor. “Means you won’t be able to put much space between us.”

“Excuse me. Drop dead.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Shinsou through a smile.

While he was lining his boots (and yours, once you threw them at him) by the door, you shoved your stuff back into your travelling bag and surreptitiously gathered some of the things you’d scattered around the room to pack them away as well. When Shinsou spun around, you jumped and pretended like you’d merely been examining the layout of the room for yourself.

Shinsou gestured towards the bedside table. “If you’ll empty your pockets, your excellency. I wouldn’t want anything getting in our way.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Only if you’ll do the same.”

Once your miscellanea (a sachet of twice-blessed clover, the bottle of Bibimi’s love potion, a folding dowsing rod, pre-cast spells carved like marbles) had mixed with his (loose yenner coins, a pocket edition of a rune dictionary, black vanishing powder in a sheer pouch, what looked like a finger bone) on the bedside table, Shinsou plopped onto the bed, laid back in the indent from your earlier nap, and crossed his arms behind his head. “Let’s finish what we started downstairs, yes?”

“Give me a minute,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

(You could make this work. All it took was pretending that this was happening under different circumstances.

Say that you and Hitoshi are taking a trip from living in your cottage in Tiirnham Wood, the version in your mind where the war never happened. That this is your first trip together as a married couple, and he’s eager to stay close to you, which is why he couldn’t resist teasing you in the booth downstairs, and now that you’re alone, you can see that your husband is looking so very, very pretty in your bed, face shadowy but sharp and beautiful under the dim, outdoor lamps whose light barely shines through the sleet. And he’s holding out his hand because he wants you, loves you, and however he’s going to handle you will be with compassion.

Your chest felt tight.)

“All right,” you said, scooting backwards to put your full weight on the bed, “I’m ready. Proceed.”

Brow furrowed, Shinsou pushed himself upright, his back against the headboard, as you crawled towards him. “What just happened there?” he asked, blinking profusely as you wove your fingers through his, pressing your palms together.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, kneeling next to him on the bed, and when you lifted a hand to his cheek, Shinsou fucking shuddered, scrunching his eyes shut tightly, jaw tensing.

He opened his mouth, but before he could ruin the moment by saying something that could break your immersion, you kissed him, moving so closely into his space that you could feel the crease between his eyebrows and the wrinkle in his nose. You were pressing your tongue into his mouth, but for once, he wasn’t kissing you back—and what a shame, really, if Hitoshi couldn’t kiss you back when you’ve both been behaving so well all evening—

Gasping, Shinsou pulled you by the nape of your neck away from his mouth, and he was scowling, looking you over. “I see. You went somewhere again, didn’t you?”

“Hardly,” you lied, spreading your fingers over his collarbone as you leant closer to him, “I’m thinking of you, my lord.”

Shinsou glowered off to the side, fingers rising to tap over the back of your hand on his collarbone, and he curled them between your own fingers when he returned your gaze again. “You’re not thinking about me right now. You’re thinking of the me back then, aren’t you?” he asked, voice flat, “Well. In that case.” He shifted you to sit in front of him, with your back flush against his chest, and he spread his legs, pulling yours apart in the same movement (you snapped your legs back together, his knuckles smushed between your knees). “We’ll have to make the present moment so distracting that you can’t think about anything else, hm?”

(Okay. You could make this work.

Your husband, Hitoshi, is bored with the routine of these supply runs to Port Tyr’squith. Yes, he’s the one who insisted that he accompany you, since he doesn’t like to be away from you for too long, but you and he have done so many of these runs that they’re growing dull.

So, in the safety of the inn you always stay at in Renfield, Hitoshi decides to mix it up—to behave with artificial malice, to bully you, to make you second-guess everything he says, to make whatever sounds he draws from you just that much more satisfying for himself, since he has to work for them—and you love to lose to him when he gets like this.)

You leant back against him.

“That’s good. You’ll be good for me, yes? Behave? It’s what we agreed on,” said Shinsou into your ear, wrestling his hands from between your clamped knees, and he let out what must have been a satisfied sort of huff when you let him manoeuvre your legs this time—he hitched one of your thighs over his own to keep them spread. “Stay here,” he said softly, wrapping his hand around your wrist, “Think about right now. About right here.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head as he brought your fingertips to your lips. “Get your fingers wet.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “Kiss me first?”

With a flash of his eyebrows, he kissed you hard and opened-mouthed, waiting for the moment your tongue brushed against his before pulling away and sliding your fingers into your mouth, following your tongue the way his tongue had. When you paused in confusion, Shinsou curled his own fingers around yours to twist around your tongue the way he wanted (you jaw was already starting to ache at being spread).

“I’m feeling generous, your excellency,” said Shinsou, bending his fingers and your own to feel around the inside of your mouth, “You’re coming around someone’s fingers tonight, but you get to choose if the fingers are yours or mine.” His fingers broke from yours to swipe underneath your tongue to scoop up saliva, which he let drop onto your tongue. “No doubt you can feel how much larger mine are than yours. How much rougher they are,” said Shinsou, trapping your fingers underneath his as he weighed them down on your tongue, prying your mouth open and prompting saliva to gather, “If you choose to touch yourself, then I get to watch a private tutorial on exactly how to make you squirm. I can see how choosing for me to touch you would appeal to your pride, though—you can pretend you don’t like what I’m doing. Denial would be on your side, and you could keep a scrap of dignity that way. Whereas if you choose to make yourself come, you lose your dignity in exchange for control over how you’re being touched. Decisions, decisions. I’m content with either.”

(God, Hitoshi’s being so mean today. But that’s fine. You like it. You like it, don’t you? You do.

You do.)

“You make me come, my lord,” you said, muffled from your fingers, and once you removed all of them from your mouth, you continued, “I’d probably take too long for your liking.”

“I don’t mind long,” said Shinsou, running his hand down your front, shifting you in his arms, “Long can be wonderful. But! A fine answer, nevertheless.” He moved to pull your skirts up, but you slapped his hand down, trapping it against—through fabric—the stretch where your thigh met your labia.

“I’d like to clarify some things,” you said, pinching the back of his hand when his thumb started to edge towards your clit, “because otherwise, you’ll take it too far. Do not twist my words on this. I know you’re always looking for loopholes, but please take me seriously here.”

You paused, and in the silence, he hummed. “I’m listening,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you closer, his broad shoulders curling in around yours very slightly.

“I’ve noticed by now that you like to let me suffer as a result of my own word choice; it’s part of how you get under my skin so well. Please, I—I know you’re gonna ask me somewhere in the midst of this if I wanna come. Am I right in assuming if I said no that you’d just keep edging me, without ever letting me reach orgasm?”

He kissed your head again. “You’re catching on.”

“You’re the worst,” you said, unable to move his hand from when it inched over to cup you over the skirt and very, very gently started to stroke you through the fabric. “Listen. I do want to come. Once. And I want you to do it nicely. If you make it painful, I’m gonna bite into your neck until I rip away flesh.”

You felt, rather than heard, Shinsou inhale sharply, and before you could turn to look back at him, he caught your chin and directed your gaze forward. “What’sh,” you struggled to say through smushed cheeks.

“You should think of a threat that doesn’t go straight to my cock,” said Shinsou, voice strangled, putting some distance between you and his pelvis, “Your conditions are fine this time. Your first death for me will be more humiliating if it’s exactly how you like.” He took a deep breath, and he released your face and guided your hand to the back of his neck. “Anchor yourself here,” he said, coaxing your fingers to curl into the short hair there, “and keep your other hand flat on my thigh. Try not to make a fist; I’ll be watching.”

Shinsou tugged up your skirts, and the cool, night air made your bare cunt clench.

Your hand shot out before he could pull the fabric much farther up your stomach. “You’re not exposing any more of my body.”

“Noted. What strange things you’re concerned about.” He clicked his tongue. “Yet you’re fine with my seeing your cunt?”

 “You’re not exactly looking at it directly,” you said, swallowing and returning your hand to his thigh.

“Should I assume you don’t want me to?”

“Not now,” you said, shutting your eyes, but they snapped open when you remembered how one of your not nows from earlier was the reason you were upstairs together in the first place. “Not tonight, my lord.”

