#this was great fun to think up and write!!

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

[turtleshelf]

Fun fic prompt that has been plauging me for like a month that I will either end up writing or will fizzle out:

Contrary to popular belief, Superman and Wonder Woman weren't the first JL members to learn Batman's secret identity... it wasn’t even Martin Manhunter. To the shock of everyone who learns this, and they themselves when it happened, it was Flash and Green Arrow.

It went like this: Dick wanted friends. Really he needed a support system that knew him in and out of the mask. Because Bruce and Alfred? They're great, but there are just some things a pre teen/young teen wants to talk to kids his own age about. And sure he has friends at school, but there's a disproportionately large portion of his life that he has to keep hidden that makes it hard for him to get close with people who don't know.

So it's takes some comments from Dick about how cool he thinks Kid Flash and Speedy are, and probably some needling from Alfred too, but for the sake of his sons general well-being and development Bruce calls Barry and Oliver to the Cave one day and drops the bombshell that is his secret identity on them.

This leads to some funny situations as Regular Guy Barry Allen starts being seen hanging out with two billionaires he has no reason at all to know. Bruce lightens up on the two just a little bit in the League, and is generally more friendly towards them. Flash and Green Arrow start to get much better at different fighting styles and stealth that they have never used previously.

It drives the rest of the JL crazy trying to subtly figure out what is happening.

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 3

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Slow burn, mentions of injury, threats, sickness. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x Healer

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello angels! I hope you enjoyed chapter 2 and now enjoy this. I've been writing these on my commutes to work which has been super fun. I'm going to try and get a chapter out every week if i can! Enjoy <3

For days, Aemond floated in and out of consciousness. Each time his eye flickered open, only to roll shut again, the healer took it as a sign that he would survive. She had seen men fade into death before. How their bodies went still, how their breathing grew shallow and thin until it simply stopped.

But Aemond was not one of those men. He lingered, clung to life like a beast caught in a trap, refusing to die despite the ruin of his body.

At first, he barely stirred. She forced water between his cracked lips, tipping it carefully so he would not choke. She fed him broth, the rich scent of marrow and herbs filling the cottage as she coaxed him to swallow. At one point, she had feared he would slip into a sleep he would never wake from, lost to his wounds and the fever that burned at his skin. But as the days passed, his fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.

And then finally his eye opened.

Outside, the air had turned sharp and biting, winter creeping closer with every shortened day. The fire in her hearth struggled against the chill that bled up from the earth, and the furs wrapped around her shoulders did little to keep it out.

Soon, the snow would come.

And snow meant death for those who could not prepare for it.

Food was already scarce. Crops had withered in the wake of war, and what little remained was taken by the desperate or the cruel. She had coin, but even coin could not conjure wheat from barren fields or meat from hollowed-out forests. She often thought of selling the long sword she had taken from him, knowing it would fetch more than enough to keep her through the winter. For many winters to come. But carrying a sword like that, his sword, was as dangerous as wielding a traitor’s banner.

Lords and commoners alike who had supported the Green cause had been rounded up and slaughtered. If she was caught with the weapon of a kinslayer, she would be met with the same fate.

And yet… she had kept him alive.

She did not know why. She only knew that she had to.

Would he repay her kindness with a blade to her throat once he could stand again?

Would he lead men to her door, reveal that a woman in the woods had nursed the enemy back to health?

Would he seek vengeance?

She did not want to think about it.

Unease seemed to follow her however, ever since she found the young Prince. It was if the air itself had shifted when Rhaenyra had been slain.

When the war had ended.

It could be, she reasoned with herself, the unsettling feeling after a war. The sudden silence and stillness that clung to people after such uproar. It could also be that the dragons that once flew in great numbers above had greatly dwindled after the war, their shadows and roars missing from the sky. The thought left something heavy in her chest.

It did not bode well when the symbols of gods died.

A low groan pulled her from her thoughts.

She did not rush to his side. She had learned in the first few days that his body remembered the war even if his mind did not. He twitched in his sleep, breath hitching, murmuring half-formed words to ghosts that did not answer. But she knew this sound, this was different.

He was waking.

She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, watching as his eye fluttered open, violet, sharp despite the dazed, fevered haze clinging to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, suddenly, he tried to sit up.

A harsh cry of pain tore from his lips, and he collapsed back against the bed, his breath ragged, chest jerking in uneven gasps. His fingers twisted into the furs, knuckles white with strain, but his body refused to obey him. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, and tried again. This time, his injured leg jerked upward, and the pain hit him like a tidal wave.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws against the mattress, all those fine furs she had bought having their hairs town from their pelts. His eye was squeezed shut, his body taut with the unbearable humiliation of weakness and pain.

She looked down upon him, cloth still held aloft and hoped that this wouldn’t inspire a desperate instinct to attack her. She was certain he would likely not react well, waking up to the unfamiliar scent of her hut, his body aching, and his mind clouded.

A Prince waking in a cottage in the woods and not the chambers of the palace was certain to turn someone of his standings head. Especially since his last memory would have been the war at its peak.

If she woke up one day in a room in the Red Keep, injured and alone, she was sure she would be just as alarmed, if not more so. 

Aemond's lips were chapped, face having grown pale, and breathed a ragged breath, his violet eye flicking around the room as rapidly as his weakness would permit, searching for immediate signs of danger.

When he finally stilled, his breathing shallow but controlled, she let her gaze drift lower. His movement had shifted the furs on the bed so she now had a clear view of the wrappings on his chest. She looked over them searching for any sign of split stitches and found them.

Blood had begun to seep from beneath the rags she had replaced from the fish skin, and without even looking up she turned around to gather her supplies.

Behind her, his voice was hoarse, raw with pain and something darker.

"Where am I?"

She did not answer immediately. She was already assessing the damage, her fingers steady as they lifted the bloodied wrappings from his skin.

"Riverlands." She said flatly.

The silence stretched.

"Where?" His tone sharpened, demanding now.

She did not look at him. "Near Harrenhal."

The shift was immediate.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched, but the worst of it was in his eye. The moment the word left her lips, his expression twisted into something dangerous. Hatred, rage, loathing, all bleeding into one as his nostrils flared, as the muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth.

She braced herself, already anticipating the bite of his fury.

"Are you a Maester?" The question was sharp, calculated. Even now, flat on his back, broken, helpless, he was still testing her.

She did not fear the question, nor the weight of his stare. Instead, she did something unexpected, she laughed. A quiet, breathy sound that barely reached the space between them.

It was not amusement, not quite. But there was something in it; a warning, perhaps.

He hated it.

"As a follower of the Seven, you should know women cannot swear such an oath."

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was joined by something else. Something assessing.

He was measuring her.

Calculating.

She could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eye, the realisation sinking in. He was in a stranger’s home, far from his kin, with wounds he could not fight past, and a body that refused to obey him.

And worst of all; he was at her mercy.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the bruises look darker, the scar across his cheekbone deeper, and him gaunter. He looked like something feral, something barely restrained by the thin thread of his own will.

She wondered, briefly, if she had saved a dying man or a dying beast.

The answer did not matter.

She would soon find out.

“Who tends to me?” His voice was distrustful, thick with uncertainty. Sharp.

Commanding.

She gave him her name and only her name.

“Who is your sworn lord?” Voice thick with impatience.

She smirked as she lifted the bandages from his chest, watching his fingers twitch, wary as if he might lurch forward and grab her.

She hummed, unfazed. “Sworn lord? I’ve sworn no oaths.”

His eye burned into her, “Who holds Harrenhal?”

She had to hold back a laugh.

Men often made demands when they were injured. Often promised vengeance for the shame of their own vulnerability. When she had first taken her mother’s place, it had made her cautious, fearful. But time had taught her something else. Empty words and empty threats were more deserving of mirth than worry.

But this man… this man was different. His reputation alone would have been enough to put her on edge. And yet, more than that, it was the feel of him. The way the air thickened around him, charged with something unspoken.

A warning.

Even still, she answered as she would any other.

“The ghosts that haunt its walls.”

Her fingers pinched his torn skin together, assessing what to do next.

He did not whimper this time.

Aemond gave her a scathing look, the scar over his eye crinkling. “The war...Has it been won?”

She hummed in amusement.

His face dissolved into fury.

He was a prince, and had clearly never spoken to in such a way, least of all by someone lowborn like herseld. But within these four walls, titles held no power.

All men bled.

All men died.

Birth and rank meant naught to the gods.

“There is no winning in a war.”

"Who?" His voice, a blade’s edge, barely restrained.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and it irked him. “The son of the dead Queen. Her blood will rule. The Gods do not favour kinslayers and usurpers.”

Violence flared in his eye, “It is treason to speak her name with victory.”

Aemond tried once again to sit up too quickly, succeeding and she sighed as she watched two new stitches burst, blood pooling to the surface. The Prince tried valiantly to ignore the pain, teeth gritted as his body betrayed him, but she could see that it made his consciousness swim.

He swayed and fell back onto on elbow, wheezing at the agonised angle, one arm coming to clutch his broken ribs. But even in the immense pain he seemed to be suffering, his stubbornness won out, and even she had to admit that he had faired better than men who had suffered less.

"You lie."

If he weren’t so pathetic in that moment, she might have humoured him like a petulant child. She didn’t dignify it with a response. Just inhaled deeply, eyes sweeping the rest of his injuries. She lingered on his leg.

Horror flickered in his violet eye.

He knew.

The loss of an eye had been something to overcome. A wound to be turned into a weapon. A show of his strength. Something to reveal to strike fear amongst his enemies.

But this…

A leg was different. A leg made a warrior. And without it, without the strength to stand, to fight, what was he?

"Answer me." His voice wavered this time.

She wished he would pass out so she could work in silence.

"The false king was slain by his own men," She said coolly, "All your kin are dead."

Silence.

His eye searched hers, desperate for deception, for any trace of a lie.

There was none.

Something in his face shifted. Darkened.

Gone.

All of them.

His mother. His brothers. His grandfather Otto.

Perhaps Criston Cole, too. The man who had been a father in all but name and blood.

But most of all;

Helaena.

Had she been slain with the rest?

His sister.

His gentle sister.

A harsh, bitter breath left him. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Aemond was not a man who wept. His grief hardened into fury.

And she had been prepared for it.

"Then I should have died."

She lifted a brow, lazy, “Aye. If the Gods had willed it.”

The sneer returned, but his strength waned, and he collapsed back onto the bed, glaring at her.

"You willed it."

"I do as the Gods command me."

She reached for him and he recoiled.

"I am not some wounded beast for you to keep." Aemond snarled, pink blooming across his cheeks where they had once been colourless.

Amused she replied, "No. You snarl and snap like one. But a true beast still has its claws."

He swatted at her as she reached for his side, shifting away. But she was persistent, stronger than he expected, and he sank, reluctant, into compliance.

At a loss.

At a loss of who he was.

He had lost everything. The war. His kin. His title.

His purpose.

And for the first time, he felt it. The emptiness. The hollow absence where Vhagar had been.

The ache of the bond was silent. And he just knew to his bones she was gone.

The one being who understood him.

Gone.

And now, after all he had done, after Lucerys, after Sharp Point, after every drop of blood spilled in his name, his half-sister’s son sat the throne.

And when they found him?

It would be public. Very public. A trial. A spectacle.

A kinslayer’s fate.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was quieter now, loss leaking in at the edges.

She knew what he was thinking.

Could he still fight? Could he still win?

Would there be any left who would fight for him?

Unlikely.

She met his eye. “Several days. You’ve been asleep for most.”

His teeth clenched. “Days…”

Frustration sparked in his voice, and she readied herself for cruelty.

"Why did you save me?" He sneered, and she ignored his question, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful. What do you want, coin? Gold? A jewel to buy your way out of this hovel?"

There it was.

She ignored him again. Dipped a rag into boiling water, wrung it out, and reached for his wound. She met his eye briefly before pressing the cloth to his skin.

His stomach clenched beneath her hands.

"You lie." He hissed again.

"I don’t have time for lies."

"Say it again."

She flicked her eyes up to his, unimpressed, "Have you gone deaf, m’lord?" She mocked his now lack of title.

His voice was low, dangerous, “You will say it again.”

Coolly, she obliged, "You have lost. Your family is dead. The war is over. The Blacks sit the throne. And you… you are alone."

His jaw tightened as he inhaled sharply.

"And I am expected to take the word of some common healer in some nameless hut?" His eye flicked around the cottage in distaste, “Who’s to say my brother hasn’t won and you are a sympathiser to the whore Queen?”

Now she smiled, and despite the hatred he felt for her, he noted that it was a pretty smile.

"My word means nothing, Aemond."

His eye narrowed at the sound of his name on her tongue.

But she continued, for the first time speaking longer than he had expected, "I could tell you many things. Promise you more. But it wouldn’t change my station or yours."

She leaned in, voice calm.

"And if I were the sympathiser you accuse me of being," Her voice dipped almost to a whisper, almost sultrily, "I would have slit your throat where you lay."

Aemond laughed, humourless, "You think I will stay here? That I will rot in this hut?"

Her eyes flicked to his leg, then to the door, "You’re free to leave, kinslayer."

His breath caught.

He went utterly still.

"Say that again."

She raised her brows, "How many times are you going to ask me to repeat myself? I'm not a parrot from High Garden, m'lord. You don’t like the truth I speak?"

With her hands, she pinched his wound together and readied her needle, not asking if he was ready. She could feel his heated glare atop her skull.

The healer could admit that she had stitched the first stitch more roughly than she could have, knowing it would have pained him. She felt his stomach clench beneath her as she worked, the heat from his skin almost scolding her hands like the water in the basin.

Lips curling, seething, he hissed lowly in threat, "Watch your tongue, woman."

A large hand snapped out and wrapped around the wrist holding the needle and squeezed painfully.

We have finally reached the threats, she mused to herself dryly and hummed an amused laugh.

Aemond moved to sit up again and she managed to move a well placed, albeit cruel, hand against one of his broken ribs and pressed, which made the prince gasp in pain and stiffen against the bed stilling.

"If you’re going to undo my work," She said smoothly, "I should’ve left you to die as your men did."

She paused for a moment.

She knew his distrust of her would prove to be an issue with him now being conscious. He would fight her at every turn and spit vitriol her way. She no doubted that he would test her patience and she would consider dosing his food with a sleeping draught. Perhaps even some milk of the poppy.

She would have offered it to him sooner if he had not been so aggressive in his questioning. 

"You knew who I was."

Her lips twitched into a smile.

His eye narrowed, "Why?"

Why did she save him?

Why did she tend to him?

What was her motive?

The mystery surrounding her set his hair on end.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. He was not sure he liked it, the way she looked at him. As though he was a question to be answered, a thing to be fixed. Rather than a man to be feared.

“Would you have preferred to die?"

Aemond did not answer.

He should say no.

Should say he still has vengeance to take, a name to reclaim, a war to fight. A throne to win. But the truth sat thickly in his throat.

There was nothing left.

“You want me to trust your word?” Aemond scoffed, the colour in his cheeks fading again.

With a sigh she worked his wound, stitching it back together methodically, "You may recall I never asked for your trust. I couldn’t care for your thoughts of me." Her tone cool and emotionless, "Feel free to die now if you wish, it would save me the trouble and herbs.” She tied shut the final stitch.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, only the sound of the cracking fire.