“Very well.” Shinsou lightly slid the backs of his fingers along your sex, flesh to flesh, with every nerve in your body on alert as he did so. “I’ll confess that the current view is really working for me, though,” he said, running his thumb back and forth through your pubic hair.

Only the barest inkling of arousal ran through you at this point, and he’s everywhere already: he’s the weight of his chin on your shoulder; he’s his left hand, smoothing over the inside of your thigh (probably in an attempt to stop you from bouncing it); he’s the scent of pears and soap and cedar and sweat as you scrunched your face to the side and into his collar; he’s the muted grunt at the back of his throat when his index and middle fingers first tapped against your clit, and then they moved in slow, deliberate circles.

Shinsou was licking along the shell of your ear and nipping at the top curve of the cartilage, as if to distract you, but without that fucking mouth of his running, there’s no way you can be distracted from his thumbing between your labia, fingers dragging down your folds and just barely circling your entrance to gather enough wetness to make the glide back up to your clit smoother. He parted his index and middle fingers to press them lengthwise along both sides of your clit, and he flipped them over to wet their backs in the motion back up.

You were already fidgeting, already hot at the concept of someone touching you like this, flustered that someone could witness you without all your walls up, and you shut your eyes, determined to shove down your nerves.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Shinsou was saying, stilling your thigh against his with one hand, thumb circling your clit with the other, “No one’s around to see you. No one can hurt you but me, and, for the moment, I’m following your rule to treat you nicely.”

(Wait, yeah, this is fine. This is Hitoshi talking. Your husband. He’s just being a bit mean tonight. You’re safe.)

The chill of his rings when his ring and pinkie fingers first grazed along your vulva made you jump, and Shinsou kissed behind your ear as he circled around your cunt again, smearing all the wetness he could gather along your folds, coating his fingers.

You yipped when a sliver of your skin pinched between one of his rings. “My lord,” you said in a rush, high-pitched, slapping at his hand even though he’d jerked it away the second you made the noise, “Fah—fuck, don’t tell me you did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t. I swear,” said Shinsou, holding up his right hand, dripping with your arousal, “Which ring got you? The silver band, or?” He pointed first towards a plain, scuffed ring on his pinkie and then towards another with an indigo-coloured stone.

“I don’t know,” you said, mildly put off by the combination of pain and an interrupted orgasm.

“Right,” he said, slipping both of them off and putting them on the index finger of your left hand. “Keep these safe for me, then. You can make a fist to keep them on.” He planted your fist to its home on his thigh again. “Since they’re too big for me, they’re definitely too big for you.”

“Why are you wearing rings that don’t even fit? Holy shit,” you said, hips jolting as his thumb returned to rub at your clit with fervour, the rest of his fingers trailing down to your cunt.

“Hand-me-downs,” said Shinsou, and he spread his pinkie and index finger away from his middle and ring, which traced, featherlight, around the rim of your cunt, and he slowly pressed his middle finger inside you, the irregular callous around a scar dragging all the way.

Without thinking, you let out a whine and then clapped your hand over your mouth in embarrassment, determined to clamp your jaw shut so that no more could escape (but dear God, the feeling’s so different when it’s someone else’s hands. Everything’s more intense, more sensitive, and the initial stretch shocked you because his fingers are larger than yours—but, hey, no, this is normal. Hitoshi always appreciates your palpable surprise at how good he can make you feel, doesn’t he? Yeah.).

“Whining at the stretch? That’s cute,” said Shinsou, his finger inside you remaining still, waiting, while his thumb still strained up to circle your clit, a bit more gently than earlier, “because this is barely anything compared to my cock.” Shinsou nuzzled his cold nose into your neck. “You okay?”

(Hitoshi has always liked to tease you like this, likes to make you wait for your reward—)

“Fuck,” said Shinsou, sighing as he plopped his forehead on your shoulder, thumb coming to a halt, body curling around yours as he squeezed you in a snug grip, “This isn’t—you’re not here, are you?”

“What?” You blinked to make your eyes focus. “No, I—I’m here,” you said, “I’m with you.”

“I don’t think you are,” said Shinsou, reaching around to the back of his neck to unlatch your hand, and he set it in your lap. “We’re stopping.”

“What? No,” you said, snapping your legs shut around his hand as he tried to remove his finger (he got almost halfway before getting trapped between your thighs).

You didn’t quite understand it yourself, but something about your growing arousal bred a fog in your brain. It gave you a taste of oblivion. A voice in the back of your mind told you that it would be so relaxing to forget everything for a few minutes, to turn off your brain so that you might not feel the responsibility on your shoulders. Might not feel the need to imagine something else. Might feel like you for a few minutes, instead of Court Mage.

“You’ll keep going,” you found yourself saying, consumed by that desire to chase oblivion, “or I’m punting you back to the castle again. This time, through the roof of the inn.”

“I’m not going to,” said Shinsou, frowning as he tried to work his hand out from between your legs, and he finally yanked it away. “If you’re not with me, there’s no point. You’re too far in your head.”

Shit. Shit! “Fine,” you said, squirming, “You’re right. I’ve been—trying to make it easier for me by thinking of a different situation. It’s still you I’m with, but—yeah. Earlier you.” You twisted in his grasp, and it was your turn you grab his chin to make him look at you. “You don’t deserve the information I’m about to give you, but I’d rather tell you directly instead of letting you have the satisfaction of deducing it yourself. I’m only going to be this direct for this particular conversation. Got it?”

A startled Shinsou, eyes wide and pale cheeks squished in your grip, nodded with as much movement as you would allow.

“It seems like if I’m not thinking about this—us—in a completely different situation and allow myself to get immersed in it, then I start thinking about the fucking war and court and Yamada and Aizawa and the whole—” You gestured loosely. “—messy context to what we’re doing. And I get distracted,” you said, squeezing his cheeks for emphasis, the metal of his own rings imprinting into his skin, before releasing him, “It seems I’d rather create my own distraction than get bogged down in one from reality. So, yeah. I’m too far in my head.” Steeling yourself, you turned in his arms and spread your legs again, hooking one over his own. “So, help me get out of it, my lord. Help me stop thinking.”

Behind you, Shinsou was silent.

“All right,” he said eventually, frown evident in his voice, “but if you leave again, I am stopping, regardless of how close to coming you are.”

“Sure.”

Shinsou laid his palm flat over your cunt again and gathered any leftover wetness, and he hummed in appreciation when you jerked involuntarily at the first press of his thumb to your clit, and when you covered your mouth with your hand when he moved to sink his middle finger into you again, he didn’t stop you—but he did stop himself. Instead of plunging in to the hilt, Shinsou instead hooked his index finger just inside of your cunt and pulled back, stretching the ring of muscle as he continued the movement around the rim (your hips arched into it).

From there, he bullied in a finger, growing shinier with slick with each pass in and out, feeling around your front wall, massaging it, and using his whole wrist to toy with you, even though the thrusts were so shallow.

When your cunt visibly convulsed, Shinsou punched the air out of your lungs by adding his middle finger, pumping them both in a nasty, slow grind. He was probing around inside you, curling his fingers more each time he reached farther inside, and when the heel of his palm finally hit the flesh of your folds, he gasped as your spasming cunt leaked around him and trickled onto his hand.

“Your excellency,” he choked out, grinding his fingers as deeply as he could before returning to pulling them in and out, less exploratory and more urgent, “how the hell are you so blazing hot inside? And—and gripping me so—” A grunt escaped from the back of his throat. “I could come just from feeling you.”

As your head slumped back against his chest and your thighs fell completely open, Shinsou quickened his pace, knuckles making contact with each pump, prompting a tender swollenness and a stickily wet noise each time he drove his fingers into you, the force of which pressed you back against his bulge.

The hot licks of pleasure unfurling up your spine made stars pass before your eyes and your brain to stop thinking. But—you had to focus on how good it felt instead of honing in on any other physical sensation—the jittering of your thigh, his breath on your neck, how your toes spread and curled, how your hips would jerk and come back down to the mattress, the sounds of the sleet hitting the window and footsteps in the hallway, the bedding’s freshly-washed smell—all of the things that could bring you back to where you were and who you are.