He was left to stew in his shattered pride and frustration, the knowledge that he would never be the same, and the added humiliation that he now depended upon a woman such as her. 

His voice was a blade at her throat. "I have killed men for less."

A smirk played at her lips. "And yet here I stand," She straightened, looking down at his broken body to prove her point. He could not stand, not without help.

Not without her.

"And there you lay."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist: Please ask if you would like to be added to the taglist

@thewriterthatghostedyou @sepherinaspoppies @insufferablelust @osferthswifey @persephonerinyes @ihadlife @aemondsfavouritebastard @misspinkonmars @aelora-mills-targaryens @nina2697 @dahlias-and-marigolds @callsigncrushx @fivefeetsnark @sarcasticwitch11 @aemondtargaryenwifey @lynnbell @adurnat01-blog @livmondcole @sillylittlepenguin181818 @misfitbimbosblog @blackswxnn @idontwanttoloveanymore @missmischief11 @m-riaa @shygardengalaxy-blog

[slut4megantheestallion]

JJK Characters React to Their S/O Going Down on Them in a Risky Place

→ pairings: satoru gojo, suguru geto, shoko Ieiri, nanami kento, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki, choso, Sukuna

→ a/n: finally had the time to write something for jjk!!! because I haven't done it in a while because I stopped watching the show and because of school.

GOJO - Under the Meeting Table.

Gojo loves a good thrill, so when you crawl under the table during an important Jujutsu High meeting and unzip his pants, his smirk falters for just a second. He adjusts his sunglasses, spreading his legs slightly to give you better access.

When your tongue runs along the underside of his cock, his fingers twitch against the table. Yaga is talking about school regulations, but Gojo barely hears a word. Instead, he struggles to keep his voice steady as he quips, “Mmm, I think we should be more… flexible with the rules.”

When you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, his foot nudges yours under the table—his subtle way of telling you he’s getting close. He’s gripping the edge of the table, and his voice is just a little too breathy. Shoko side-eyes him suspiciously.

“You good, Gojo?” she asks, raising a brow.

“Oh, I’m doing great,” he grins, though his muscles tense when you swirl your tongue around the tip. He shoots you a warning glance under the table. Behave, it says. But his hand finds your hair, pushing you down ever so slightly.

Suguru Geto- Private Dinner Party.

A private, high-end restaurant, soft candlelight, and a table just long enough to keep you hidden. Geto is mid-conversation with some important higher-ups when you decide to slip beneath the table and surprise him.

The moment you pull down his slacks and take him in your mouth, Geto’s expression doesn’t change—he’s too damn composed. But his hand drifts under the table, fingers brushing against your cheek as if to praise you.

“You were saying?” he asks smoothly when someone calls his name, voice utterly controlled despite the way your tongue flicks over his slit.

His thigh muscles tense when you take him all the way in, his breathing just a tad slower. He’s good at maintaining a poker face, but the way his fingers tighten in your hair gives him away. “Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs down at you.

If you push him too far, he’ll grab you by the jaw afterward, lips brushing against your ear. “Couldn’t wait until we got home, hm? You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart.”

Shoko Leiri- Doctor's Office

Shoko leans back in her chair, puffing on a cigarette, not even bothering to hide her smirk as you kneel between her legs in her dimly lit office.

She exhales a slow drag as your tongue flicks against her clit, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “You really are bad for me,” she chuckles, voice husky.

When you suck a little harder, her thighs twitch, and her free hand finds your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “Mmm, right there—fuck, yeah, keep doing that.”

She doesn’t hold back her moans, the door unlocked, knowing anyone could walk in at any moment. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

When she comes, her cigarette is half-burned, forgotten in the ashtray. She takes one last drag before crushing it out and pulling you up by your chin, pressing a kiss to your swollen lips. “Next time, I’ll return the favor on your desk.”

Nanami kento- After hours at the Office

Nanami is a disciplined man, but you? You’re his one indulgence.

When you drop to your knees in his office, pushing his chair back slightly, he sighs deeply. “This is highly inappropriate,” he murmurs, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He watches you intently, jaw clenched as your lips wrap around him. His fingers twitch when you take him to the base, resisting the urge to grab your head and thrust deeper.

“You’re making this—ah—very difficult for me,” he says, voice strained. When you suck harder, his grip tightens on the armrests, knuckles white.

When he finally comes, he exhales a long, heavy breath, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You are insatiable,” he mutters, pulling you into his lap. “Now, let me make you come undone.”

Yuji itadori- Movie Theater

Yuji is nervous as hell when your hand sneaks into his lap during the movie.

“W-We’re in public,” he whispers, glancing around. But when your fingers unzip his pants and pull him free, his breath hitches.

He grips the armrest, eyes wide as your mouth wraps around him. “Oh, fuck—” he mutters under his breath, quickly covering his mouth to muffle a groan.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, but he’s not watching the movie at all. When you swallow him down, his hips buck slightly. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he breathes.

When he comes, he bites his lip so hard he nearly draws blood. As you sit back up, he looks at you with dazed, half-lidded eyes. “You’re evil,” he whispers. “And I love you for it.”

Megumi fushiguro- car ride

Megumi grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white.

“This is so dangerous,” he hisses, trying to keep his eyes on the road while you lean over and take him in your mouth.

His breathing is ragged, jaw clenched as you suck him deeper. “Fuck,” he groans, his free hand gripping your thigh. “You’re gonna make me crash.”

His body shudders when he finishes, eyes squeezed shut for a second. When he pulls over afterward, he glares at you, cheeks red. “You’re making me drive home like this?”

Nobara Kugisaki- Dressing room

“You are so bad,” Nobara giggles, biting her lip as you kneel between her legs in the dressing room stall.

When your tongue flicks against her clit, her nails scrape against the mirror, a muffled moan escaping her lips. “Fuck, keep going,” she whispers, legs trembling.

When she comes, she tugs you up, breathless. “You’re buying me something expensive after this,” she teases, kissing you deeply.

Choso Kamo- Alleyway

Choso leans against the wall, panting as your mouth works him over. “Shit,” he mutters, fingers threading into your hair.

His red eyes burn with hunger as he watches you. “You love making a mess of yourself, don’t you?” he groans.

When he finishes, he pulls you into a deep, slow kiss. “You’re mine,” he murmurs.

Ryomen Sukuna- Throne Room

Sukuna watches you with predatory amusement, his fingers tangled in your hair. “On your knees before your king—good pet.”

When you take him deep, he growls, throwing his head back. “That’s it—fuck, just like that.”

He doesn’t let you up until he’s satisfied, pulling you into his lap afterward. “You’ll be doing that again later.”

[starry--eye-s]

Yaaay :) Interesting, interesting. I understand the tea struggle, acquired taste, took me while to enjoy it too. This line also cracks me up, I need re-read it XD Everyone it's here btw if you want to see Jonas high on medication :p

Alright, so:

5) For "finding our place", Phin and Jonas are going through a bit of therapy in Sequester so I did a bit of research on trauma response/PTSD. That's something I knew about but never had close in my life so I wanted to have an idea of the symptoms and write that as respectfully as I could.

17) Well, I've recently written nsfw stuff ^^ Which is not everyone's cup of tea, totally fair and I understand. I honestly never thought I'd write that. But somehow I pushed through the embarrassment and realised it can be fun to write and can be also an insight into what's in your character's head when they are quite vulnerable.

23) Ooooh I get to talk about that! Okay, so, I absolutely want to finish the 2-3 chapters of my WIP, but I KNOW what I'm doing after. I have a MIDST medieval AU turning in my head for a few weeks now. A version with knights and Imogen's queen, there's witch hunt thing with Lark because she killed the previous king, etc... I will get there and I think it's going to be great :D

Thank you so much for playing with me :)

Alright let's keep it going I love this!

@acaptainbyanyothername may I?

Let's see, 8 (for both Imperfectionism and The witch and the ghost of stationnary hill), 9, 27 pretty please?

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

What are some words or phrases you feel like you overuse?

What’s something you learned while researching a fic?

Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

Coffee or tea while you write?

What is your favorite line/section from [insert fic]?

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

What do you struggle with most when writing?

What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

How many WIPs do you have and how many do you expect to finish?

How do you get over writer's block?

Share your favorite kiss scene from [insert fic]. If there's no kiss scene, share your favorite moment of intimacy (romantic or platonic)

What stops you from writing more in your free time?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Which scene/theme was the inspiration for [insert fic]?

Are there any moments in [insert fic] that feel "blurry" to you? Is this a stylistic choice, or would you go back and clarify the descriptions if you were given the chance?

Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Are any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Have you noticed your style change over time?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

A character you enjoy making suffer.

A character you want to protect.

What is your favorite fic to get comments/messages on?

Wild Card: Ask me something else!

[coco-loco-nut]

Bookworm

pairing: carlos x reader

summary: Carlos never expected to feel insecure about your book boyfriends, but maybe that’s part of dating an author

masterlist requests open

———————

It was a common occurrence for fans and media to find you in the corner of the garage with your laptop or a book. It makes for a great reading environment once noise canceling headphones are on. Fans are always eager to see what book you are reading during the weekend, and you talk about it on social media. It was a surprise to most people when you started dating Carlos, most authors don’t date famous athletes. Fate had other plans.

Carlos truly doesn’t mind that you don’t quite care for racing, he’s just happy that you tag along and don’t complain about it. He honestly respects that you have no interest in racing but still show up to support. You are always happy when he does well and empathetic when he doesn’t, but you couldn’t care less about other drivers.

“Baby,” Carlos stands in front of you, trying to get your attention to no avail. He doesn’t mess with your book, simply waiting for you to look up. You notice his shadow, but you have to finish the page to finish the chapter, he can wait a minute.

“Sorry, what’s up?” you slide one side of your headphones off to better hear Carlos.

“I’m going to go to the drivers parade, wanted to check in before I do,” he smiles, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“Have fun, and good luck,” your tender smile melts his heart. He can’t wait to surprise you after the race, he’s been researching some of your books and bought a couple for the flight home. Carlos even asked your brother about books you used to love.

“What book is Y/n reading?” Lando asks as Carlos settles beside him. Lando secretly loves your socials, getting to get to know you more. He also thinks it’s funny when you reply to fans who ask about what inspired certain scenes in your books.

“Iron Flame. The next book released few months ago and she finally got around to the first one and this one,” Carlos smiles, he loves his bookworm.

“I’ve heard a lot about that. Has she ever called you Xaden? You and him both have that dark fluffy hair,” Lando asks, pulling out his phone to look up fan art. Charles approaches his teammate, silently joining the conversation.

“No,” Carlos honestly never thought about the male characters in books. He’s heard of people having book boyfriends, but you never brought it up so he brushed it off. Carlos peers over Lando’s shoulder to take a look.

“I see like a semi resemblance. Oh, I remember her reading this one too,” Lando pulls up more pictures of popular book boyfriends. Carlos feels something spark in him, a twinge of jealousy.

“It’s a good thing she reads for the plot then,” Carlos looks away, plastering on a fake smile and a wave for the fans. Lando barely contains his laughter as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“The plot? That’s what she said? She enjoys the smut,” Lando shakes his head, waving to a group of fans yelling for him.

“But she doesn’t write that,” you are a young adult fantasy and adventure author, sure there is an element of romance, but that doesn’t mean anything, right?

“So? She’s an adult, she can enjoy it. Don’t you notice when she gets really quiet and nonchalant when reading? Like no reactions or not even a smile?” Charles asks, watching Carlos nod. “That’s a smut scene she is enjoying, do yourself a favor and read it,” Charles suggests.

The color drains from Carlos’ face.

“Logan,” Carlos calls to the unsuspecting American. Logan approaches, unsure why he is needed and a little concerned. “Do you know what your sister is reading?”

“Yeah, some popular book. What about it?”

“It has,” Carlos lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening in, “smut.”

“And?” Logan arches his eyebrow, not seeing the problem with the inclusion of sex in books.

“I don’t know,” Carlos is at a loss for words. What if you like what you read better than him? What if he is suddenly inadequate?

“Look, it’s just a book. She writes romance books and I am ninety percent sure you are what she bases it off of. Especially since every male love interest has your hair,” Logan points out causing Carlos to blush.

“Right, thanks,” Lando snickers at Carlos’ sudden shyness and Logan’s clear discomfort talking about his sister’s relationship.

“I’ll, um, send you a list of books she loved growing up. She left them at home and always talks about rereading them eventually,” Logan exits the conversation. As soon as the parade is over, Carlos orders the books and a new bookshelf for next day delivery so he can surprise you.

Back in the garage, your hair tie has found a home as a bookmark and your computer rests on your lap. Carlos watches you furiously typing away, undoubtedly working on your next hit.

“Are you going to say anything or just stand there watching me like a creep?” you tease, not looking up from your computer.

“I love watching you work. Sometimes you do this cute thing where you bite your lip when working on something really intense, and how you have to hold yourself back from telling me about it because you insist on not sharing until you finish the book. Even when it drives both of us crazy,” Carlos steps closer, wedging himself beside you to get a peak of your book.

“No peeking,” you laugh, throwing a hand out to cover the screen. “I’ll give you a hint,” you smile as Carlos perks up. “It’s a highly requested sequel to a book that was very much inspired by you.”

“Logan was right,” Carlos muses.

“What does my brother have to do with this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos shrugs, placing a kiss on your head. You are, in fact, a little worried about it.

“That’s not ominous at all,” with a shake of your head you set the computer off to the side and put your full attention onto your boyfriend.

Carlos wraps his arms around you, enjoying the bit of peace before the race. When his fans are confused why you even go to races when you aren’t a fan of the sport, it’s these moments that you answer with. You enjoy your time with Carlos, supporting his passion like he supports yours, and sneaking off to annoy your brother.

“How sweet, it’s time to go, Carlos,” Charles takes a photo of the two of you almost asleep. It had only been two minutes. Carlos sighs, untangling himself from you as he begrudgingly stands up.

“The quicker you drive, the faster you can cuddle again,” you remind him, standing with him. It’s time for a coffee refill anyway and to visit Logan before he heads to his car.

“Or I can DNF early and get my press out of the way,” Carlos’ joke falls flat as you and Charles give him a displeased look.

“Have a good race, I’ll be here waiting for you,” you give Carlos a quick kiss.

“Where’s mine?” Charles jokes.

“Mate, no,” Carlos glares at his teammate.

“Good luck,” you disappear from the garage. Sneaking into Williams, you grab Logan’s gloves and stand inconspicuously on Alex’s side. Despite spending a lot of time in the Ferrari garage now, you make sure that your brother is still supported.

“Y/n!” Logan yells, and you try to stifle your laugh. In that moment, you not notice Logan sneak up on you and then it’s too late. He snatches the gloves back and stares at you.

“What?” you giggle.

“I can’t believe you write books for adults, you are literally a child,” Logan sighs, somehow he is the youngest.

“Shut up,” you stick your tongue out at him. Logan pinches your tongue, unamused at your antics.

“Doesn’t Carlos need you to bother him?” he asks, letting go and crossing his arms.