(And why do you deserve to distance yourself from—

[You shoved it down.])

“Keep talking,” you said through gritted teeth, writhing against him.

Shinsou kissed behind your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

“Fuck off; fuck off; stop being so impertinent! I just—” Your hips spasmed, and you clenched around his fingers, his scar rubbing over a sensitive spot as the room’s walls closed in. “—fucking talk; just—just be nice to me!”

“I know you’re close. I can feel you,” said Shinsou, fingers moving harder, deeper, “You look so good stretched around my fingers. So good when you’re not thinking about anything but me. You look—” He reached for your chin to make you look his way, and he must have seen something in your face: he stiffened, swore under his breath, and grabbed the back of your head to tuck it into his neck, just as you started to squeeze around him uncontrollably.

Your orgasm struck you all at once, too soon and too hard and consuming, and your clit pulsed so strongly it hurt—

(Don’t you deserve to be punished? For how many lives you’ve ruined or ended, for how much you’ve messed up over the last sixteen years? For losing yourself in a cycle of violence?

Isn’t Shinsou the most appropriate one to punish you? Your former best friend, whom you couldn’t protect, whose life you’ve made significantly worse? Is Shinsou not your perfect grim reaper? Shouldn’t he punish you how he sees fit?

[Shut up, you managed to say to the voice in your head, I just want to stop thinking.])

“That’s it,” he said, chin atop your head, fingers slowing their pace, thumb moving more gently against your clit, making your orgasm less painful, “There we go. Thank you. Thank you. Fuck, you’re shaking so hard. It’s okay. We’re stopping.” He tentatively lifted his hand from the back of your head, and when you didn’t move from there, he placed his hand on your trembling thigh, trying to still it. “Easy, your excellency. You’re okay.”

You were shaking. When did that start? You ran a finger underneath your eyes—good, you hadn’t started crying unnoticed, either. You’d cried on accident on your wedding night, and you didn’t care to do it again.

“Hold on,” said Shinsou, and you held your breath as he pulled out his fingers, glistening in your arousal. He held them up, rubbing them together. “Would you look at that?” he said, more to himself than to you.

“Oh, stop it,” you said, swiping his hand out of the way so that you could crawl out of his embrace, “You’re such a pervert.”

Before you could skulk out from between his legs entirely, he grabbed your arm and said, “Hey, are you all right? You don’t have to leave so—”

“I think so,” you said, unsure if you were lying, “Give me a minute. And don’t even think about licking your fingers; put them down right now.”

Pursing his lips, Shinsou lowered his hand, and he swiped a crumpled handkerchief from your clutter on the bedside table as you separated yourself from him. The instant you left his lap fully, Shinsou groaned and lay back on the bed, head bouncing as it hit the pillow. “I see you’re back to normal.” Shinsou covered his face with his arm, his nose in the crook of his elbow. “You were begging me to do things with such a delectably pathetic tone for a minute, there. Should I edge you constantly so that you stay compliant?”

You blinked. Frazzled, you moved to sit on your knees, pulling your skirts over your legs and clenching your hands into fists to halt their trembling—and then you found you didn’t yet have the strength to stay upright, so you shifted to lean against the wall and stretched your legs to dangle off of the bed. Still throbbing. Still sore.

What was going on? It’s like he’s flipped a switch, and he’s brusque with you again. Not that the brusqueness had vanished while he was touching you, but his edges had seemed sanded down.

You glanced up at him, ignoring the bulge in his trousers and focusing on the pinch of his mouth, nearly hidden in shadow, and you sighed: it hadn’t worked. You couldn’t turn your brain off enough to enjoy yourself; the intrusive thoughts had still broken through. This man too strongly binds you to reality, and because of that, you can’t stop thinking about your situation long enough to relax.

Shinsou lifted his arm from his eyes just a hair. “Lie down with me,” he said, voice rasping, muffled even without the help of the sleet striking glass, “I wanna hear more about setting up your quest.”

You can’t stay around Shinsou. He makes you overthink too much.

You don’t yet have a plan, but you could buy time. You slid off the bed and stepped towards the bedside table to shove your belongings back into your pockets. Shinsou turned in bed to face you and raised a brow. “My throat is dry,” you said to him, slapping his hand away when he reached for one of your marble-spells about to roll off the table, “and you’re paying for the drink I’m about to buy.” You scooped up a couple of his two-yenner coins, flashing them his way before pocketing them.

“You’re the one who just came; you’re probably still discombobulated,” said Shinsou, moving to sit up, “I’ll go down and get—”

“No.” You pushed down on his chest, making his lie back down. “I don’t trust you to. You brought me food last time, anyway, when we—well.” You shuffled towards your boots by the door and started putting them on. “Do you want anything, while I’m down there?”

Shinsou blinked slowly. “Whatever you’re having,” he said, and he folded an arm behind his head, watching you lace your boot. “And I want you to leave one of your boots here, so that you have to come back up here for it.”

You scoffed. “What, do you want me to go down in only one shoe?”

Though recumbent, he shrugged a shoulder. “Wear one of mine.”

Muttering to yourself, you stomped down the staircase to the ground floor in mismatched boots, the contents of your pockets bumping against your legs with every stair. What can you do; what do you have? You have to get out of here without a true spell, since he’s said he can track the aftertaste of your magic; you need something that’ll stall him enough to give you time to get distance between you on foot.

You had to empty your pockets on the counter when you paid for the drinks to search for the loose coins, and after you slid the yenner across the wood to the innkeeper, your eyes fell to the bottle of Bibimi’s love potion.

Laden with two mugs, you pushed your rented room’s door open on the dimly lit silhouette of Shinsou lying in bed—one hand just resting atop his cock, not even palming it, or anything, and the other resting its fingertips against his lips. Both hands shot to his sides when you entered, and your stomach flipped when you realised the fingers on his lips had been the ones inside you.

You couldn’t remove your boots at the door without setting the mugs aside, so you kept them on, uneven as Shinsou’s boot kept you, and you shut the door behind you. “Thanks for waiting,” you said, crossing to Shinsou as he sat up, “A new round of miners has come in since we left, and they’re clogging up the bar. I know you like coffee, considering how much more brutally you’d fight when we cut off your warcamp’s supply, but since it’s so late, I wasn’t in the mood.” You passed him the cup—a bright orange, hand-thrown mug without a handle. “I would have normally gotten barley tea this late, but since you’re paying, I got us both granatus. I love it when I don’t have to prepare a pomegranate myself. What’s so funny?” you asked, cradling your own mug (blue, with an ocean-wave pattern).

Shinsou was grinning, eyes glinting. “Nothing,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “You’re talking a lot.” He peered into the thick, dark liquid as he perched it on his knee. “Interesting pottery, this.”

“The innkeeper told me her niece makes it.”

“She has a distinctive style,” said Shinsou, holding up his mug and turning it, and he glanced towards your own. “Both pieces are so different, too. No chance of someone getting the wrong cup.”

You froze. “What,” you said, tongue heavy, “are you talking about?”

With a sigh, Shinsou shook his head. “I’ve always thought you very clever, your excellency, but I suppose we all can change.” Shinsou swiped your mug and swopped it with his before you could even blink, and he leant back on his free hand and clutched your blue mug out of reach. “I see that working under Yamada for so long has finally robbed you of your intelligence and clogged your mind with the demanding fripperies of court life. I conjecture you could’ve come up with something clever enough to outwit me, if you hadn’t had to remember nonsense like the spells he uses to turn pages and polish his boots.”

Your hand closed around the orange mug like a claw, eyes darting towards the blue. “I’d like that back,” you said, with an air of deliberate calm, “I like blue things. Reminds me of my patchwork cloak. Makes me feel safe. I gave you the orange cup because—”

“Talking too much,” said Shinsou, smiling and shaking his head, “Get a hold of yourself. You’ve given too much away too quickly.” His gaze softened, and he spoke lightly. “It was quite stupid of you to leave that love potion out on the table where I could see it. And for so long. On the closest surface, even; you could’ve unloaded your pockets on the far dresser, and you were so careful to take it downstairs with you. Do you really believe that you can come back in here, after you’ve had your time to collect your thoughts about being made to come on my hand, and ask me to believe there’s nothing in this drink?” Shinsou sat forward and gestured for you to take a seat next to him on the bed. “You’re right to try to deceive me, your excellency. I’m not upset about that. It’s the idiocy that’s upsetting. You could’ve done much better than this reckless plan, and we could’ve both had fun.”

“Thanks,” you said, scowling, sitting far away from him on the edge of the bed.

“You’re not even using your own magic,” said Shinsou, scooting closer to you, hand sinking into the blankets when he leant against it, “You’re relying on some amateur’s potion. If you’d used something of your own, even, I might be less disappointed. It’d be an experience, to suffer through something you’ve made.”

“I didn’t put anything in your drink,” you said, staring down at the orange mug in your grasp.

“Of course, your excellency. It’d be a discourteous thing to do, especially after I brought you safe food to that dreadful attic when you were about to pass out,” said Shinsou, grinning widely while nudging you with his elbow, curving his foot around your ankle, “Since there’s nothing wrong with that mug, you’ll accompany me in drinking, won’t you?”

“I’m glad one of us is enjoying himself,” you said, biting your lip, and though you both raised the mugs to your lips at the same time, Shinsou drained his more quickly so that he could watch you swallow the last of yours. When you’d swallowed the last mouthful of the syrupy, pomegranate drink, you wiped the back of your mouth in fury and stormed to the opposite wall, sliding down it to sit against it. “I’ll kill you,” you said, hugging your knees to your chest, hiding behind your skirts.

Shinsou stood and brushed off his pants. “I imagine we won’t be hearing that phrase for a while, since you’ll be consumed with love for, as the bottle said, the nearest person with whom you have a connection. I wonder what it’ll be like without any overt animosity aimed towards me? Perhaps, at the very least, you’ll be more open to what I have to say about that man who calls himself your patron. Yamada shouldn’t—” Shinsou rubbed his lower lip and, after rushing to sit down again, at his throat. “Oh,” he said, turning towards his mug, tipped sideways in the blankets, “Very good. It was in the blue mug the whole time, yes?”

You’ll have to inform Keigo that Bibimi’s potion kicked in almost instantly (she probably didn’t peel her ardithorn before brewing). “Brilliant, my lord,” you said flatly, and you got up from your spot against the wall and started packing the rest of your belongings into your bag. “Anyone else would’ve nicked the love potion the instant he saw it or broken the glass or refused to drink at all. But you like watching me talk myself into a corner. You like feeling like you’ve outwitted everyone,” you said, unravelling your patchwork cloak to shake out the wrinkles, and your wadded-up underwear fell to the floor, which you picked up to slip on. “You seem to get off on it.”

You snapped your bag shut, and with your cloak draped over your arm, you strode to the bed, where a flushed Shinsou, despite trying to lie very, very still, couldn’t help from twitching and spasming. Noted. Maybe you should be writing down the effects.

“Your—your excel—” But it came out breathily, and he sucked in through his teeth as he threw his head back, brow furrowed as he thrashed in bed, shirt coming untucked—he seized its hem to hold it in place, but not before you got a flash of a fraying, pale violet scar running parallel along one half of his v-line.

“Can you really not get a full sentence out?” you asked, genuinely interested. “Your whole face has turned red. I think it’s spreading down your neck and chest, too. How are you feeling?”

Shinsou glowered at you, arching his back and inhaling sharply. “Murderous,” he spat, grabbing a fistful of blanket and covering his lower body.

“Huh,” you said, sliding on the first sleeve of your cloak, “I’m only asking to report back on the effects of this potion. Not many people have drunk it, and it’ll help Keigo if we can more accurately describe what it does. It’s mislabelled, incidentally. More of a lust potion than love. Although, I don’t think the creator knows that.”

Shinsou shot you a glare but said nothing; a throaty noise escaped him instead.

“You’ll be fine, my lord. I know a lot about love potions; I use them to keep warm in the colder months—they were the only consistent source of heat inside the walls of during the Siege of Irrishir Gard. Someone halted our other supplies,” you said, reaching to feel his forehead—clammy, sweating at the hairline but not dripping down his face yet—and his eyelashes fluttered at your touch. “Based on its ingredients, this lust potion should be weak. Should only last around six hours.”

Shinsou’s eyes snapped open as he barked, “What? I can’t—can’t stay hard for six—”

“I’m only guessing,” you said, sitting on the bed, and you wretched both of his rings from your finger. “And surely you won’t maintain a single erection. I’m certain you’ll be able to have your own cum all over your hand multiple times before the end of the night.” You took his hand and slid the silver band back onto his little finger. “Think you could fight through it? It’s only an amateur’s potion, after all.”

“All right,” said Shinsou, panting, flexing his fingers with soft pops before letting you slide the ring with the indigo stone onto his ring finger, “I suppose I deserve this.”

“Don’t start that. We’ve done enough to each other that we can neither do enough to earn forgiveness nor get even. And that’s that,” you said, pinching your lip and considering: he’s able to fight it, based on how he’s keeping his head enough to speak in coherent sentences and maintain a sense of modesty. You may need another deterrent to ensure your escape.

Gasping, Shinsou pushed his hand back through his hair, sweat flattening the strands, and he curled his fingers into it to yank violently at the roots, which seemed to bring him down enough to focus. “And what if I forgive you?”

 “You wouldn’t. You won’t,” you said, shaking your head, stomach turning as you bunched the fabric of your cloak in your fist, ready to reach down, “not after what I’m going to do to you.” You stooped to pull from Shinsou’s boot the same, obsidian blade he’d pulled on you on your wedding night, and—you had a split second of asking him where he’d want it but decided against it—you plunged the knife near where his shoulder met his neck. The tip didn’t even pierce that far into his flesh—a couple of inches. It clattered to the floor when you released it, and Shinsou groaned, this time in pain, and clutched the spot, blood seeping through his fingers.

“So, the binding magic does let us pierce the skin,” you said, kicking the knife underneath the bed out of reach and stooping to yank off his boot, “I wouldn’t worry, my lord. I trust you won’t die from this.”

You retrieved your own boot, slung your bag over your shoulder, and left money to pay for the room on the dresser; you froze as you started to pull open the door, because Shinsou let out a moan so whiny and broken that it went straight to your lower stomach, with residual arousal leaking into your underwear. You closed your eyes for a moment before tearing a patch from your cloak.

“My lord.” Your turned over your shoulder, holding up the ripped patch. “This can sanitise and bind your wound. Crawl to it at your leisure,” you said, chucking the patch against the far wall, “I’ll see you in a few months.”

“No, I—” Shinsou was winded, panting for breath, struggling to sit up as he shielded his lower half with the blanket, and his arm gave out as he collapsed back onto the bed. But he lifted his head, and for a moment, his eyes regained their usual, determined clarity: “Take me with you.”

With a wry smile, you shook your head and pushed open the door, and as you shut it behind you, you fought the urge to double back to kiss his cheek.

taglist: @babypeapoddd, @marsbars09, @skellyfleshsuit, @meyell

[jay-arts-t]

I've returned again but this time I am thinking very much about how when Logan finally regained all of his memories how much he's gotta miss his dad. No, not Thomas Logan- we concern that man with the title of sperm donor. I'm talking about John Howlett Sr. Thinking about that point forward whenever Logan is going through a hard time (all of the time) he just wishes his dad was there because he was the only one who ever gave him comfort as a child (besides Rose but she seemed to be like a sister to Logan.). Thinking about him sitting under a tree on father's day with a bottle of whiskey in hand, reminiscing about all of the years, which seem so few now in his long life, where he'd get to celebrate father's day with his dad. When he was too little to really prepare anything he'd just crawl into his father's bed in the mornings for cuddles, and as he got older Rose or the maids would help him make breakfast. Thinking about them going fishing together, or John sharing some of his own interests with Logan. I like to think he's how Logan got really into vehicles. Yes John was a businessman, he had the family wealth to take care of, but he was a good man too and I think he probably liked working with his hands. So even when Logan remained amnesiac from all of the times his memory was forcibly wiped and tattered, he always found a comfort in working with vehicles because of the time he spent with his dad. And I'm thinking heavily about if Daken/Akihiro (for those who don't know, Daken/Akihiro is Logan's firstborn son from his marriage with Itsu. For a long time they were enemies because of Romulus but eventually they reconciled and Daken is a hero now.) were the one to talk to him about it. They've had a very complicated history with one another, but they've reached a point where they can become close. Daken joining him under that tree silently, trying to think of a taunt to get his father to talk. But the look on Logan's face is too wistful and sullen, so instead he just asks what Logan's father was like. At first Logan scoffs, because he thinks of his biological father at first. He says, "a right bastard who deserves everything he got in the end." and Daken rolls his eyes. "I can smell otherwise. Come on. You can't look like that over a man you call a bastard."