“No, I just wanted to see my brother, but I know when I’m not wanted,” you pout, pulling the card that always wins.

“Okay, okay. Thank you for seeing me before the race. Yes, I’ll be safe. No, I won’t reconsider my career,” Logan softens. He doesn’t take your presence for granted, it’s nice having family around.

“You’ll do great, maybe you’ll even beat Carlos,” you nudge him, feeling the clock tick down.

“Thanks,” you have half a mind to ask him to elaborate on what Carlos said, but that can wait until after the race.

“Bye, Lo,” you wave goodbye, heading back to your designated spot in the Ferrari garage.

“What are you reading today?” one of the engineers asks. You run a mini library with some of the team, loaning out books for them to read on flights.

“It’s called Onyx Storm, it’s the third book in this series. How are you enjoying the book I gave you?” you ask eagerly in return.

“Haven’t started it yet, picked up one of your books at the airport,” he says, making you feel a little embarrassed.

“Really? Which one,”

“Starlight,” it takes ever ounce of will in you to not die of embarrassment. That is one you wrote at the beginning of your relationship with Carlos, and he was the biggest influence on the book.

“That’s a great choice, I love that one,”

“You love all of your books,”

“That is true, it’s like picking a favorite child,” you chuckle.

“I do have one question about it,”

“It has nothing to do with Carlos and me, the manuscript was mostly finished when we met,” you lie, one that you’ve held to since publication. You wrote the book in a week, the fastest you ever wrote before. The publication turnaround makes the lie believable.

“You get asked that a lot?”

“Yeah, it was the first romance I published after meeting him so it is a natural question,” you shrug it off.

“Well, I really enjoy it. I’ve got to go, but I can’t wait for the book you are working on now,” the engineer gestures to the computer waiting for you. You grab your dedicated pair of headphones so you can listen to the race as you type away.

Carlos is practically bouncing when you return to his apartment after the weekend.

“Is everything okay?” you ask warily. He didn’t win the race so you slightly confused why he is eager to get home. Especially with what Logan told you. You spent the flight thinking of how to confront Carlos about his insecurities and how to help him about it.

He got a friend to set up your new bookcase in your office-slash-reading-room before you returned home. Carlos is really proud of his work.

“Close your eyes,” Carlos instructs as you step inside, carefully setting down your luggage. His hand covers your eyes as the other keeps a gentle-yet-firm grip on your waist to guide you.

“Why am I scared,” your nervous laughs accompanies the shuffles of your feet walking through your home.

“Don’t be, almost there,” a door clicks open and you are led inside. “Surprise,” the warm hand covering your eyes disappears and your eyes open, scanning the room. They immediately land on the bookshelf and you run over to it.

“Oh my god, when did you do this?” you gasp, running your fingers across the spines before you pluck a book from the shelf. You loved these books in elementary and middle school. You role played them during recess before you had any idea what role playing was. It’s honestly a little embarrassing looking back on it.

“Yesterday, Logan told me you loved them growing up,” Carlos smiles warmly as you act like a kid on Christmas.

“He told me you were feeling a little insecure when comparing yourself to the male characters of the books I’ve read,” you broach the subject tentatively, searching his reaction before choosing how to proceed.

“I was, but your brother reminded me that you write me into everything you’ve written since meeting me. I also know that I’m the real thing,” Carlos sounds sure of himself.

“So it’s nothing to do with the books I read having sexual elements to them?” you raise your eyebrow, trying to sus him out.

“Nope,” he pops the p, acting nonchalant.

“Well, in that case I should probably warn you that I had a huge crush on Prince Maxon Schreave and Firestar back in the day, like, a huge crush. You know, I think Maxon was my introduction to writing. My first fanfiction revolved around him,” your voice may have a teasing lilt to it, but you are dead serious.

“Seriously, mi amor? Maybe I should return those then,” the anxious undertones in his voice support your theory as he moves to take the books.

“Touch them and you die,” you threaten and Carlos immediately backs off. “I have you now anyway, you are who I write my fanfiction about now,” you do a complete turnaround, leaving a speechless Carlos alone in the room as you walk into the living room, book in hand.

“Wait!” he chases you, needing to find out what you meant.

“I meant what I publish, obviously,” you tell half of the truth. You will DIE before Carlos finds your burner accounts that are so well hidden it takes three secret email accounts to reach the one you use to login and post.

“Right. Well, maybe I will read one of the books I got you,” Carlos retreats to grab a book before laying beside you on the couch and promptly falling asleep on your lap.

“Goodnight, Carlos. Hello, Maxon.”

[nubiawrites]

chapter ten

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. Sex. Talks of emergency contraception.

Summary: Iriye is forced to face the music at the table read for Paradise Lost but Aaron isn't ready to fall back.

Notes: Better late than never. I wanted to write more of their... lovemaking scene but I will consider releasing outtakes from this story. Enjoy! Drop comments in my ask box, under this post or reblog. I love the responses.

MASTERLIST

Aaron was used to tense situations. Being an actor meant long days and nights. Different personalities collaborated and clashed with each other. This was a given in every life situation. He had seen his fair share of it, but being in a situation like this was never fun.

Things were a bit tense at the official table read for Paradise Lost, and it hadn't even started. Aaron could sense it, the energies in the room clashing a bit. Aaron saw Tamara had her hands on her hips whenever she talked to someone, her voice low, but her eyes looked frustrated. She was trying to be polite, but there was a tenseness.

Nelly was too jittery. The younger woman always had a pep to her step and a joke on her lips, but she was working overtime. He could tell she wasn’t as cheerful but more on the move, her hair in a messy bun rather than the loose waves she kept together. 

“Here’s your script,” Nelly said to Aaron, not stopping for their usual small talk.

“You drunk anything that isn’t dark, Nelly,” Aaron stated, trying to get a chuckle. 

“I don't like that accusation,” Nelly stated before she sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,”

“No, you’re fine. My apologies,” Aaron gave her a small smile. Nelly returned it, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If you want, I can grab you something if it helps,”

“Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t want to leave Tamara and Iriye alone together,” Nelly said before leaning in. “They are not talking,”

“Isn’t that good?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron, that’s the worst thing. They’re doing this weird passive-aggressive attitude with each other,” Nelly rambled on.

“I have a feeling that I might be the cause of that,” Aaron admitted.

“Yeah, I know. Tamara was freaking out when she realized Iriye was at your place. I didn’t tell her anything. I figured Iriye would,” Nelly shrugged.

“Well, I thought Iriye would, too,” Aaron said. Nelly looked around. 

“Walk with me to get something not dark from craft services?” Nelly asked him.

Aaron nodded, and Nelly quickly put the rest of the scripts for the cast at their proper seats.

They wandered over to the craft services area set up for the table read. Nelly immediately grabbed a bottle of water, causing Aaron to chuckle.

“To think I was going to offer my great advice giving skills to you about Iriye,” Nelly rolled her eyes before beginning to look over the snacks.

“Forgive me,” Aaron said througha chuckle. “I’m sorry. I mean it,”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Nelly pointed a pretzel at him before eating it. She took her time chewing and then proceeded to wash it down with some water before talking. “Iriye has always kept her cards close to her chest,”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Aaron said, grabbing his own trail mix from the table.

“But once she opens it, Iriye really will give endless love and devotion. I’ve seen it,” Nelly admits.

“With Jay?” Aaron asked. “I kind of figured that they were an item,”

“Yeah but I don’t think she was ever in love with him. And she ended that before she could find out,” Nelly whispered.

“But she was able to be around you guys with him. She never even told you and Tamara about me,”

“I been knew you two were a thing. I didn’t need her to tell me. Hell, I think I knew from the time we all met in the meeting with Davis,” Nelly stated. Aaron raised one eyebrow at him, and she gave him a look. “Please. Iriye went all cool and collected. That’s her tick for nerves. And you’re a great actor. But not when you have the upper hand on someone. You’re too smug,”

“You really notice everything?” Aaron stated. Nelly raised her bottle.

“If you want to be the best assistant, you gotta notice everything and the cracks in between,” Nelly stated. “Iriye is a complicated woman. Delicate underneath it all, but she’s scared to show it,”

“I know. I get why. She told me about her dad leaving…” Aaron said. Nelly paused while sipping her bottle of water.

“Wait, she talked about her dad?” Aaron could see the gears working overtime in Nelly’s head.

“Yes, she did,” Aaron was about to ask something else when he heard Nelly’s phone ring.

“I’m sorry. I gotta take this,” Nelly said, whispering sorry before she got on the phone. 

Aaron returned to where his script was, grabbing his pen and adjusting his glasses. As he was beginning to highlight his lines, he felt the chair beside him creak, and he looked to see Vivian.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” Vivian said apologetically, adjusting her bag on the back of the seat. 

“No, you’re good,” Aaron said, adjusting himself so she had room to sit. She gave him a small smile before she took out a pencil case and pulled out pens of different colors, arranging them in a way that made Aaron curious. 

“What?” Vivian asked, a nervous smile making it to her face as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Aaron pointed out her pens. “There’s a method to my madness,” 

“No, we actors have ways we handle things,” Aaron raised his hands in surrender. 

“How are you handling all of this?” Vivian asked. “You know, thrown into the spotlight, and it’s full-blown on you,”

“It’s something,” Aaron admitted. “I was asked to host events and things. And I keep asking myself, why me?”

“It can be a lot,” Vivian nodded. “Doing all the extra when all you want to do is just act,” Aaron could hear something in her words. “Can I give you some advice? One actor to another,”

Aaron sat up some more, ready to learn.

“Know what you’re willing to fight for and what you’re ready to say no to,” Vivian said. “I wish I had learned that a long time ago. Fortunately, I had some good people in my corner, along with some who cared more about the money than my well-being.”

Aaron nodded, knowing of Vivian through his sister’s tabloids and gossiping when they were younger. Vivian seemed to smile through it all, even when people didn’t have the nicest things to say from what he saw.

“When you set what you will and will not take, it makes it harder for people to shake those boundaries,” Vivian explained. “And trust me, with the level of fame you’re about to experience once your show comes out, you’re gonna need it,”

Aaron nodded, taking it in as Vivian checked her phone, a smile taking over her face. 

“It’s my boyfriend. Every time I have a first table read, he always sends me a picture of our dog with a cheesy message,” Vivian explained, showing him the picture. Aaron smiled as he saw an actor he had seen before in something, holding the dog up and a message underneath the photo.

“Adorable dog. He takes after his father,” Aaron joked, Vivian chuckling.

“He does,” Vivian said. “Honestly, it’s nice to know after this and some meetings, I have Gabe and Charleston to go home to,” She said. “They make the boundary testing all worth it because, at the end of the day, I’m living my dream and going home to them,”

Aaron thought about those words, looking toward where he felt eyes on him. He saw Iriye, seeing her in the flesh for the first time in a week. She looked frazzled, and he just wanted to smooth the worries from her head. He would kiss her until she talked to him about the most random things in her life. Aaron would be happy to bask in her presence.

Iriye turned her attention back to the production assistant helping with the table read, not wanting to bud into whatever Aaron and Vivian were talking about. They were too close for her liking, but what could she do? Yell at the two romantic leads of the film she wrote and produced. Tell Vivian to back off of Aaron because he was her man. 

But Iriye couldn’t do that because she didn’t want to open up that can of worms. They never explicitly said what they were doing with each other during the three months they had been in each other’s lives. That’s where it got tricky because Iriye was comfortable with what they were doing: going on mini dates at each other’s place before sleeping with each other. Late nights in the grocery store or early mornings trekking through the used bookstores Iriye loved. Eating food that was going against his Lanterns fitness regime and watching him try to work it off with his Lanterns regime at the home gym in his apartment. 

Iriye just loved being around him. She loved him. It felt too soon to say that. The moment she realized she was really into Aaron was when he dropped her off at her apartment after picking up the morning-after pill. He seemed calm, but she could tell he was agitated. But he still offered to stay with her, having read the side effects on the box as they sat and waited to figure out the next steps of their plan.

“It says side effects include nausea and vomiting,” Aaron read plainly. Even telling her the worst thing sounded great coming from him.

“It’s not my first rodeo with the morning-after pill,” Iriye said nonchalantly.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Aaron stated.

“There was a broken condom situation when a fellow intern when I moved to LA,” Iriye explained. But she didn’t explain how the pill always tended to make her feel like she was dying. She always got the brute force of the side effects.

“I should probably stay then,” Aaron said. “Make sure you’re alright,”

“I don’t need you for this part, Aaron,” Iriye stated too quickly. “It just makes me sleepy, so I’ll be fine. I’ll probably sleep this thing off all weekend. And you probably need to get prepped for the table read and all,” Iriye knew it was a few days off, but in being around Aaron, she knew when it was playtime and work time.

“Iriye-” Aaron reasoned as she got out of the car. 

“See you at the table read,” Iriye stated, walking towards her apartment.

And it was a terrible couple of days. Iriye had been fielding calls and texts from Tamara all while trying not to throw up from the morning after side effects. Once it came to Monday, she decided to stay home but not before Tamara could come banging at her door. Iriye had to pretend to not be home before seeing Tamara slip a note under her door. She waited a while before moving to grab the paper and read it: you can’t run away forever. 

Now Iriye was back at the lot, ensuring everything was under control until she saw Tamara.

“Iriye,” Tamara was in professional mode.

“Tamara, I-” 

“We’re using your latest script,” Tamara said in her professional voice, and Iriye raised a brow. “We can’t do this right now,”

“I know,” Iriye stated.

Tamara moved to talk with someone else on the sound stage while Iriye went to drop off her belongings at her seat. People started gathering around, with Tamara leading the group in quick introductions of the actors and creatives involved in the film. Iriye quickly introduced herself. Vivian led the group in a small round of applause, and she gave a small and curt smile. 

As the reading began, Iriye was lost in everyone getting comfortable with each other. each finding their character's voice and emotional journey. One of her favorite things about being a writer was seeing the discoveries others found in and between the lines of her words.

They took their first break during Act One, and Iriye grabbed a snack from craft services. But she should have been smarter because Aaron was right on her tail.

“We need to talk,” Aaron spoke lowly under her voice. Iriye checked her watch. 

“We can’t right now,” Iriye shook her head. 

“We got fifteen minutes,” He said. “Enough time,”

“We said we wouldn’t do this, us, on the lot,” Iriye reminded.

“Bullshit, Iriye,” Aaron said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Iriye was shocked at him being snappy with her. He never was.

“Bullshit. You weren’t saying that in your office,” Iriye cleared her throat, hoping no one heard. “Walk with me, Iriye Edwards,”

Aaron began walking ahead, and Iriye glared at his head.  He turned towards her.

“Please, Iriye,” Aaron’s eyes softened at her even if his voice was sharp and clear. Iriye huffed and looked around before following him out. Still being the gentleman, he held one of the doors open for her, following behind her. They walked briefly before Aaron stopped them at a familiar structure: the soundstage where they met.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Iriye stated.

“How are you feeling after the weekend?” He asked her, a nervousness taking over him. 

“I took the pill if that’s what you were wondering,” Iriye stated. “I forgot how sick those things make me,” She said too much, seeing Aaron’s eyes soften more. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like when people see I’m sick,”

“What’s wrong with seeing you sick,” Aaron said.