Logan would sigh softly, look over at him for a moment, swallow his pride and nod. "No, you're right. I had a man who I thought for so long was my father, it was hard when I learned I wasn't his son, despite how much he loved me. It felt like I was betraying him by not being his son, and for a long time it made me feel guilty for even being alive. But I don't think he would care if I was biologically his son or not. He wasn't vindictive or cruel. He didn't have a mean bone in his body, which is so different to how I am, and how I've managed to raise you all- or lack thereof-"

"Yeah, I know you aren't the best father. Not one of us will say you are. But you're there when it matters most, and in a roundabout way that makes you a better father than most. If you were a shitty dad you wouldn't have been so merciful to me. You wouldn't have fought for me, even when I hated you and did everything I could to kill you. And the only thing that convinced you to kill me that one time was because it was a turning point in saving the rest of your family from the end of the world. I think we can move past you being a not so great dad. Besides, that's not what we're talking about." Daken reminds him, which surprises Logan. First it's rare that he would even speak so comfortingly. He was used to Daken being cold, precise and abrasive. Not traits that he necessarily resented, he held them often himself. It was just jarring to hear him be so warm.

"You know, maybe you're a bit more like your mom than I give you credit for." Logan tells him. Daken doesn't know how to reply to that other than to punch Logan in the arm as hard as he can. Elder on elder crime. Logan will laugh and rub his arm, "alright alright... But back to what I was saying, my father was kind. Much more kind than most people deserved. My mother didn't like me, I don't know why. Maybe it was because she thought I ruined her life after my older brother died. Even though she was the one who decided to have an affair with the groundskeep. And I guess me getting sick all the time at a young age didn't help her to like me. I remember she'd call me selfish often, because I took so much attention up. My grandfather, Old Man Howlett, would often tell me I was faking it. He also didn't like me very much, but to be fair he didn't like his own son. He wanted my father to be harder on me, rule with a hard hand like how he raised him. But my father wasn't willing to subject his children to the same pain he had gone through. I don't remember much of my older brother, but I imagine he was just as close to father as I was. Sometimes I catch myself wishing that he was still around when I got married to Itsu and had you. Of course I wish I could've raised you. Of course I wish Itsu was still here. But I also wish you could've met my father. I think his kindness would've done a lot of good. He had a way of soothing the soul with a simple touch. He used to pull me into hugs by placing his hand against my head and pressing a kiss to my crown. It got embarrassing when I was starting to grow up, but I would give a damn lot to have that again."

Daken stays quiet for a little while after that, because Logan's pain is so palpable. It always is whenever he shares something. It's rare that he does, and usually it's full of bitterness, and rage, and choked off words because it makes his throat tight and he can smell the salt of pained tears that Logan forces away. But this is a different kind of pain, a pain that Daken is familiar with. This longing for comfort from people meant to protect you. He feels a claw of bitterness pierce his heart for just a moment. The things his father experienced were things he wished for as a child. And while his own adoptive father adored him, it was a limited love that was quickly shattered by the coming of his little brother- and in turn shattered by Daken killing him. But that bitterness and that pain isn't what's needed, those are things Daken has to work out with himself by himself (well no he could go to therapy but this is the Howlett-adjacent family, they're allergic to therapy.). So instead he throws an arm over Logan's shoulder and pats his arm.

"Sounds like he was a good man." He replies and hopes he doesn't sound as awkward as he feels.

"He was. Didn't deserve to die so young. Things would've been so much different if he had lived." Logan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut for a few moments when his pain becomes unbearable. "Lotta shit I wouldn't have gone through if he had lived."

"You almost sound resentful." Daken observes aloud after Logan's second comment. Logan shakes his head, pauses as he considers and then shrugs.

"Emotions are too complex for me to always understand. I'm a man of action, not of words. I guess maybe a childish part of me is mad that he died. Maybe because I've come back from the dead so many times I'm mad at him for being so mortal. It's stupid, I know, and irrational, I know, but, I don't know how else to feel. I miss him. I miss him a lot. I can't stop thinking about him now that I remember him. I remember the way I would run to him whenever I was in pain, no matter what kind. And now I'm always in pain, and I can't help but want to run to him. But he's not here, he hasn't been here since I was thirteen, and I don't know what to do. Sometimes I wish I didn't remember him, even though I've spent so long agonizing over not remembering who I am. I've lost so many people, so many that I've loved so dearly. Yet this is just a hole that won't stop aching and oozing hurt and it's unbearable. But there ain't nothing I can do about it. There's no grave to visit as far as I know. There's no estate to go back to. Ain't no place up in Cold Lake where I can visit the same as it used to be back when he was still alive. I miss him. I miss being a kid and being unaware of all of the pain surrounding me, and all the pain that was in store for me. I miss being able to go into his office and sit on the floor with my back against his desk and read whatever was lying around while he'd work. I miss the times where I was well enough to go run errands with him, even if it was just to stop by the post office or go to the bank. I miss when he'd take me fishing, or he'd take me and Rose on hikes and let us ramble about things he already knew. I miss when I was little and he'd stay up with me while I was in so much pain I couldn't sleep, and I miss how he'd cram himself into my little bed when I needed him to stay because I was scared of being alone... I miss him so much and it hurts."

Well, that's the most Daken has ever heard his father speak... Possibly ever. He doesn't know how to reply other than to hold him a little bit tighter. He knows that him and his father aren't that different from each other, their childhoods aren't parallels but they're pretty similar. A father who cared so deeply despite not being the father, and a mother who cared more for a "better" sibling. For a long time Daken stays silent, because what can he really say? He wasn't the most emotional man. Yes he had a short temper and sometimes his emotions could becoming conflicting and complex, but most things didn't get a reaction out of him. He was cold and calculative. He'd been called a psychopath a number of times and sometimes he believes it to be true. Maybe at least a sociopath instead. So he just continues to sit there beside Logan and let the man calm down himself. When he hears the definitive sigh of Logan sucking it up finally he suggests, "We could make a shrine. If your father was rich there's probably a portrait or photograph of him somewhere. There's gotta be a second estate or some archive."

Logan considers it and nods softly. "There might be. That's a good idea. I think I'd like that."

[akirasstories]

all of my fics

teen wolf:

The Horros We Face Together (theoxliam) - 100k words

Hurt, Angst, Comfort, eventual Fluff, Slow Burn, TW: Torture, Blood, Death, Violence

Liam gets kidnapped by a new Evil in town. But can Theo save him? He needs to confront old demons and his worst fears to not only bring Liam back home but to let him heal.

Somewhere To Belong (theoxliam) - 70k

Fluff, Humour, Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt and Comfort

Theo hadn’t really expected to stay this long with Liam’s family. When he first moved into the Geyer-Dunbar household back in January, it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement—a stopgap while he figured out where to go next. But now, as September had rolled around, that “temporary” plan had quietly evolved into something more permanent. The guest room had become his room.

And Theo? Theo secretly loved it. Theo had always been good at taking what wasn’t his, and this? This was no different. He wanted this family. He wanted Liam.

Whispers in the Night (theoxliam) - 30k

Light Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff, Slow Burn

Theo turns up one night, climbing through Liam's window. It's the start of a journey of late night whispers, shared beds and relationships that vanish in the daylight.

Fractured Trust (theoxliam) - 20k

Hurt, Comfort, Angst

Theo makes a mistake, Liam feels betrayed. How can they work together when the trust between them is broken - how could Liam forgive Theo?