“Because I was gross and hunched over a toilet,” Iriye said. “I can take care of myself,”

“I know that, Iriye. But when you’re with someone. When you want to be in a relationship with them, you let them see all sides of yourself: the good, the bad, and the ugly,” Aaron said.

“Well, here you go. You’ve reached the bad part,” Iriye said. “I self-sabotage before you get a chance to figure out I’m not good enough and leave,”

“You think I’m going to leave?” Iriye chuckled. 

“Aaron, it’s a given,” Iriye stated. “You’re handsome. You’re talented. And so deserving of every chance you’re going to get,” Iriye bit her lip. “But so am I,”

Aaron raised a brow at her words, moving closer to her.

“There’s going to be a point where it’s going to be what I want or what you want,” Iriye said. “And I’m afraid that when we get to that point, one of us might make the wrong choice,” 

“So you would rather quit while you’re ahead?” Aaron asked, looking at her deeply in her eyes. “Answer me, Iriye,” His gaze was intense, and she wanted to look anywhere but him. But she was in his orbit and hated how close she had allowed him to get.

“I-I don’t know,” Iriye tried looking at his sweater. Aaron tilted her chin up to look up at him. 

“We need to talk about this, Iriye. Not right now, because we have to return to the table read. But we’re gonna talk about this,” Aaron stroked her chin.

“Okay,” Iriye said.

Iriye and Aaron pulled apart, trying not to walk too closely to each other as they made it back to the soundstage. Iriye let him enter first, and Tamara stopped her just as she was going to go in.

“Tamara, we’ve got to get back,” Iriye muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Tamara asked. Iriye bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Iriye whispered.

“But you didn’t,” Tamara said. “Is this about Jay?”

“No,” Iriye admitted. “It had nothing to do with him,”

“I know he and I are still being friends; it bugs you, but he was my friend before you were his girlfriend,” Tamara stated. 

“I know, Tam. I wasn’t asking you to take sides,” Iriye said. 

“But I wouldn’t have said anything if he asked about your dating life. Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me,” Tamara stated.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Iriye admitted. “I just… I’m figuring things out, and I didn’t want to say something, and it didn’t work out. Saying something would make it real. Maybe too real,”

“I saw you two at the snack table,” Tamara said. “I was going to talk to you, but I saw him and you,”

“We’re about to start again,” A production assistant interrupted them. Iriye nodded toward them, and they left. 

“You like him. Probably more than you ever liked Jay,” Iriye heard Tamara’s words.

“We need to focus back on the table read,” Iriye rubbed her on her jeans.

“It’s okay to feel for him, Iriye. You deserve to be happy,” Tamara said. 

“I’m sorry, Tamara,” Iriye moved to hug Tamara, and she embraced her back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tamara squeezed Iriye. They pulled apart, returning to the table together. 

The energy for the rest of the table read felt better, Iriye able to focus at moments, hearing the chemistry building amongst the cast. The reactions to different scenes and dialogues had her feeling like everything she had worked so hard for, was coming to fruition. 

By the last scene, Iriye’s eyes were shiny with tears. They got to the last pages and a few of the actors in the cast clapped. Tamara took a moment to speak, letting everyone know that Lanoire productions were thankful for them to join the journey of this film getting made. 

The table read was wrapped up and Iriye was grabbing her things from her office when she heard a knock at her door.  She looked up and saw Aaron.

“Can I come in?” Iriye nodded and he entered her office, looking around. “How are you feeling?”

Iriye let out a deep breath she felt like she had been fighting. “I feel like… I can breathe a little better,” 

“You and Tamara?” Aaron asked.

“We’re good. I’m pretty sure I owe her dinner, two bottles of wine and a gossip session about us,” Iriye said. She saw the smile smile on his face and she bit her lip. “Aaron…”

“You said us,” Aaron moved to grab her bag, packing it up. “Come on,”

“Aaron, I gotta go home,”

“I know. I’m taking you home. I know you didn’t drive your car since you haven’t been feeling good,” Iriye rolled her eyes as the man before her.

“So bossy,” Iriye took her bag from him.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling your eyes at me,” Aaron said as he led her out.

Iriye was quiet as she let Aaron drive her home in his car, his hand on her thigh as Sade played in his car. They didn’t speak but it was enough for Iriye. It made her feel warm and that thought came through her head. She loved him. 

They got to her place and Iriye let them in, Aaron taking her bag off and putting it where she kept it normally. 

“Go shower. I’m going to make us some dinner and we’re going to talk like adults,” Aaron demanded. “Then if you want to step away from us, you can,”

Iriye was going to say something but she saw the look on Aaron’s face. 

“Fine,” Iriye turned to her bathroom and went inside, using the time as she needed. She had to get this fine ass man out of her house. But taking her time in the shower would give her the space to breathe and take in how she would do this. She could go the anger route. Yell at him. Threaten him. Tell him she wouldn’t see him. But she didn’t want that. She wanted him.

Iriye dried off, taking the time to moisturize her skin and she deciped to slip into some sweats and a t shirt. She walked into the kitchen to see Aaron heating up some pasta sauce she had in a jar. 

“You need to go grocery shopping,” Aaron pointed out. He had some noodles boiling and she bit her lip.

“Maybe. I’ve just been spending a lot of time at this man’s house,” Iriye said. 

“Oh a man. What’s he like?” Aaron asked, playing along.

“Well for one, he’s tall. Really built like a linebacker or something,” Iriye mentioned. “His ears kind of a tad big for his head,”

“Not too much,” Aaron chuckled.

“He’s passionate and sweet and funny. Can go toe to toe with me when we bicker,” Iriye stated. She watched as he continued cooking with what she had, moving to plate the paste with the sauce for her. 

“I did the best I could,” He said, moving to get her a glass of water for Iriye. He place it by her. “Now eat,”

“Someone’s bossy,” Iriye dug into the meal. He watched her eat, Iriye knowing that he was focused on her. Once she finished, she watched Aaron move her plate out the way and pulled her chair closer to him as they sat at her counter. “What has gotten into you?” Iriye asked.

“You have, Iriye Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his hand moving to her cheek and cupping it. “So if this is what you don’t want,” His hand sliding up her thigh. “You’ll tell me to stop,” He cupped her pussy through her sweats and Iriye bit her lip.

“Aaron,” Iriye moaned. His hand slid into her sweats, finding her pussy as she didn’t put panties on.

“No panties. You made this so much easier for me, love,” Aaron slipped two fingers inside of Iriye and he quickly found that spot inside of her that made her gasp out.

Iriye was going to shut her legs but Aaron stood, moving to stand between her legs. His hand went to the nape of her neck and twisted his fingers into the hair there, making her look at him.

“You want me to stop, say it,” Aaron challenged her, blue eyes piercing her own. “Say it,”

Iriye couldn’t say anything as she moaned, his fingers working inside of her, his thumb touching her clit.

“The thing is you need me, Iriye,” Aaron said. “And I need you,” He leaned down to kiss her lips and Iriye kissed him back deeply. 

Iriye cupped his cheeks as their lips moved against each others, Aaron swallowing every moan and gasp that slipped as he worked her pussy with his fingers, feeling her juices coming out more and more. 

Aaron pulled back from kissing her, taking his fingers out of her pussy and sliding them to her lips, letting her taste herself amongst them. Iriye moaned, tasting her sweet juices. He pulled his fingers and kissed her, groaning.

“Come on,” Aaron lifted Iriye up, her hands moving to his neck and her legs wrapped around him. He led them to her bedroom and she gasps as he dropped her on her bed. “Strip,” Iriye sat up and with the look in his eye, she knew not to play around. 

Iriye shuffled her sweats down, leaving her bottom half bare and then her shirt came off, her titties bouncing back to their space. Aaron;s eyes took in every part of her body and she felt so exposed like a raw nerve. He got himself out of his shirt, the slight hair on his chest coming into view and the same speckle just above his pants. No belt was in his jeans and she watched as he unbuttoned it, his boxer briefs coming into view to show the hard bulge below as he got out of them. 

“Can I taste you,” Iriye asked and Aaron just chuckled. 

“You think I’m going to let you have what you want?” Aaron stated. “After you drove me mad all week, worried about you,” Iriye thought it was posessiveness making him act like this but it was more than that. “Get the condom,” Iriye shuffled up her bed to check her sidetable draw. Just as she was about to grab the gold foil, she felt a smack to her ass and she moaned from the sting, looking back at him. “Get the condom, Iriye,” 

Iriye grabbed it, shifting till she was laying against the pillow. Like a lion, Aaron crawled over her. He took the condom out of her hands and opened it, slipping it onto himself. 

Aaron crawled over Iriye, his eyes meeting her and leaning down for a soft kiss. And Iriye hated that she felt like she didn’t deserve him being sweet for a moment.

“Let me in, Iriye,” Aaron whispered and it wasn’t just her opening her legs and bed to him. It was everything else. Letting him into her life and her heart.

Before she could reply, Aaron pushed into her, a groan leaving his lips as he pressed into her pussy. She gasped as the familiar feeling of her body stretching around his length.

Aaron took a moment to regain himself, his body rocking into her as Iriye’s nail went to his back to find purchase. But he took both of her hands and pressed them to the bed.

“No. You’re just going to feel me. Feel what I do to you. That’s your only focus. Do you understand,” Aaron demanded.

“Yes,” Iriye moaned as she felt him beginning to thrust his length inside of her. Soft gasps left her as Aaron was commited to being slow and steady. His length slide in and out of her, the wet sounds echoing amongst their moans and groans.

Aaron was rolling his hips too good into her. Rocking against her as her feet tried to find purchase on the bed. His chest was rubbing against her nipples, growing harder and making her pussy throb with each movement.

“God, I wish I could feel how wet you are again,” He whispered against her lips, him leaning down to kiss her. Her hands were gasping the covers as Aaron pinned her down.

“You feel so good inside of me,” Iriye moaned out, feeling him thrust a little harder into her and causing her to cry out. 

“You really wanted to end this,” Aaron groaned against her neck. “Look at me,” He twisted his hips in a way that had Iriye arching her back, body still rocking slowly into her. “You want me to stop?”

Iriye gasped as he thrust again, hitting her g spot. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a second.

“You didn’t answer me Iriye,” He thrust harder into her. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Iriye whined out. Aaron paused for a moment and she was about to moan her discontent.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Iriye did as she was told, her legs wrapping around his waist. He lifted her back up from the bed. “Arms around my neck,” She wrapped around his neck and that’s when she knew he was trying to ruin her for anyone else.

Aaron’s muscles weren’t just for looks as he began bouncing her on his cock, lifting her like she was nothing. She began crying out, not caring that her neighbors would most likely complain. If they were getting fucked like this while on their worst behavior, they would understand.

“You really want this to stop,” Aaron lifted her, his cock hitting her g spot just right and her being forced to take the onslaught was wrecking her. They were both trying to breath between gasps and moans. “A-Answer me,” He stuttered as Iriye’s pussy spasmed.

“No. Please! No! Don’t stop,” Iriye cried out loudly. She clutched onto him for dear life as the wet slaps fell against his hips.

“You really wanted to run from this,” Aaron was thrusting up into her harder. “But no one can fuck you like this,” He made sure to puntactate each word with a hard thrust, forcing cries from her body. 

“Aaron!” Iriye whined.

“When I am done with you, you’re only going know my name. You understand, love,” Aaron thrust harder into her.

“Fuck! Yes,” Iriye cried out. He thrust up into her as he brought her body down onto his length, cries and moans leaving Iriye’s body as he moved faster. “You’re going to make cum!” Iriye whined.

“Good. Cum on your cock. I’m yours baby,” Aaron leaned in to kiss her. Her lips hungrily found his and she cried out as she felt her pussy spasming. It took a couple more thrusts before Iriye screamed out. Her juices flooding his length just made Aaron thrust harder, him groaning out as his orgasm hit her and they crumpled to the bed, entangled in each others arms. They would have to talk at some point but their bodies did most of the work and that was enough for now.

@wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[potato-lord-but-not]

Around 8 months ago (I can't believe its been that long either) you answered an ask about what Arthur Lester and his 3 bf's ideal positions were (top/bottom/switch), and, just out of curiosity, have you changed your mind at all about your answers? Or is John still a top, Oscar still a bottom, and Noel & Arthur both switches?

ITS BEEN THAT LONG ?!?!!?! good god oufghc anyway anyway- I think that has changed a bit and I’ll put my ramblings under cut bc well. there’s probably a bit more detail than you want out on your tumblr dash

okay Arthur hasn’t changed, he’s still a switch in my heart. I think John is still mainly a top, but he dabbles in switching positions. Like if someone realllllyyyy wants to top he’ll be like “okay :)”

Noel is definitely just a top, and he tried being the bottom once and was content to not try it again (even if Oscar was patient and gentle). Although he does top, he’s not much for penetrative sex. He has some problems getting like, physically aroused (also aforementioned preferences- he’s a bit of a voyeur, he’s got those monsterfucker tendencies, whatever the fuck he and the butcher had going on) and therefore likes to get creative with it. He definitely likes to have a bit of control during sex, not being possessive but just being in the lead.

Oscar is mainly still a bottom but I think he can switch it up if he wants because he’s hot like that. Im pretty sure this might directly contradict my earlier statements, b u t- it took him a while to be comfortable being the top, because he’s had very negative connotations with that position. He didn’t like the idea of the power imbalance during sex it could make, and that he’d be the one creating it. With enough patience tho he was willing to give it go with someone he trusted (Noel probably, and although that didn’t do much for Noel he was still great at giving pointers). Annddd I think that’s why I like bottom John and top Oscar together bc they’re going against their usual preferences and trusting the other to give them something they don’t usually get.

I feel bad for writing whole paragraphs for Noel and Oscar and jarthur just gets to share a single sentence um OOPS- uhhh o k a y

John! a switch with top preferences! he gets really aggressive with Arthur but that’s just because Arthur matches his energy. I think he also talks a lot during sex, mainly giving affirmations and praise. With Noel tho- if he’s still human then they’re just having a teasing match. Noel likes to bring out the flirt and get under John’s skin, and John is trying so hard to keep up without just being an ass. Monster John and Noel tho? all bets are off and they’re getting real freaky with it. John still makes sure to be careful and check in often incase he does something that might hurt Noel. And Noel’s like sweetheart I don’t caarrrrreeee pleaassseeee get those tendrils around me. And with Oscar he’s verrrryyyyy careful. Like he could most definitely get more rough with him, but he doesn’t want to do something wrong and have Oscar never want to be near him again. So he’s real gentle, placing more emphasis on foreplay and closeness than actual sex.

and Arthur! the guy I think about the least somehow! sorry king! a switch that is a horny little freak at heart. He’s up for a lot of things and will be down to try anything if his partner thinks they’ll like it. He’s definitely got more of a dominant personality, and I think that’s verryyy evident with, surprise surprise, Parker! Those two had some wweiirrdddd dynamics going on and thought of flirting and sex like some kinda secret game they both wanted to win. Arthur gets manipulative sometimes, but only if he knows the other person would enjoy it. I think since he’s aro, he’s got less romantic attachment to sex, and thus just really likes having sex to unwind or have some fun.

OUG I RAMBLED TOO HARD SORRY I’ll leave

[papaya-inspiration]

Damn, yeah, that sounds like it would suck to have happen to you as a newer author.

I still stand by The Emperor's Soul being the Sanderson thing I most want to see get a film... or maybe if I'm daydreaming the one I would have the best time writing a screenplay for. Other Sanderson things are probably better better suited for TV series, what with their ensemble casts and multiple plot lines. But The Emperors Soul is the right scope that you could do it justice in a feature length film, and self contained away from Cosmere stuff that you could do a faithful adaptation that is accessible to people who know nothing about Sanderson.

That said, it occurs to me that Warbreaker would also be pretty decently scoped for a film, and it has the benefit of the magic system already being incredibly visual. You'd probably want to rework a lot of the stuff about Vasher's lore, but outside of that it fits well into the genre of court intrigue and politics fantasy. People eat that stuff up these days!

Also, more Sanderson books have come out since I originally made that comment about The Emperor's Soul (shocking, I know... XD) And of the newer ones -- TRESS. Tress of the Emerald Sea would be great as a family friendly fantasy adventure story. It was already heavily inspired by The Princess Bride, and outside of Tress all the background characters are pretty straightforward and could be easily spun into comic relief supporting cast. There's the issue of what to do with the climax of the story (which is very cosmere-aware), but I think you could dump a lot of the cosmere tie ins, change how you explain Hoid (probably greatly diminish his role and give a lot of his action in the climax to Tress instead, or perhaps to the ensemble pirates), and come out with something coherent and fun.

Also Yumi and the Nightmare Painter should get an anime film adaption. Can we get the Your Name studio to animate it? Lol.

Brandon Sanderson on why TV adaptations of fantasy works end up being so different to the source material:

I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood. I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising. A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently. The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on. Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production. So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made. I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster. Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[inawickedlittletown]

Decided to rewatch S8 and I made it to 8x06.

Ugh. This episode.

This is the first time I'm rewatching it since it aired and I couldn't make myself rewatch it before, but I'm watching it now and gah the writing.

Under a cut because this got long...

I'm not even too bothered by the anniversary dinner. The woman approaching them is whatever in the long run...Buck is awkward but it's very Buck to be like that so that doesn't bother me. Tommy's reaction to it also not a problem. Buck acting like he doesn't know his boyfriend is gay? Writers WTF. This is the type of conversation that would be normal a few dates in not 6 months in. It's actually very reminiscent of stuff from their first date.

It's the way they didn't know how to bring up Abby and so gave us this convoluted way to bring it about and it's very clear to me on a rewatch that they're trying to make sure the casual heterosexual audience understands things. Like they want to reestablish that we know for sure that Tommy is gay and Buck is still attracted to women but also lets not use the word bisexual. And oh the shock value of it because take out the Abby of it all and the break up still works the same way...they did the Abby thing just for the hell of it.

It's bad writing.

The next thing that makes me cringe is Buck's scene with Maddie and Josh. In the past we've seen Maddie listen to Buck and maybe poke fun at him a little but always in a kind way and then she gives him advice.

Maddie in this scene is acting so strange (actually Maddie this whole episode is not acting quite herself). I know some people have an issue with Josh's speech about Glee but tbh I don't think it's that bad and I didn't the first time I watched it. I think he has good motives in saying it. My issue is with Maddie.

Her joke about Abby turning men gay, the way she explains to Josh that Buck slept with Tommy's fiance changing the facts entirely just to mess with Buck, the way that she just very clearly thinks Buck is being dramatic and ridiculous. She just doesn't take Buck seriously at all and when Buck calls her out on it she turns it around on him because as she says she doesn't think there's a problem. But it's not about if there is a problem with them having both dated Abby, it's how Buck feels about it that he needs advice on.

Josh for all that I do think he is helpful, he also does not know Tommy and shouldn't speak to what Tommy experienced. Buck voices his concerns that he thought he knew who Tommy was but now he's finding out that Tommy lied and hurt Abby and it's thrown him because he's having to meld those two versions of Tommy.

Buck doesn't think that Tommy will do the same to him and Tommy doesn't. He doesn't lie to Buck or string him along. He's actually very honest with him and that honesty contributes to the break up. Yet another way in which we see that Tommy has changed from who he used to be.

The thing is that Josh doesn't know Tommy and admits as much but he gives Buck some broad thing about glee and what the world was like before it and after but he's basing it on his own experiences and the queer experience is not a shared trauma...and he puts in Buck's mind that he can't judge Tommy and also that he should thank him. Buck clearly internalizes this. He also I think it suddenly forced to think about what he wants from a future with Tommy and he jumps at wanting to live with him.

Now onto the actual break up.

The whole scene is actually good. They're cute together and silly and flirty and even after the Abby thing is revealed to Tommy nothing has fallen apart. It's all kinda good and their conversation is actually great. When Buck says he admires him, Tommy seems to like that...or at least he takes it how Buck intends it.

This is where it falls apart. And considering I refused to watch this again until now I didn't really think about it like this until now.

Yes I think Tommy had his eyes opened a little bit with everything Buck said...but Tommy also could have ended the conversation at the point where Buck tells him he admires him and they could have gone to the movies and just continued their date night. Why? Because Tommy already sorta knows this and it's what's he's expected from it...he already knows this is Buck's first relationship with a man and that as such Buck must feel some gratitude for what Tommy has given him and he's clearly in his mind already decided that it will end eventually because as he tells Buck first is not last (Tommy, who hurt you?).

But then Buck asks Tommy to move in. And Tommy can't.

It's one thing for him to date the baby bi guy...for him to get feelings for him that maybe go deep but that are manageable. He can handle that...but moving in together? For Buck to dangle that to him and offer him a future when Tommy doesn't expect that Buck will be able to deliver it? That's where Tommy just can't because he knows it will hurt when they break up...but if they live together and form deeper attachments and routines and they become intrinsically a part of each other's lives in a home they share then that's not heartbreak he's prepared to face. It's heartbreak he knows he won't survive.

I actually don't see the break up as bad writing. Everything else surrounding it absolutely is, but that scene is heartbreaking because they both want the same exact thing but Buck couldn't reassure Tommy that he really did want for them to be together...he didn't even tell him he loved him...and Tommy needs more from Buck to be secure in thinking that in this instance first could also be the last.

I think we learn so much about Tommy in this episode and I wish we had been able to dive in deeper.

This episode still hurts. Tommy's face when he says "Buck" hurts. The way Buck is left behind hurts.

The writing is a mixed bag of bad with some alright moments. It also leaves so much open. I remember that night being optimistic because it is so clearly a storyline left open to be continued. Some interviews turned that optimism right around but without that there is no real reason for any of us to think that this is finished.

Do I think it was a bad idea to break them up? Absolutely. Do I think there are other forms of tension for them to explore? Yes. Do I think they will manage to give this story and Buck and Tommy a happier ending? I have no idea, but I hope so.

Buck himself calls his relationship with Tommy the most transformative since Abby. He misses Tommy so much he spends the next couple of episodes baking and wanting to reach out. We also know that Tommy wants to reach back out too. These are indications that it isn't over and I just hope that they stick to being a little cliche and following the romcom trope right through to the end where they get back together.

I guess that's where I am going into 8b. Hopeful, but not holding my breath and well aware that fanfic exists and so much of the scenarios we want for our blorbos will only ever be possible there. Oh, and I'll be shipping Buck with Tommy because that is definitely not changing no matter what the show does.

[paishoeyeroh]

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER TEN: Fracture

Chapter Summary: You push. Sukuna breaks.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sukuna is ignoring you.

At first, you don’t think too much of it, assuming he’s just quiet this morning. You hadn’t seen him since last night, after all, and you figured things might be a little… tense. But by the time you’re sitting through your first lecture, tapping your pen against your notebook in distraction, the truth becomes evident. He’s doing it on purpose.

No odd comments thrown your way, no dry observations, no flickering glances. He follows, because he has to, but he doesn’t acknowledge you once. It’s as though you don’t exist.

You try to push it aside, to focus on your professor’s voice, on the words you should be writing down, but it hurts. There’s no denying that.

There’s really only one explanation for his coldness. Last night. The way you were drawn to each other like magnets. And then, Megumi’s call. A reminder of the one person Sukuna seems to despise, though you’ve never been entirely sure why. He’s never liked Megumi, never tried to hide his distaste. Whatever his reasoning, you know the timing isn’t a coincidence. Whether it was the moment itself or the interruption that followed, it’s clearly bothering him.

And if it’s not? If there’s something else behind his silence? That thought is even more frustrating, because it means you still don’t know what’s going on inside his head at all.

Between classes, you catch sight of a familiar head of pink hair bobbing above the crowd. Yuji. At the sight of him, you remember your conversation with Megumi last night. You decide to call out his name.

He turns immediately, eyes lighting up the second he spots you. A wide grin spreads across his face, and before you can brace yourself, he’s bounding toward you, all but skipping across the hall.

“Hey!” he exclaims, wrapping you in a tight, familiar hug. The embrace is warm, effortless, and you sink into it without hesitation. A real, genuine smile tugs at your lips, one you didn’t have to force. His energy, so bubbly and contagious, fills your insides with light, chasing away the darkness you’ve been carrying all morning.

“I was just thinking about you! Nobara and Megumi are coming over later to hang out. Wanna come?” he tilts his head closer to you, his hand coming up to cup the side of his mouth as he lowers his voice, “there’ll be weed and snaaaacks,” he sing-songs, as if he’s trying to bribe you into coming.

You giggle at his antics, but you feel a tight pang in your stomach at the realization that he’s trying to convince you, probably because he thinks you don’t want to go.

“Alright, I’ll come. But I’m not smoking any of your weed. Not after what happened last time,” you say with a grimace. Yuji’s weed is always incredibly strong, and since you’re not much of a smoker anyway, it had too great of an effect on you the last time you tried it. You don’t even want to think about it. The head spinning. The paranoia. The crying. Not fun.

Yuji throws his head back as he laughs, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and you have no doubt the memory is playing back through his mind.

“Oh yeah! I forgot about that. Good times,” he mocks as his hand comes up to squeeze your shoulder. “Well, just come over whenever after class. Nobara and Megumi are catching a ride with me, so we’ll all be there.” He waves his hand at you as he walks away. “See ya later!”

You find yourself still smiling long after Yuji passes by you in the hallway, his bright and bubbly mood never failing to cheer you up. Tonight is going to be just what you need.

As long as Sukuna behaves with Megumi around.

Your smile immediately falters at the thought. You glance over at him, standing a few feet away leaned up against the lockers, looking in the opposite direction of you. You sigh as you head to your next class.

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, now that you have something to look forward to. As Sukuna continues to neglect your existence, you become more and more certain that he will keep up the charade at Yuji’s place. The thought almost comforts you. Maybe it’ll feel like old times again, before you ever put on that damned ring.

You make your way up to Yuji’s apartment, lightly rapping your knuckles against the door.

It flings open suddenly, and Yuji’s standing there in all his marijuana-induced glory, having clearly started smoking already. His eyes are half-lidded and red rimmed, and there’s a wide, goofy smile plastered across his face as he welcomes you.

“Heeey! Guys, I told you she’d come!” he shouts back to the others, before beckoning you inside. You take a step in, with Sukuna following behind you before Yuji closes the door.

The moment you step inside, the thick, unmistakable scent of weed hits your nostrils. It’s warm in here, cozy in that lazy, indulgent kind of way. The coffee table is a mess of half eaten snacks—open bags of chips, crumpled candy wrappers, a box of cookies that’s already looking dangerously empty. And right in the middle of it all, Yuji’s bong sits proudly, a testament to the night they’ve obviously already been having.

Megumi is sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide, looking more relaxed than you’ve seen him in months. His head tips lazily toward you, and a slow, lopsided smile spreads across his lips as he greets you. You return it, unable to control the tugging at your lips at the sight of him so at ease for once.

Yuji flops down beside him with a satisfied sigh, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. Meanwhile, you settle onto the floor next to Nobara, who turns to you with a look of pure relief.

“Thank god you’re here. I can’t listen to those two anymore, especially Yuji. I think I can actually feel him making me dumber.”

“That’s not because of me, it’s the weed, idiot,” Yuji quips, ducking to avoid the pillow she throws at his head in response.

You laugh, shaking your head, as you turn back to Nobara. “How’d your date go the other night?”

She immediately rolls her eyes, reaching into her bag of chips and pulling out a handful. “Ugh, don’t even get me started,” she shoves the chips into her mouth, crunching loudly. “First, he didn’t open the door for me. Then, he tried to, like, order my own food for me? And to top it all off, he didn’t even compliment my outfit!” she crushes her bag of chips in her fist in anger.

“So, naturally, I ghosted his ass. I don’t have time for that kind of disrespect.”

“Naturally,” you snort, as Megumi coughs loudly, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he takes a rip of the bong. He reaches out, offering it to you.

“Want some?”

You turn to him, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m good.” you decline, watching him pass the bong to Yuji. As you do, you notice something out of the corner of your eye. It’s Sukuna, and you watch as he rounds the corner, walking out of sight. Probably off to go pout somewhere by himself like a sullen child, you think as you inwardly roll your eyes. You have no intention of dealing with that for the remainder of the night. You quickly turn your head back to the group as Megumi speaks.

“Guys, can we put a different show on?” he asks, his voice strained, almost pleading. He swallows thickly, his gaze locked onto the screen like it’s about to crawl out and grab him. “This one’s freaking me out.”

Yuji squints at the screen, then back at Megumi.

“What? It’s just Pokémon, dude,” he says before he leans forward, studying Megumi like he’s the most fascinating thing in the room. “Are you good?”

Megumi stands shakily, his face pale, quickly making his way down the hall. “I’ll be back,” he weakly mutters over his shoulder.

Nobara and Yuji watch him for a moment, bursting out in simultaneous laughter after the bathroom door slams shut.

“He must’ve smoked too much. He’s probably in there freaking out,” Nobara manages to get out through her wheezes.

“It’s not his fault,” you defend, “Yuji’s weed is way too strong. Last time I smoked with you guys, I convinced myself I was in a simulation.”

You shudder as you recall the memory, but it only encourages another round of cackles from the two.

You watch them for a moment, trying to contain your own laughter. But after what feels like way too long for a regular trip to the bathroom, Megumi still hasn’t returned.

You glance over at Yuji and Nobara, but they’re engrossed in their own conversation. They’ve either forgotten about the situation entirely or are too high to care. Or both. You realize that you’re going to have to be the one to go check on the poor guy.

You stand up with a sigh, preemptively pouring a glass of water in the kitchen before heading down the hall.

As you pass by Yuji’s bedroom, the open door offers a glimpse inside. You glance in casually, only to stop dead in your tracks at what you see.

Sukuna is there.

Flat on his back, sprawled across Yuji’s bed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. But something’s off.

His upper set of hands are thrown over his face, fingers digging into his forehead, covering his eyes like he’s trying to block out the world. The lower set of hands are clenched into fists, the muscles in his forearms tight, twitching with some kind of barely restrained force. You don’t even have to see his face to know he’s seething. Pure, unadulterated anguish radiates off of him, thick enough to suffocate the air in your lungs.