A Place to Call Home (theoxliam) - 14k

Fluff

Liam finds out Theo is homeless - a trip to IKEA, the struggle of assembling furniture and decorating a new home lead to the discovery of some feelings between the two boys.

In Your Orbit (theoxliam) - 13k

Angst, Emotional Hurt, Comfort

Liam is like the sun. Everything in Theo’s world resolves around him. Without him, there is only darkness, coldness. But you can’t get too close to the sun. It will burn you. Theo knows that, but he has nothing left, so he will take anything he can get. Even if it means to get burned. Because once Liam is gone, there will be nothing left for Theo.

Always With You (theoxliam) - 11k

Domestic Fluff

Theo and Liam go to a local fair. Liam wants to spend as much time with his boyfriend as he can, before he leaves for college. Theo has a suprise for Liam. (+ E?extra chapter)

The Wolf at the Door (theoxliam) - 11k

Fluff, Humor, Slight Hurt, Full Shift Theo Raeken

Theo keeps showing up at Liam’s doorstep. As a wolf. Liam has no idea why but as time progresses, he learns more and more about Theo and himself.

Touch-Starved (theoxliam) - 10k

Fluff, Humor, Slight Smut

Theo didn’t do "close." Not with anyone. But when Liam, with his annoying smiles and relentless optimism, started pushing his way into Theo's carefully guarded life, things got complicated. Now, after one too many touches that sent Theo’s mind spiraling, he's stuck figuring out why his body—and maybe his heart—seem determined to betray him whenever Liam's around.

Through the Window (theoxliam) - 9k

Fluff, Humor

After discovering that Theo has been living out of his truck, Liam makes it his mission to offer him a place to stay—without triggering Theo’s pride or making it seem like charity. This starts a journey of shared meals & beds and maybe more confusing feelings.

Observations of the Heart (theoxliam) - 7k

Fluff

Stiles Stilinski was always the one who noticed what others missed. But as he watched Theo and Liam grow closer in the quiet moments between pack nights and movie marathons, he saw something unexpected—a love that was subtle, fierce, and undeniably real.

A Diner Outside of Town (theoxliam) - 7k

Fluff

After the final battle in Beacon Hills, Theo and Liam find themselves struggling to navigate life outside the chaos of the supernatural world. Seeking refuge in a quiet diner on the edge of town, they slowly realize that their connection goes far beyond shared battles.

Kisses, Punches and Broken Noses (theoxliam) - 5k

Fluff, Humour

Liam has a problem. That problem concerns Theo Raeken. What is it? He can't seem to stop punching the guy and kissing him afterwards.

Never Been Kissed (theoxliam) - 5k

Fluff, Humour

During a pack movie night, Theo and Liam confront their feelings, leading to an unforgettable moment neither saw coming.

A Siren's Song (theoxliam) - 4k

Fluff, Humour

Theo and Liam fight a Siren. The Siren takes on Theo's form to seduce Liam. Theo wants to know why.

Fight, Flee... Flirt? (theoxliam) - 4k

Fluff, Humour

Human AU, where Liam goes to a horror escape room and accidentally punches one of the actors. Turns out Ghostface did not plan to murder Liam and is also very handsome (besides glarring daggers at Liam).

Shadows (theoxliam) - 4k

Angst, Hurt, Comfort, TW: Mention of Sucicide

Theo is scared and about to make a fatal decision. Liam comes to save him.

Camping Trip (theoxliam) - 4k

Fluff, Humour

The puppy pack goes camping. Chaos and Twilight references ensure.

Not Your Typical Booty Call (theoxliam) - 3,5k

Crack and Humor, Very Light Smut, Fluff

Theo hits Liam with a "u up" text and Liam is already out of the house before the "come over" reply comes through. Liam is expecting their usual heated, clawing hours spend together - but not this. A bloody, half-dead chimera on the kitchen floor.

Not the Big Needle (theoxliam) - 2,6k

Domestic Fluff, Humor, Collge Thiam

Pre-med studen Theo just wants to practice for his phlebotomy practical. Liam would like to keep his arm. Theo is exasperated. Liam is a good boyfriend.

Where We Stand (theoxliam) - 2,5k

Comfort, Light Angst

After the battle, Liam can’t stop the memories of the last few days from crashing in, and through it all, one person keeps surfacing—Theo, the one he can’t seem to escape. But what if he doesn’t want to?

Freckled Constellations (theoxliam) - 2k

Fluff, Humour

Theo and Liam get high together. Liam makes a (freckled) discovery.

Favorite Scent (theoxliam) - 2k

Fluff, Humour

Something had been bothering Theo lately, a strange, nagging feeling that crept up whenever he was around Liam. It was subtle, just under the surface, but every time he caught a whiff of Liam’s scent his heart would race, and his focus would go haywire.

The Great Spooning Debate (theoxliam) - 2k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Liam wants to be little spoon. Theo wants to be little spoon. Theo also doesn't care that he has been little spoon four nights in a row.

The Great Snack Dispute (theoxliam) - 2k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Theo and Liam go grocery shopping together. Theo tells Liam his choice of chips suck. Liam doesn't agree.

The Great Movie Debate (theoxliam) - 1,7k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Liam just wants to watch a MCU movie with Theo. Theo wants to show off his pretentious taste. An argument ensues.

I Wish You Could Be Mine - 1,5k

Angst, Emotional Hurt

Theo wonders how to get over someone who was never yours to begin with.

Pumpkins, Left Turns and Everything in Between (theoxliam) - 1,4k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Liam gets Theo to go pumpkin picking with him.

Stand in the Flames with Me (minor theoxliam) - 1,4k

Comfort

Theo can ignite Liam's anger but also tame it. It's a beautiful, dangerous dance.

#LacrosseBae (Taken, Cry About It) (theoxliam) - 1,4k

Domestic Fluff, Humour, Jealousy

Liam goes viral in a TikTok and gains some fans. Theo is not jealous. No. He just needs all to know that Liam is taken.

Between Wanting and Being - 1,3k

Angst, Emotional Hurt

Theo craves touch and affection.

The Anatomy of a Weapon - 1,3k

Angst, Emotional Hurt

Theo battles the ghosts of his past, the searing guilt of a stolen heart, and the crushing terror of failure—because even now, beyond the reach of the Dread Doctors, he’s still haunted by the lesson they carved into him.

Anything for You (minor theoxliam) - 1,3k

Yearning

Theo would do anything for Liam.

Stay with Me (theoxliam) - 1,3k

Comfort, Fluff

Theo was planning to leave. Liam begs him to stay.

Beautiful Fall (minor theoxliam) - 1,3k

Yearning

Theo reads about the myth of Icarus and can't help but see the similarities between him and Liam. Liam as the sun and himself as Icarus - destined to fall but trying to reach out anyway.

Drool and All (theoxliam) - 1,2k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Liam invites Theo to a nap after work.

Terms of Endearment (theoxliam) - 1,2k

Domestic Fluff, Humour

Liam thinks it's time to figure out pet names for each other. Theo is not happy about it.

Allowed to Stay (theoxliam) - 1,2k

Fluff, Light Angst

What if Theo was allowed to stay? Allowed to stay in bed with Liam until the sun is already high on the horizon? Thiam cuddles.

Number Nine (theoxliam) - 1k

Fluff, Humour

Liam thinks Theo's keychain is the same number as his lacrosse one.

The Worm Question (theoxliam) - 1k

Fluff, Humor and Crack

Theo just wants to sleep. Liam needs answers to a serious question.

[kindheart525]

The Frowning Friends make their triumphant return!

In the version of reality that is the Dottieverse, Grim and Gnarly didn’t die by the Renaissance Men’s arrows after all, although they did come very close. The Boss of Smiling Friends, their former competitor business, was nice enough to call an ambulance for them right away in hopes that they could live to see another smile. The recovery was a long and complicated process, and on top of that they had become public disgraces right before their near-death experience. For a while they laid low as they reevaluated their lives and struggled to adapt to their newly-acquired disabilities, so much that most people thought they really were dead. But now they’re back with a whole new lease on life!

Things are definitely different now. Gnarly is now operating with only one eye and has the occasional flares of pain around the muscles in his neck and shoulder where the arrows hit, plus his heart took a while to heal from the impact. Grim experienced even more changes, with the damage to his frontal lobe causing permanent muscle weakness on one side of his face and body, greatly impacting his ability to walk and speak clearly. Having to finally go to the dentist and get half his teeth removed certainly didn’t help things. Luckily he has a cool new text-to-speech app to help him say what he wants to say, AI trained on old recordings of himself to sound just like his old voice. Plus he has his beloved Gnarly who always knows exactly what he wants to say, who helps him communicate just as he helps him with spatial awareness in return. The brain damage also impacted Grim’s personality a bit, making him even more impulsive and less able to make reasonable decisions than he was before.

Which makes him perfect for his and Gnarly’s new job! Now that they’ve learned how good it feels to smile, they don’t want to go back to their old ways of spreading doom and gloom and making the world frown. Plus it’s just not a sustainable career path anymore. Now that they have a second chance at life they want to live it to the fullest, and now they’re making a living encouraging others to approach life with the same attitude! For better or worse…

"Life could be taken away at ANY MOMENT! So do with it what you've always wanted to do! Tell that person you love you want to run away and get married! Tell your worst enemy you wish they would die in an airplane crash! Don't hold back!"

They’re not edgelords who make people frown anymore but they’re also not quite like the Smiling Friends who work to make everyone smile. Plenty of their advice still creates frowns, which are now just a byproduct of ensuring that someone out there is making the most of life. But they’ll also help the people who got hurt by their clients get revenge if that happens to be a life goal of theirs. Sometimes they stir the pot and cause chaos but that’s part of the thrill of life! They’re wildly successful for their inspirational, don’t-hold-back rhetoric and their tactics which are actually much more disability accessible than anything those Smiling FOOLS have done.

Speaking of the Smiling Friends, the Frowning Friends (they need a new name…) are now less directly opposed to them and more like weekly menaces who are better at their jobs than them. This is because the Smiling Friends, despite having to do absolutely everything to make a client smile, are still bound by certain moral rules that Grim and Gnarly don’t concern themselves with. You might find them convincing Charlie to make irresponsible midlife crisis purchases that will annoy his wife and daughter, or planting ideas in the Pimling children’s heads that will run their father ragged with worry. Perhaps they even convinced Glep to run for President! Who knows what they’re capable of! All that matters is that they’re thriving and living their best lives.

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 5: a little too much

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 3.4k

chapter warnings: arguing

a/n: just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has liked, commented, and reblogged tenderness! i appreciate every interaction so so much!

also, happy stay day!!

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As preparations for the tour ramp up, so does the amount of time you spend working. 

You’re still doing double time, assisting with schedules while staying up late at your desk to reply to emails and finalise details for the tour. You resort to alternating between sipping on tea and energy drinks to help you stay awake long enough to finish all your work. Even though you don’t like the way they make you feel, jittery and sometimes nauseous, it’s the only way that you’re able to meet your deadlines. Everyone on your team is feeling stressed these days and not even the snacks that the company sometimes provides are enough to bring a smile to people’s faces.

The only person that consistently stays later than you is Chan. He has practically become a permanent fixture in his studio and you’re starting to just barely meet the minimum recommended Charging times. It’s not bad enough that you’re concerned, you just watch what you’re eating and make sure that you’re getting enough calories to keep your energy levels up.

You keep a more careful eye on Chan’s diet too, although you don’t interfere because you know he has his own goals for the condition of his body. You make sure that the snacks and drinks he likes are always provided during schedules, that there’s always food available to eat in his studio, and bring dinner to him more often than not.

The two of you are on good terms, even if you don’t have a chance to hang out as often doing anything other than working or eating. In fact, you’re probably closer than you were before. Chan doesn’t treat you any differently, but there was a deeper understanding that was shared between the two of you. 

You’re relieved that after so many nights you spent worrying about Chuseok, you no longer felt like you were hiding something from him. There’s an unspoken agreement not to bring up anything about your eomoni’s treatment of you. You don’t think that you’ll ever see eye-to-eye on the subject, but you had expected that. You know how bad your relationship looks from an outsider’s perspective, but to you it’s complicated in a way that you don’t know how to put into words.

—

The first concerts for the tour were held in Seoul, so you didn’t think that you’d be as heavily involved. You’re honestly not too sure what to expect from your first time helping out backstage, but you never could have imagined the chaos.

During the first night, everyone was relieved that things went relatively smoothly onstage, but there were a lot of small problems that had to be resolved on the fly and need to be relooked at again. It means that, although the audience and the members had a great time, all the staff were exhausted by the end of the concert. You spent most of the time running back and forth basically as a stagehand, as it was too short notice for you to explain fixes for many of the issues that came up and easier for you to just do it yourself. You hadn’t realised how involved you were in the run of show, but over the months you had become familiar enough with all the little details that to be busy all night.

Cleaning up was another beast. Everything had to be packed away after each concert, but it seems like all the equipment has multiplied and there aren’t nearly enough containers to put them into. With all the troubleshooting, things weren't where you thought they would be or had been modified and could no longer be stored the way they were previously. It felt like a more intricate game of jenga with costumes, accessories, and equipment that were thousands of dollars.

Debrief was at least a chance for a physical break, but it’s another hour of discussion with your team on what could have been improved and what went well before you’re allowed to go home. You fell asleep in the car ride and Eunsung has to shake you awake when he drops you off in front of the dorms. You’re severely tempted to close your eyes during the elevator ride, but force yourself to stay conscious. You barely make out a greeting to the members, before collapsing on the couch, grateful to finally be sitting.

At least they’re all in an infectiously good mood, even if a few of them had cried from all the emotions during the encore. Their boost of energy cheers you up a bit and after a bit of time resting, you’re happy to join them for a very late meal. They eagerly recount everything that happened during the concert and talk over each other trying to share funny stories of mishaps or entertaining things they noticed in the crowd.

As tiring as it was for you, you think that it’s all worth it. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the members so excited, and as you were exiting the arena, there were a number of Stays that you had encountered, all of them equally as thrilled.

—

Working in the office is reprieve from the craziness of the concerts. The second show was fairly similar to the first, but a bit smoother and with that it was more fun. You knew better what to expect and found yourself enjoying the chaos instead of getting swept away. But even though you enjoyed the experience overall and are still looking forward to the rest of the tour, you now have a better appreciation for the quiet. You're definitely relieved that the initial tour planning gave a bit of time between the Seoul, Japan, and international concerts. 

The next month before you have to leave for Japan is critical, not just for you but also the members. It feels like you barely see any of them outside of the company anymore. Even though they've just had a comeback recently, they're already preparing songs for the next one and juggling that with attending brand events, doing solo interviews, and photoshoots for magazines. 

Chan has never complained about any of it, but you know that their growing popularity means more pressure and that's taking a toll on all of them. 3Racha spend hours going back and forth perfecting portions of songs before sending them for approval, more members try to get involved in songwriting, and everyone devotes their free time to vocal lessons, dance practice, and working out.

You know that they've been offered more days off, but were adamant to keep the schedules as tightly packed as possible. You're proud of them and understand why they've chosen this, but you're also concerned. The only thing you can do is support them and cheer them on, knowing that doing your job well will help them do their job.

—

It's just before 12:30 in the morning when you finally decide to save everything and turn off your computer. Although you're used to the long days and late nights, an early morning schedule means that you have to be back at the JYP building by at least 6 am to prepare, an hour earlier than the call time for the boys. You quickly pack your bag and make your way down to Chan's studio, where he's doubtlessly still working.

Sure enough, when you knock on his door and gently ease it open, Chan has his headphones on and barely nods a greeting before focusing back on his laptop. Knowing that your presence is enough of a signal for him to get ready to leave, you flop down onto his couch and pull up your thread of texts with one of the company drivers. 

You feel guilty but the recent cold weather and ever present threat of sasaengs camping outside of the building mean that he's used to all the late night requests. A fan had recently cornered Chan as he had left one day and had later posted about their encounter, leading to an increasing number of people loitering around the main exit, hoping for a glimpse of any of the members. Although there hadn’t really been any issues, it was enough that the JYPE had sent out a company-wide email about being more vigilant on keeping track of who is walking in and out of the building, as well as more security for the time being.