You watch him for a second, concern twisting deep in your gut. You’ve never seen him like this. Ever. Sukuna does not unravel. But here he is, unraveling right in front of you, completely unaware that he now has an audience.

Your lips part, the start of his name forming on your tongue, but before you can speak, his hands slide up, gripping into his hair with so much force it looks like he might tear it straight from his skull.

You stand in the doorway, mouth open, quickly snapping it closed when you notice the look on his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, brows furrowed so tight it looks like it hurts. His lips part slightly as he exhales a slow, trembling breath, one that sounds like it’s been forced from the depths of his chest. His jaw clenches, the muscles flexing repeatedly, and his fingers tighten their grip on his hair almost desperately, as if he’s trying to anchor himself, to keep from coming apart entirely.

Your own breath stills in your throat. Every muscle in your body goes rigid, your mind struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing.

What the hell is going on?

A lump forms in your throat as you try to make sense of it. He’s been avoiding you all day, shutting you out since last night, and now… this? The distance, the cold silence, was all a cover, that much is clear now. But for what?

A part of you wants to go to him. To reach out, to touch him, to offer anything that might ease whatever war is raging inside of him. The urge claws at you, visceral and insistent, your arms aching to wrap around him in comfort.

But another part of you hesitates.

I shouldn’t be here.

You’re witnessing something raw, something unguarded and deeply, painfully human. A moment he never meant for anyone to see—least of all you. You’ve been toeing a dangerous line with Sukuna for a while now, but this… this feels like stepping over it. Stumbling over it, straight into a place you don’t belong.

You should leave.

The need to understand him, to help him, gnaws at you like a hunger, but he isn’t someone who needs things like that. Sukuna doesn’t want help. He is power. He is control.

But right now…

He looks like he has neither.

You catch yourself before you do something you’ll regret, clenching your hands around the glass of water you’d forgotten you were holding. Slowly, as to not make a sound, you creep past the doorway, heading over to the bathroom.

You press your ear against the door, listening for any sign of life from inside. Nothing. No movement, no shuffling. Only silence.

After a brief hesitation, you turn the knob and push the door open, peeking your head inside.

Megumi is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his elbows braced against his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with slow, deliberate breaths, the kind you take when you’re trying to will your heartbeat to steady.

“Megumi?”

He lifts his head at the sound of your voice, blinking sluggishly. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, his pupils blown wide. It takes him a second to register you standing there, and when he does, his posture stiffens just a little. A ghost of a smile flickers across his lips—weak, sheepish—before he clears his throat.

“I’m alright, I just needed to chill in here for a second.”

You step into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you before lowering yourself onto the floor beside him. The cool tiles press against your legs as you settle in close to his feet, holding out the glass.

“Here, drink this. I got you some water.”

Megumi takes it, fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment. He doesn’t look at you right away, instead staring down at the rim of the glass like it suddenly holds the secrets of the universe.

“Thanks,” he mutters, finally lifting it to his lips. He swallows a few careful sips before adding, “Sorry for ruining the vibe.”

You shake your head, lips twitching into a small smile as you reach out, rubbing his arm in comfort.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure him, your voice soft, “you didn’t ruin anything.”

That gets him to look at you, but only briefly, his eyes flickering to yours before darting away. He shifts slightly on the edge of the tub.

You grin, deciding to tease him just a little. “Come back out whenever you’re ready. Oh, and I’ll make sure that show isn’t on when you do.”

His lips part slightly before pressing into a flat line. A weak chuckle escapes him, half amusement, half mortification. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

You squeeze his arm lightly before rising to your feet. As you do, you glance down at him one last time, watching as he rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. Stifling a giggle, you reach for the doorknob.

“See you out there,” you say, stepping through the doorway.

As you make your way back to the living room, you pass by Yuji’s room once again. This time, you keep your gaze fixed straight ahead, resisting the urge to steal another glance inside. If Sukuna were to catch you looking, even for a second, he’d know you saw him earlier. He always knows. And you’re not sure you’d be able to school your expression fast enough to keep the truth from spilling across your face.

Right now isn’t the time to deal with whatever it is Sukuna’s got going on. Right now, you just want to have fun with your friends. You can deal with anything else once you get home.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

Upon re-entering the living room, you notice the show from earlier has already been turned off, the soft hum of music filling the space instead—low, rhythmic beats that sink into the atmosphere like a gentle pulse. Yuji is sprawled across the couch on his back with a half-eaten chip bag laying forgotten on his lap, one arm tucked behind his head, the other drumming lazy fingers against his stomach in time with the music. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling, his expression distant, no doubt lost somewhere in the hazy lull of his high.

Nobara mirrors his sprawl on the floor, phone in hand, absentmindedly scrolling as she occasionally pops a chip into her mouth. You retake your spot beside her, snatching one from the bag without a word.

“Do you think that grass is, like, the earth’s pubic hair?”

“Yuji. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Nobara responds immediately. Based on her reply, you can only assume this has been going on for a while.

“I’m just saying! It makes sense if you think about it.”

“He’s kinda got a point,” you add with an amused tilt of your lips.

“Please, don’t encourage him.”

“You guys just need to get on my level. Nobody’s on my level,” Yuji pouts.

Before anyone can respond, Megumi reappears, looking far better than he did before. His complexion is no longer pale, his movements steadier, the color returned to his cheeks. He runs a hand through his hair as he steps into the room, shaking off the last remnants of his ordeal.

“Welcome back, buddy!” Yuji exclaims, immediately sitting up to make room for him on the couch. “We were worried about you! Were you fighting demons in there or what?”

Megumi levels a deadpan look at him before scanning the room, his gaze settling on you and Nobara before he sinks back into his previous spot. In one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes the bag of chips right off Yuji’s lap with a little more force than necessary.

“Nobody speaks of this outside of this room,” he says, voice flat as he pops a chip into his mouth. “Or you’re all dead.”

“Alright, jeez. Relax. Not like we’ve never greened out before,” Nobara mutters without looking up from her phone.

As the night winds down, conversations fade into a comfortable lull, and Nobara suggests putting on a movie. You settle in as it plays, watching it unfold on screen, but your mind is elsewhere now.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about what you saw in Yuji’s room—Sukuna lying there, his hands fisted in his hair like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will, seemingly teetering on the edge of some sort of breakdown.

You’ve never seen him like that, so unguarded, so vulnerable. You’ve seen him express emotion, sure. Anger, usually. Or quieter flickers hidden beneath sharp words and sharper smiles. But you’ve never seen something like that, not from him. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Is it because of me?

The question nags at you, digging into your ribs like a phantom dagger, whispering doubts into the corners of your mind.

Would he be angry if he knew you saw him like that? Or would he shut you out even more?

The idea sends a wave of sadness through you. Your heart aches for him. Whatever it is he’s going through, you have a sinking feeling that he’ll never open up, no matter how much you pry.

You shift in your spot, eyes flitting toward Yuji’s bedroom before quickly turning away.

Don’t.

The urge to check on him gnaws at you, but after the cold shoulder he’s been giving you all day, you doubt he’d give you the answers you’re looking for.

So instead, you decide it’s time to head home for the night. Yujis passed out anyway, having fallen asleep almost as soon as the movie started, and Megumi looks like he’s close behind him. You stand, gathering your things as you whisper your goodbyes, heading to the door.

Just as your fingers curl around the doorknob and open it to step outside, Sukuna appears, rounding the corner with his usual quiet grace. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look anywhere but forward. He just slips past you and steps out the door ahead of you, carefully maneuvering his body so that his arm doesn’t so much as slightly brush your own.

You exhale slowly, watching his back as he strides ahead, his steps long and deliberate. You’re not surprised to see him keeping up his silent act. He doesn’t know that you saw him in Yuji’s room, after all. He doesn’t know you stood there, rooted in place, witnessing him beginning to unravel at the seams.

You step outside after him, the cold air a sharp contrast to the cozy warmth of Yuji’s apartment, slapping you like an icy wake-up call. Sukuna is already way ahead of you. The wind tugs at the strands of his hair, but he doesn’t react—just keeps walking, his movements purposeful, controlled.

By the time you reach the car, he’s already inside, the door shutting with a firm click. You sigh, tightening the grip on your keys.

You settle into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. The hum of the car feels louder than usual in the empty space between you. Neither of you says a word.

You want to say something, anything, to break this awkward tension. But… what can you say? You glance over in his direction briefly, but Sukuna is turned away, the side of his face barely visible in the dim light coming off the dashboard. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding you, or just lost in his own thoughts. Probably both. Either way, you can feel the distance continuing to grow between you with every minute that ticks by.

You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to demand an explanation for his behavior today.

Just drive.

When you finally pull into the parking lot to your apartment, Sukuna doesn’t wait. As soon as the car comes to a stop and you shut the engine off, he’s already out, his door slamming shut before you can un-click your seatbelt.

You watch his back as he walks ahead, his long strides forcing you to pick up your pace just to keep up. With every step, frustration burns hotter inside of you, winding itself around the ache that’s been sitting there since you saw him in Yuji’s room.

Why won’t he let you in? He’s hurting, you saw it with your own eyes. So why is he still keeping you at arm’s length? Why does he insist on suffering in silence when you’re right here?

By the time you reach the door to your apartment, your chest feels tight with your unspoken thoughts, the urge to voice them aloud becoming harder and harder to resist. You step inside right behind him, closing the door softly despite your inner turmoil threatening to spill over. And once again, Sukuna moves past you without a word, already striding down the hall, probably planning to disappear to wherever the hell he goes when he doesn’t want to be seen.

You make a quick decision. You’ve had enough of being ignored. You can’t just keep pretending everything is fine, like you’re sure he intends to. You have to say something.

“Sukuna.”

He stops, turning halfway around to face you. You study him carefully, searching for even the faintest trace of what you witnessed earlier—the tension in his jaw, the desolation in his face, the silent war he was waging within himself.

But there’s nothing.

Where there should be emotion—something raw and real—there is only an empty stare, a hollow reflection of the man you know lurks beneath his mask.

Cold. Dark. Void.

It’s a door slammed shut, an unspoken message that whatever moment of weakness you glimpsed was never meant for you.

The air between you grows infinitely heavier, colder. You can almost physically feel it, the absence of him, like something vital has been drained from the space he occupies. It prickles at your skin, wrapping itself around you, a quiet, almost suffocating numbness that mirrors the emptiness in his gaze.

He raises his brows at you, waiting for you to continue.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Have I?” his voice is steady, indifferent.

You fold your arms across your chest, feeling your irritation finally rising to the surface. “Yes. You haven’t said a word to me all day. You haven’t even looked at me, not since—“ you cut yourself off, afraid to bring up the almost-kiss directly, “not since last night.”

Sukuna turns away, dismissing you with the shift of his shoulders, as if the conversation itself is beneath him. “There’s nothing to say,” he replies flatly, his tone impersonal, like he’s already decided this discussion isn’t worth his time.

But you refuse to allow him to slip through your fingers so easily. “Come on, don’t do that,” you step closer to him, determined to not let him brush it off, “don’t just… shut me out. Haven’t we moved past this?” your voice softens, the concern evident in your words.

Sukuna remains still, his shoulders drawn tight, his entire body wound like a thread stretched too thin. He doesn’t turn to respond, but his silence speaks louder than any answer he could give. And still, you push, even knowing it might only drive him further away.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” you continue, your frustration giving way to something dangerously close to pleading. “I’ve opened up to you about everything—about my past, my ex, my life. You’ve basically seen it all. But you? You’ve given me nothing. You hide behind this wall like you’re… some… untouchable thing.”

At that, Sukuna finally turns his head, just slightly, his narrowed eyes settling on you over his shoulder. There’s a shift in the way his eyes almost darken, like a tide pulling back before the wave crashes. His voice is low, almost a growl.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

His question stings, cutting deep. Your throat constricts, like his own words have wrapped themselves tight around your airway, but you swallow hard, willing yourself to push through it.

“I want you to stop pretending that this means nothing to you,” you say, gesturing between the two of you, between the space that feels impossibly vast despite how close you stand, “that I mean nothing to you.”

For a moment, he just stares blankly at you in response. Then, without warning, a low, humorless laugh escapes him, dry and sharp, like the crack of a splintering bone. “You think this… whatever this is, means something to me?”

You take a breath, the words that have been stuck inside you for days, weeks, finally crashing to the surface.

“I know it does,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts, “and I know you feel it too, Sukuna. You’re not as detached as you think you are.”

He whips around at that, his face twisting, a sharp flash of anger breaking through his emotionless exterior. His brows pull together in disbelief, a deep furrow forming between them.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “Let me guess, you think just because we’re stuck in this bond, you can ‘fix’ me, is that it? You think I can feel anything? Love? Don’t be foolish.”

You’re taken aback by his words, his sudden anger. This is not how you wanted this conversation to go at all. But it’s happening now, spiraling out of control right in front of you, and there’s no turning back.

“I’m not trying to fix you. I’m just asking you to let me in.” You step closer, desperate to break through the icy wall he continues to throw up, to finally see the real him that he’s been hiding behind it. You’re tired of him pretending there’s nothing left of the man he once was.

Fuck it. You might as well let it all out.

“I’m not like her, Sukuna.”

His reaction is immediate. Sukuna’s body stiffens, his shoulders locking into place as if he’s just been struck. His eyes widen dangerously as his stare burns straight through you, unsettling you to your core.

“What?” His voice is low, quiet, but full of warning, like a blade pressed to your throat.

Your pulse pounds rapidly in your ears, your instincts screaming at you to stop and retreat, but you can’t stop yourself. The words continue to spill out.

“Look, I know about Uraume. I know what she did to you. I—“

“If I were you, I’d choose my next words very carefully,” he interrupts, his tone razor-sharp and dripping with venom.

You really should stop talking. Any rational person would. But the next words are already on your tongue, your desperation outweighing your better judgment. If you just keep pushing, if you can just make him see—he’ll believe you. He has to.

“I’m not her, Sukuna. You can trust me. I would never do that to you.”

His eyes flash, cold rage igniting in them like a distant storm, dark and inevitable. He takes a slow step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming, and you have to lock your legs in place to fight the urge to step back in response.

“Since you think you know so much,” he growls, his voice dripping with contempt, “then surely you know what happened to her, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head in response, your voice sounding much smaller and less confident than before. “No, I don’t.”

His expression changes, the sharp edges of his fury settling into something eerily calm. Too calm. His lips curl, not into a smirk, but something that resembles more of a grimace, though his eyes remain wide, uncanny and hollow.

“I killed her.”

He takes another step closer, and a sudden, primal fear rises inside you, sharp and instinctual. Your body tenses as you cower back.

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, a shadow of something—pain, maybe rage—contorts his features. But it’s gone in an instant, swallowed expertly by that cold, unrelenting mask.

“She screamed,” he continues, his voice dipping lower, “begged for mercy, for forgiveness.” A slow, humorless chuckle escapes him, causing a chill to run along your flesh. “As if it meant anything. As if I would ever grant her either.”

He takes a final step forward, and you don’t move, don’t breathe.

“I tore her apart, piece by piece for what she did to me. Watched her blood stain the ground like spilled ink. And when she finally stopped screaming, when she gasped that last, pitiful breath—“ he leans in, just slightly, “it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.”