[12:32 am - sent]

Sorry, Chan-ssi and I will need a ride back to the dorms soon!

[12:34 am - received]

K. Just let me know when you're ready and I will pick you up.

[12:34 am - sent]

Thanks! You're the best! I'll let you know when we're about to head down.

Satisfied, you switch to one of your guilty pleasures, scrolling through Twitter. 

Your first account had been created before you worked at JYP and was used to keep up with some of your friends. You had made your second account when you started working with Xdinary Heroes as a show of support and also to get more insight on the fans to better cater to them. Now, that account and the newest one you had for Stray Kids were purely for fun. Sure, it was sometimes useful for work to see what piqued interest the most and what people were complaining about, but you mostly wanted to see people's reactions to content, it saved you money from subscribing to Bubble, and you could bookmark fanart that you thought the members might like to see.

You didn't post much and if you did, made sure nobody would be able to deduce that you were part of the staff. Your profile was generic and you followed a mix of Korean, English, and Japanese accounts, as well as some of the popular translation ones.

Everyone was excited for the upcoming Japan tour dates, especially after the recent Seoul concerts. The preview for the Japanese merch had just been released today so it dominated your timeline. Even though you haven't been on in a few days, you're glad to see there's still a lot of posts from the concert and that so many people, regardless of whether they were able to attend, enjoyed the show. 

Technically you had been there and there were a few screens scattered around that were streaming what was happening on stage, but all the staff were so busy that you had only been able to catch a few glimpses of the performances. Based on your conversations with other managers and coordis, it would continue similarly for the next few concerts as new issues arose and would have to be solved on the spot. You were hoping that you'd have a chance to be part of the crowd for at least one night sometime this tour.

After scrolling for about 15 minutes, you lower your phone a little bit to peek and see what Chan's doing. He’s still working on a song and doesn’t look close to stopping. You frown, usually he’s pretty good about wrapping up his work shortly after you arrive.

“Channie-oppa,” you call, keeping your tone light. “Are you almost done?”

“Yup,” he says absentmindedly, not even pausing in the work that he’s doing. You stare at him for a moment, but give him the benefit of the doubt. You know there’s more pressure on him than usual, there’s looming deadlines for their next album and limited time to do everything with preparations for the rest of the concerts. Even if it means sacrificing a little bit of energy, you don’t mind giving him some extra time.

After you notice 15 more minutes have passed, you bite your lip, not wanting to interrupt again, but also wanting to get home to rest and Charge for as long as possible. With a press junket scheduled to start early in the morning and continue for most of the day, you know that Chan has a long day ahead of him, and that yours was going to be even longer since you had to arrive before the members to help set up everything. 

It’s when the driver you had contacted sends you a text asking for an estimate on when you want to be picked up, that you decide to speak up.

“Hey, how much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“You can go home first,” Chan says instead of answering your question.

"Tomorrow your schedule starts-" you start to explain, but get cut off.

"I know," Chan says, sounding annoyed. He finally turns around to face you and tugs his headphones off roughly. "But this is important, I need to finish as much as I can right now, okay?"

"I’m saying this for your benefit. You'll be able to work better after you rest. I think it would be good if you took a break tonight."

"I'm good now!” he snaps. “I'm really good now. I was also good when you were not here. When you weren’t my soulmate. I worked as much as I wanted. I did things I liked. Even without you, I was fine every day."

"I- '' You swallow hard and look down, biting the inside of your cheek hard. Without anything for your hands to do, your fingers find a hangnail on your thumb and pick at it. "I just want to help you."

"Thanks, I don't need it,” he says, exasperated. “You really don't have to do these things for me. I can order my own dinner. I can choose when I want to work and when I want to stop. If I need to check my calendar, I can look it up by myself. You aren't family. You aren't my girlfriend. Yes, you’re a manager for Stray Kids. Yes, you're my soulmate, but you don't have to…. try to do everything, you know? It’s enough for you to just live your own life and do your job as a manager, but you don’t have to do anything extra.”

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, but the sound comes out with difficulty. Your throat is tight and aching while your nose is starting to stuff up, making it harder to breathe normally. You blink rapidly to keep your vision clear, eyes stinging. You know crying won’t do anything to change the situation except maybe make it worse, but you can’t help it. You’re almost glad when Chan continues on without waiting for a reply, as you don’t think you’d be able to say anything if he wanted you to.

“I know you think you know what this industry is like after 3 years, but you don’t. I was a trainee for 7 years, I’ve been an idol for longer than you've worked here. I know better than anyone what my limits are. You've told me how controlled you felt when you used to live at home, but sometimes I can’t help but think that some of your eomoni’s methods have rubbed off on you. I don't need someone constantly nagging me about this and that. I don’t need you bringing me food just because you think I need it. I don’t need you reminding me about schedules. I don't need you sitting around my studio trying to get me to go home when I'm not finished with my work. And I definitely don’t need or want you telling me when I should be taking a break, resting, not working, sleeping, all of that. Please, please, can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds wet and thick and cracks in the middle of your words. Not knowing what else to do, you bow in apology and are grateful that your face is hidden when you realise that the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes have finally fallen. You wipe them hurriedly, feeling mortified, but Chan hasn’t even noticed, already turned towards his laptop and with his headphones back in place. Even though he can’t hear you, you still say, “I’ll just go ho- back to the dorm now.”

As expected, he doesn't reply.

You must have subconsciously backed up when Chan's tone had risen, because you were now only a couple steps away from the exit, making your retreat easier. You close the door behind you as quietly as possible and beeline to the bathroom.

The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights hurt your eyes and exaggerate the redness of your face when you stand at the sink and stare at yourself. Where the skin was worried away on your thumb, there are now smudged beads of blood that you wash away. You splash your face with water to wipe away your tears, then press a soaked paper towel against your eyes to try to cool down the swollen skin there. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you almost laugh at the pitiful expression that stares back at you. It reminds you of all the times you did this when you were younger after conversations with your eomoni, meticulously applying make-up to hide any signs of weakness. You had gotten better over the years, at cleaning yourself up carefully and preventing yourself from crying in the first place.

After blowing your nose, you leave and head toward the building’s lobby. You don’t think that you can face anybody else tonight, so you text the company driver again, telling him that you’re getting a ride with someone else but that Chan would probably still need to get a ride home a bit later. You don't wait for confirmation before locking your phone and dropping it into your bag.

For once, you’re grateful for the cool air as you step outside the doors, the usually biting winds feel refreshing against your hot skin. At this time of night, there aren’t many people around, which means nobody pays attention as you start walking towards the dorms.

You take deep breaths to try and calm yourself down, pressing your cold hands against your cheeks which are still flushed with emotion.

You feel humiliated. Had you really come across as that desperate and overbearing in your interactions with Chan? 

One of your eomoni’s favourite ‘reminders’ to you growing up was that you were too much.

You were too emotional, too dramatic, too sensitive. You spent too much time daydreaming, imagining a future for yourself that would never happen. You were too open with people, too trusting. 

People don’t want that, she would say. They want you to be polite and quiet. You can have opinions, just keep them to yourself. You spend too much time doing whatever you want and not enough time listening to what people are telling you to do. You're expected to be obedient. Don't overstep.

It hurt to know that maybe there was truth in her words. It was clear now that you had done more than overstep.

Chan had sounded stressed, angry, and his tone had been cold, much sharper than you had ever heard before. He had been cruel, even. But what had caught you off guard the most was the deep-rooted frustration that you had heard. It meant that this likely wasn't the first time that he had thought these things, it was just the first time he had shared them with you. It was a wound that had been festering and he was just now exposing it for you to see.

You hate that you had caused that.

You also couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by your display of emotions in Chan’s studio. You hoped that he hadn’t noticed, but found it hard to believe that he couldn’t tell your voice was more choked up than usual. You used to pride yourself in having full control of your emotions, but had found yourself caught off guard so many times since you had met your soulmate.

You had become too soft-hearted and you hate that too.

Mechanically, you let yourself into the dorms and complete your nighttime routine as quietly as possible. All the other members are home, but their doors are closed and lights are off. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you curl up on your side of the bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly. 

The wound on your thumb stings.

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