Your stomach plummets, a sickening drop that leaves you dizzy. His words coil around your throat like a noose, tightening, choking. You had considered the possibility—of course you had. Sukuna had killed before. You had seen it yourself in the visions of his past. But those had been in battle, acts of war and conquest.

This… this was something else entirely.

A slow, merciless dismantling. A deliberate, calculated destruction of someone he once loved. Nausea rises in the pit of your stomach, threatening to bubble up into your throat. You stare at him, at the thing standing in front of you, and for the first time, you feel like you’re truly seeing him. The demon. The unrepentant, merciless king who had bathed in the blood of those who wronged him.

The Sukuna you’ve come to know—the one who met your wit with dry amusement, the one whose touch had once felt gentle against your skin, who had almost kissed you just yesterday—is gone.

“I…”

You take another step back, the words struggling to form on your trembling lips.

“You’re nothing like her,” he sneers, his voice laced with disdain, “and you never will be. You think just because you have some sort of odd little obsession with me, that makes you special? That I could ever feel for you what I once felt for her?” His lips curl into something akin to a snarl, “I am a monster. I kill, I destroy, I devour.”

His words strike like a blade, each syllable leaving his lips like tiny knives carving into your heart, stripping it away piece by piece, leaving you hollow. You can do nothing but watch, wide-eyed, empty, nothing left but the overwhelming ache where hope used to be.

“You’re nothing to me,” he continues, cruel and cutting. “Your pathetic little life is a mere speck in the grand scheme of things. I have been here for centuries. And I will continue to be here long after you’ve rotted, buried deep and forgotten underground.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, your vision blurring around the edges as your eyes begin to fill with unshed tears. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You have no words. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of his cold dismissal of you.

“I’m not capable of love, girl, and you’d do well to remember that.” He says, his voice quieter now, but no less harsh.

“I’m not some human you can change and mold into a version that you prefer. I’m a demon. That’s all I’ll ever be.” He takes a step back, his face hard and unrelenting. “And if you think for even a second that I could ever care about you, then you’re even more fucking pathetic than I thought.”

The tears come fast, scorching trails down your flushed cheeks as your breath turns ragged. Your vision blurs, the room shrinking in around you, and all you can think is that you need to get away. Away from him, from his words still ringing in your skull, splintering through your chest like jagged glass.

You don’t look at him. You don’t even think. You just run.

You barely make it to your bedroom before the first sob rips free, raw and uncontrollable. The door slams behind you, but it does nothing to stop the pain from clawing its way up your throat, your shoulders heaving with the force of it. You stumble forward, collapsing onto your bed, curling in on yourself like a wounded animal.

Your hands tangle in your hair, gripping tightly, desperately, as if you could anchor yourself, as if you could stop the ache spreading through your chest, sinking deep into your bones. But it’s useless. The sobs wrack through you, shaking you to your very core, your breaths coming sharp and fast, too fast, until you’re gasping, until it feels like you’re drowning in it, in him, in everything you thought you had and everything he just tore apart in an instant.

And still, his voice lingers. Still, it hurts.

How could you be so stupid?

Of course he doesn’t care. Of course he doesn’t feel. He’s a demon—a creature of pure, unrelenting cruelty. You knew that. You’ve always known that. And still, somehow, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope that there was something more beneath all that rage and ruin, something real. Something for you.

But there isn’t.

There never was.

You’re just a pathetic, lovesick fool, chasing a dream that was never yours to begin with. He’s not a man. He’s not someone to be understood or saved, not someone who could ever love you back. He is darkness, destruction, a force of nature that does not bend, does not break, does not care.

Your stomach twists with the sheer humiliation of it, shame seeping into your skin like poison. How could you let yourself fall? How could you have been so blind?

Your body trembles as you curl in tighter, rocking slightly, trying to push it away, to find some shred of comfort in the wreckage. But the thoughts won’t stop. The hurt won’t stop. It digs into your ribs, carves itself into your heart, reminding you over and over and over—

“You’re nothing to me.”

A strangled sob tears from your throat, raw and broken, as you bury your face into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sound. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. The ache in your chest is too big, too unbearable, clawing at your ribs, crushing the air from your lungs.

For a fleeting moment, you think about leaving. Just getting up and walking out the door, disappearing into the night, never looking back. Maybe if you run fast enough, far enough, you can outrun this pain, escape the weight of what you’ve done, what you let yourself believe.

But where would you go?

There is nowhere he wouldn’t follow. No distance you could put between you that the bond wouldn’t snap back into place, dragging you right back to him. He is inescapable.

And you are trapped.

Your chest tightens violently, a crushing, suffocating weight settling onto it, making it impossible to breathe. The walls feel smaller, the air thinner, the room closing in like a prison. You squeeze your eyes shut, fists clenching in the sheets, trying to steady yourself, to think, to breathe.

Breathe.

Eventually, the sobs fade, not because the pain lessens, but because your body simply can’t keep up with it anymore. You lie still, curled in on yourself, drained beyond measure. The tears don’t stop, though—they slip silently down your face, soaking into the pillow, leaving behind the sticky remnants of grief. The hurt remains, dull now, a hollow, throbbing thing inside your chest, like an open wound that refuses to close.

You take a trembling breath, staring blankly at the wall as the crushing silence of the room presses in around you, thick and suffocating.

“You’re nothing to me.”

The words replay in your head, slow and deliberate, sinking deeper with every repetition. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe you were foolish, delusional to think you could ever be anything more than a passing amusement to him. To believe you could reach something inside him that simply doesn’t exist.

And yet.

Even as you think it, even as you try to carve the truth into your own heart, a part of you refuses to believe it. Because you know better.

You’ve seen it. Felt it.

Despite his cruelty, despite the ice in his voice, despite the way he shut you out like you were nothing—you know there’s something beneath it all, something he won’t let himself admit.

But if he refuses to acknowledge it… does it even matter?

The thought lingers, heavy and unresolved, sinking deep into the marrow of your bones.

It shouldn’t matter. It can’t matter.

As you lie there, hollowed out and aching, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs like iron, you know this wound won’t fade so easily. It’s carved too deep, settled too far inside you.

So you let the tears fall, silent and endless, tracing paths down your skin like a grief that refuses to be swallowed. You close your eyes against the darkness, but there is no escape—not from this, not from him.

All you can do now is endure.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

☰ Taglist: @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @after-laughter-come-tears @rizzyjuney609 @prezzleyy

[suzukiblu]

If we are highlighting specific characters (re:the bart asks) I just want to say as far as less-popular characters, I love love love your portrayal of Bernard! Not sure if he's in anything other than think pink, the very most recent update of interdimensional kidnapping (which I was SO overjoyed about), and the timberkon soulmate au of yours. If there's any I've missed, I'd love to know!! I just think his perspective is so silly and fun the way you write him!! His character has the potential to be a very cool non-hero/vigilante perspective that is relatively moldable given that there's not a whole lot canon-wise on him, and I think you have really done a great job at making him a delight to read!

Ty! 💛💛 I find Bernard very enjoyable to write, hah, I try my best to balance him between his OG "weirdest dude in Tim's civilian life" characterization and current "most normal dude in Tim's vigilante life" characterization, YES I fully consider him that despite the pain cult and also his taste in men, lol.

ummmmm lemme see what I've got besides those three, I don't think there's a TON of others but one sec while I double-check my WIP list, haha, OKAY:

Kon is not a virgin (( chrono || non-chrono )) - Kon asks Bernard if it's okay to have sex with Tim for reasons that are definitely not trauma-based whatsoever. Definitely not! [ past rape/sexual assault; will eventually be nsfw ]

weird amnesia Timberkon (( chrono || non-chrono )) - This one I suspect is the one you will most enjoy of the WIPs I am currently linking you, given it's specifically from Bernard's perspective and also leans into the silly/fun/genre-savvy version of his perspective ( and also, like, people seem to like it probably the most of these WIPs ). Though also it contains some Emotional Doom(tm), definitely, hah. Bernard does not know why Superboy is so bad at secret identities and Tim does not know who "Superboy" is. And neither does anyone else. :)

honorable mentions for "so far Tim has just internal-monologued about Bernard but this AU is eventually gonna be some flavor of polyam and also smutty, yes that IS a very specific category, thank you for noticing, it isn't a lot but it IS weird that it's happened twice!":

stray cat strut (( chrono || non-chrono )) - Tim goes to a totally normal charity event for a pet rescue center and everything is totally normal. Especially the pets. All the pets are SO normal. [ eventual nsfw ]

Timkon xeno (( chrono || non-chrono )) - Tim has a fight with Bernard, finds out Kon has a very inconvenient alien breeding cycle to deal with, gets safeworded and cockwarmed, and cannot get his boyfriend to text him back or his best friend to talk to him, not necessarily all in that order. Text-resistant boyfriends may ( eventually ) be closer than they appear. ( also, for clarification purposes because infidelity is a personal dealbreaker for me and I haaaaate to read it, no cheating occurs in this fic: this is a "pre-established hall pass meets Pon Farr" situation, Tim just feels kinda shitty about it due to the timing. ) [ nsfw ]

Also Bernard will likely cameo/get namedropped in a couple of the longfics I'm working on and I do have at least one more WIP that he is def gonna show up and get some dedicated screentime in, but that specific development is both a ways off and a lil' bit spoilery so we're not gonna clarify which one it is just yet, haha. And eventually I might write "Tim gets a(nother) Pocket", as another installment in the "[ CHARACTER ] gets a Pocket" series that I've got.

[shehungers]

CRACKS KNUCKLES let's get to business, Kiri

I want to say that this was SO MUCH FUCKING FUN to read! I'm not much of a superhero-loving gal, but spider-man is one of those heroes that is much more approachable and likeable than a lot of other ones. you "friendly neighborhood spider-man" after all. so, I'm glad that you chose that to go with and that you used Caleb as the hero because it just fucking fits so well!

before I dig in, just know that I haven't played LADS for a long time and certainly haven't played any of Caleb's storyline. so, I can't really make any comment on characterization besides what exists about him in the early parts of the game. if we're going based off of that, this feels very authentic and loyal to his character.

going off of my opinion of how you wrote a character like him: exquisite. you gave me the impression of a responsible older sibling or caretake with a mischievous streak. particularly in regards to the playful banter they share throughout the story, which is equal parts so bratty and caring and sweet that I love, love, love it!!!

a lot of the details you used to describe their relationship: Caleb usually does the cooking, but they dutifully split chores, eat together, consistently yapping with each other throughout the day, that worrying "stay safe" "be home before curfew" "I'll be home for dinner" stuff is just so domestic and ordinary, but something about how you used it in this fic is just so comforting to me; their normalcy is cozy and familiar and loving and lifelong and you did it SO well!!!

one thing I'll mention before I forget is when you were talking about jumping ahead/around w/o dividers or a time skip and having worries about it: don't be. I was purposefully searching for an, ah, rough division in the fic so I could maybe offer a suggestion on improvement. If you did do that, it's nothing so obvious that I noticed it at all!!! I think what "jumps" you did made sense for the narrative and were well-placed, so great work there!!!

what I will get out of the way in terms of a critique, but it's a light one: the length of some paragraphs did become a bit tedious here and there to get through. it's not always easy to figure out how to split up massive thoughts like that bc it all feels relevant to fit into one place, but it makes for more approachable readability to break them down a bit. and I'm saying this as someone who has tendencies to do exactly the same thing.

my proofreaders will tell me to dial it back or split things up sometimes bc I can get so, ah, wordy.

however, I'm also giving you credit here that your readability and flow is excellent! for the most part, I was able to keep scrolling down on my phone without experiencing any hangups, any awkwardness in phrasing or reading. so, truly, wonderful work with that bc achieving good flow can be a difficult task.

okay, that's all I can think of off the top of my head, so I'm dropping screenshots of stuff to yap about:

so fucking same oh my god. I feel this so bad and would've done exactly the same.

there is just something so particularly human and sweet about this paragraph that I just really adore. It does sort of give that childlike idolization where we mimicked people we admired, were inspired by the things they did. But, I love this in the context of mc being an adult and using it as motivation to overcome life challenges. idk idk I just love it

oh my GOD—same. thief running off with my shit? but the crosswalk has 10 more seconds 😫😫😫😫😫 so fucking real. mc is so real for this.

okay, now we're getting into the stuff that I live for when it comes to writing nuanced or small details. agitation causing sleeplessness; overstimulation by way of hyper vigilance, clothes feeling rough? these are excellent little details that can really bring depth into pieces. these are the sort of details that people can feel. the rough clothes are coarse and itch, y'know?

there wasn't much conflict in this fic, which is a-okay, but one thing that I particularly liked was mc's borderline paranoia and hang-up over the fact that he had kept secrets and lied to mc, which I think leans really well into their bond and sort of dynamic that they have. this little passage really stood out to me and was quite potent.

and, the last one:

I also like that in this fic, it was less an issue of caleb's dual-idenities vs MC and more mc vs MC, bc I feel like this entire section you wrote was basically mc internally warring with their own insecurities and fears, rather than having any true issues with Caleb. You present Caleb as surefooted—he knows what he wants, what he's doing, what he's committed to. he is unwavering, he is a solid force and doesn't budge once. that includes his dedication to mc.

MC is the one who wavers and worries and frets and withdraws because it takes them a long time to come to terms with the change and how their lives were going to be inevitably altered forever. and I REALLY love that that's the vibe I got from everything bc sometimes the war within yourself is worse than exists against others, y'know?

I think you did really well exploring all of that!

overall, kiri, I can see all of the heart and work you've put into this piece and I'm so proud of you that you saw it until the end. you have every right to be excited over this piece bc you did the concept justice and executed it beautifully!!!!!!!!

Homecoming

You’re a casual fan, you think. Spider-Man is cool, and you just really like him. That’s all... until you learn that the friendly neighbourhood web-slinger is so much closer than you think.

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | superhero AU & Spider-Man Caleb | descriptions of anxiety, fluff, happy ending, mentions of blood and bruises, secrets, slice-of-life (as much as it can possibly be), some angst and hurt/comfort | ~7,6k words

A/N.⠀I really said "I'm going on a writing hiatus" and "I'm gonna lock in" with my whole chest knowing damn well I'm a liar ... anyway yeah this fic was inspired by this Spider-Man Caleb fanart... it made me go crazy.... I hope you enjoy!

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

@hunters-association @theseabreezestreet

You were on the verge of a breakthrough. You just knew it.

You were absentmindedly swinging your legs back and forth as you sat at the table. Your laptop was open and displaying several windows—some were images of Spider-Man, some were news articles. Your tablet, and in turn, your notes, had gone completely forgotten. Spending time passively scrolling social media was far from productive, but compared to what you were reading, exam revision was totally dull.

Developing an interest in Spider-Man had been unintentional. You saw him mentioned in the news. Out of curiosity, you looked him up, and all of a sudden, you found yourself deep in the rabbit hole. Before long, you were up-to-date with daily news, keeping up with his movements and making friends with fellow Spider-Man fans. It was swift and unexpected, but you found it more fun than whatever you were previously doing.

He was far from the first superhero Linkon City had seen. There used to be rumours about the God of the Tides and how he ruled the seas for centuries before he found the love of his life. There was also Lumière of the N109 zone, a vigilante who suddenly stopped being active about fourteen years ago. Legends of the Abysm Sovereign and the Foreseer were passed down through generations. No one had proof they existed, only the product of their labour. It was as if they didn’t want to be seen. Still, that didn’t stop your interest from getting piqued.

The difference between Spider-Man and the past legends of Linkon City was that Spider-Man was still active. A web-slinging genius with a no-kill rule, he made the streets significantly safer. Photos and surveillance footage of him were constantly shared, but no one had any luck finding his identity yet. You weren’t investigating him for malicious reasons. You were just, for the lack of a better word, nosy. You wanted to know the man behind the mask instead of the neighbourhood guardian the news always talks about.

You looked at your screen. There was a rough timeline of his appearances the past week. He was in different parts of the city, catching robbers and other criminals with his presumably handmade technology. There wasn’t a strict pattern to how he operated. It seemed that he liked to lurk before making a move. It was how he brought down the corrupted colonels of the Farspace Fleet. Fighting crime appeared to be easy for him, and he wasn’t as destructive as some were. It was impressive. Everything he did had you in awe. His dexterity and swiftness, his strength and courage—he was just what Linkon City needed, you thought.

Just as you were about to go into another deep dive, a hand pushed your laptop shut. Caleb was towering over you when you snapped your gaze to him, brows furrowed as you gave him an offended look. He lightly jabbed your forehead and only smiled in response, seemingly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re supposed to be studying.”

You sputtered. “I was studying!”

“No, you weren’t. You were looking at Spider-Man again.” He tapped his fingers on your tablet, reilluminating the screen once more. “Your exams are next week. You need to focus.”

“I can multitask,” you argued half-heartedly. “And, I’ve never let you down, have I?”

Caleb took the seat across from you with an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”

“Why do you hate Spider-Man so bad anyway?” You frowned, trying to move his hand away. He didn’t budge. “He’s keeping the city safe. That’s a good thing!”

“I don’t hate him, but you’ve been distracted. I’m trying to help you.”

“You sound jealous,” you joked. Resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Are you sad I’m not giving you enough attention?”

He pursed his lips, visibly unimpressed. “Set the table. Dinner’s ready.”

“You’re no fun!” you whined. “It’s not my fault there’s finally something interesting!”

You begrudgingly moved your items to the side and got up to make your way to the kitchen, slippers sliding against the floor. The savoury aroma swirled into the air, making your stomach growl involuntarily. Your irritation now forgotten, you made quick work of setting the table and pouring two glasses of water. With your job finished, you waited at the table, eyes drifting over to the TV on the wall. The screen displayed two reporters behind a desk beginning the evening segment. It faded into a clip of men webbed stuck to a lamppost, undoubtedly the work of Spider-Man himself. They were looking to rob an innocent passerby before the webslinger caught them red-handed.

“Huh. That’s where we live,” you spoke up after rereading the headline.

Caleb placed the plates on the table. “That’s why I always tell you to be home before curfew.”

“It’s not like I break curfew anyway,” you grumbled. “You know I hate being out when it’s dark.”

Distracted, you kept your eyes on the screen. The public had mixed opinions about Spider-Man himself. You, along with your circle of friends, thought of him as a hero, feeling safer knowing that he was out there protecting innocent people. From helping an old woman cross the street to busting evil plans, he was using his talents and intelligence for good. He worked tirelessly every day to keep the streets pristine and harmless. The police, on the other hand, weren’t as fond of him. The LCPD openly expressed their distaste for Spider-Man, citing that he was an obstacle in their investigations. Some people thought he was just another guy with a gimmick. These criticisms didn’t seem to bother him at all. If anything, every time someone said anything negative about him, he’d work even harder just to prove them wrong.

You knew it was far from wise to idolise a public figure, but with Spider-Man, he inspired you to do your best every day. You liked to imagine he’d be proud of you if he knew you. You worked hard and powered through no matter how many setbacks you had. As silly and childish as it sounded, he made for great motivation. He was a good guy, he was cool, and—

Caleb waved his hand in front of your face, a warning tone in his voice. “Pipsqueak.”

You jolted, snapping back to the present. “Sorry!”

“Why do you like Spider-Man so much?” he asked, poking at his food. “You got a crush on him?”

You sputtered. “What? No!”

He gave you a look that urged you to continue. Heat rose to your face as you felt a spotlight shining down upon you, giving you the floor. It was hard not to feel embarrassed about something that felt so childish. You hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of words to say. Knowing you were going to sound like a child regardless, you sulked, defeated, and finally gave him a response.

“It’s just… I really like superheroes,” you mumbled timidly, fiddling with your fingers. “I admire people who use their strength for good. Like you!”

The corners of his lips twitched. He seemed pleased. “So do you like me or Spider-Man more?”

“You are jealous!” you said with an accusatory tone. “Caleb, it’s not like that! It’s like… You know when you have a favourite celebrity? That’s what Spider-Man is to me.”

He made a face, though he ended up relenting. “Okay. I get it.”

“Yeah! It’s kinda like how you used to like—”

“Your food’s gonna get cold,” he interrupted, flustered. “I put all my effort into making your favourite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Fine,” you drawled out, unable to hold back the smile from stretching across your lips.

Spider-Man eventually faded to the back of your mind throughout dinnertime. You found yourself engrossed in conversation with Caleb, slipping into the normal banter and routine with ease. Somewhere in between, he changed the channel to natural documentaries instead. When you gave him a questioning look, he just shrugged and said that you should take a break with him. Not one to deny his requests, your laptop went forgotten as you spent the remainder of the night on the couch with him.

It was nearing midnight, and from the way that you yawned, you were nearing your limit as well. The documentary was long finished; the past few minutes were just advertisement after advertisement, regular products with unnecessarily catchy jingles. You glanced over at him, suddenly curious. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to be tired at all. If you were more awake, you’d notice the anxious bouncing of his leg or the worried furrow in his brow, but fatigue was catching up to you fast. With another yawn, you pushed yourself to your feet, taking the throw blanket with you.

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

He smiled at you. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fully sated and worn out, sleep came as easily as breathing. Images flickered behind your eyes, displaying dreams and vignettes in film reels. You dreamt of endless summers and sweetness, of growing up and exploring the world. When you woke up the next day, only a fragment of those memories remained. Caleb was already gone when you left your room. He left a note saying he’d left early and that breakfast was in the fridge. After treating yourself to his homemade cooking, you set off for classes and got the day started. It wasn’t very eventful. Classes weren’t particularly interesting. Lectures were about things you already knew, and a majority of your classmates were absent, leading to little to no conversation. Before long, the academic day was over, and it was time to return home.

The streets were bustling with activity as you waded through the crowd. Clamour and chatter were more than loud, people surrounded you, and the scent of car fumes mixed with savoury food bombarded all of your senses. You were starting to see now why people liked to say that Linkon City never sleeps. With everyone getting off work, the city was beyond crowded. Restaurants were fully seated, as were the cafés. Traffic went by incredibly slowly. Dogs barked to the sound of car horns and people were emerging from the train station in groups. You gripped your bag tightly, anxiety clawing at the back of your mind. News and posters about pickpockets were nearly a regular occurrence; it was better to be safe than sorry.

You managed to make it to a street where there were less people. You recognised some of the vendors out and about, offering them warm smiles as you walked past. Occasionally, you stopped by and bought a few snacks to take home. Now having your hands full, you were more than ready to go home and unwind. You hummed a catchy pop tune under your breath, leisurely walking down the path when the TV screens in the electronic stores came alive. You came to a stop, standing in front of the clear glass. It was a news segment. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the screen displaying surveillance of Spider-Man was context enough.

He single-handedly stopped a burglary, moving with inhuman agility and fighting with incredible strength. It showed a group of men bound together by his webs, cursing and fruitlessly struggling to break free. It took a few seconds before the familiarity of the background sank in. The convenience store, the townhouses and the DVD store… The incident happened not too far from home. A frown overtook your features. Despite the crime rate being significantly lower thanks to Spider-Man’s efforts, the curfew was still in place, and the unrest remained. It was not any different for you.

As you made a move to continue your walk, you felt something being snatched from your grasp—your bag. The thief ran at full speed, deftly navigating through the crowd as you yelled for help and followed him, aggressive footfalls slapping against the concrete. Absentminded apologies left your lips whenever a complaint was heard from a passerby. Your chest was beginning to ache, but you needed it back. It had everything. Your phone, your wallet, your house keys with the chain Caleb bought for you. You couldn’t afford to lose it.

The traffic light turned red just as the thief crossed to the other side. You contemplated just dashing through, but anxiety kept you rooted to your spot. They were going further into the distance. You bounced on your heels nervously, eyes glaring at the timer. 40, 39, 38…

It was now or never.

Cars honked at you as you ran to the other side, the combination of noise nearly sending you jumping out of your skin. You pushed through your fatigue and kept running until you tripped over your shoelaces, collapsing to the ground with a loud thud. You hopelessly reached out, watching the thief’s silhouette disappear into the distance. Tears of frustration sprang up to your eyes and you buried your face in your hands, uncaring of how you looked to other people. You weren’t fast enough. All your important things were gone, about to be left somewhere you could never find, and your information would be stolen—

“This yours?”

Your bag was dangling in front of you. Were you so distraught that you were hallucinating having someone come to your aid? You blinked and stared at it dumbly, your mind trying to grapple with the situation. The person crouched down to your level, and Spider-Man’s face came into view.

Wait…

You screamed in surprise, frantically pushing yourself away from him. “What—”

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. It’s just me. I webbed him. He’ll be stuck there for another three hours,” he said casually, speaking as though he was just another regular pedestrian and not the famed vigilante of Linkon City. “I had to look at your ID card to make sure it was you, but I’m glad I got to you in time. Here, take it.”

You barely managed to catch the bag as you were still gawking at him. What felt like a thousand questions were popping up rapidly in your head. How did he know? When did he get here? What was going on? How was he so fast? Caught off guard by your stunned silence, he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly, feeling awkward under your stare.

“Everything okay?” Spider-Man asked tentatively, waving a hand in front of your face. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your reaction slightly delayed. “N-No.”

“Listen, I have to go. There’s gonna be a robbery on Ninth Street.” He helped you get on your feet, carefully making sure you had your balance. “Get home safe, okay? And don’t leave past curfew.”

“Okay,” you said, dumbfounded. It didn’t take long before you managed to snap yourself back to awareness. “Yeah, okay. Thank you for getting this back to me.”

He did a casual salute before aiming his web shooter at a building, swinging away with ease. Digging through your bag, you were relieved to find that everything was intact. Once the confusion went away, excitement came rushing in. You hastily grabbed your phone and dialled Caleb’s number, lips curling into a grin. He picked up after the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“You will not believe what just happened to me,” you said in one breath. “I just met Spider-Man.”

A loud crash was heard in the background.

You hesitated. “Are you busy? It sounds like you’re in the middle of something…”

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it. So, you met Spider-Man?”

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you.

“Uh, pipsqueak?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I did! I’m walking home right now. Someone tried to steal my wallet and I couldn’t catch them, but Spider-Man did and he got it back for me. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Someone tried to rob you?” You could practically hear the frown in his voice. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You blinked. “You’re at work. What were you gonna do?”

He fell silent. It took a couple of beats before he spoke up again.

“Well, I’m glad you got your stuff back. Just make sure to be home before sundown. Tell me when you’re back, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise.”

“It’s okay! Take your time,” you reassured him. “I’m heading home now. See you.”

You had a pep in your step for the rest of the way, feeling in high spirits after the encounter. The weight on your shoulders was lifted, leaving you feeling lighter. You didn’t realise how much you needed to breathe. Relieved would be an understatement—it was as if everything fixed itself in front of you. You didn’t generally consider yourself a lucky person, but today, you had won. The encounter with Spider-Man replayed itself in your mind, echoing his voice, reminding you of the proximity you shared.

After sending Caleb a quick text to let him know you got back safely, you began to cool down from the day. You tossed your keys on the counter and went straight for your room, determined to change out of your sweaty clothes. Since he was normally the one to cook dinner, you didn’t have to do much preparation in the kitchen. You put away the clean dishes, washed the leftover ones in the sink, and decided to tidy up a little. With your tasks done, you returned to the living room and flopped down onto the couch with a groan. Though you didn’t hold high expectations for what was on TV, you turned it on for background noise anyway, half-listening to the dialogue in the show that was playing.

The clock on the wall continued to tick. Caleb would get off work soon. You ended up smiling to yourself, excited to tell him about your day. Lying comfortably on the couch, you continued to passively scroll through social media to kill time. You were beginning to hear the telltale sounds of people returning home. The sound of a car door closing, your neighbour’s doorbell ringing, eager dogs overjoyed to see their owner home. Considering the traffic you’d seen earlier, Caleb returning a little later than usual wouldn’t be that irregular.

With that in mind, your worries were eased a little. But as minutes faded into hours, nighttime came, and not a single call or message from Caleb was seen. Worried, you sent him a text, only for them to be left on delivered. Calling him led straight to voicemail. Growing increasingly agitated, you called him again and again, only to achieve the same result. He always told you if he was going to be late. He always picked up after the first ring. But your attempts to get through to him went unseen, and it was getting harder trying not to sink into your anxiety the longer his silence went.

You paced around the room, fingers clutching your phone as the call went to voicemail again. Your eagerness for dinner had long dissipated and was replaced by immense dread. Worst-case scenarios were starting to appear in your mind, fuelling your panic with its increasingly violent visions. You chewed on your nail as you paced back and forth, trying to reach Caleb to no avail. The situation was growing more dire with each passing second.

You glanced at the time. It was three in the morning. You were wide awake on pure adrenaline and distress. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel tired. It was as though all of your senses were on high alert. Everything was too loud, too much, and your clothes felt rough against your skin. Instinctively, you made your way into his room and crawled into his bed, hugging his pillow and rocking back and forth. The smell of his detergent and perfume soothed you enough to have you breathing normally again. Your fingertips dug into the material, knuckles going white and shaking from how rigid your grip was.

The world started to feel less daunting when you finally calmed down. You felt exhausted, completely boneless. Your eyelids were getting heavier, and as you lay there surrounded by everything he owned, you found yourself falling slowly. The room is dim with only the city lights outside peeking in through the curtains. You felt a cold draft coming through the window, sending shivers running down your spine. Fabric rustled and you felt the mattress dip, immediately jolting you awake. A mixture of relief and fury washed over you.

“Caleb?”

His breath hitched.

You blindly patted the nightstand in search of the lamp switch. Once the room was illuminated, you squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” you asked groggily. “I’ve been—”

Your eyes dropped to his outfit. It was the same suit that Spider-Man wore, although more torn and worn down. Whatever tiredness was left in your system dissipated when you saw him. You sat still for a few moments, trying to contemplate whether you were imagining things or if this was real. You didn’t know where to begin. It was as if time stopped. There he was, the person you had been waiting for, standing at the foot of the bed like a deer caught in the headlights. You stared at him with your mouth agape, your mind struggling to put the pieces together despite the obviousness in front of you.

You didn’t know where to begin. Did he always sneak back home like this? What happened to him? In the end, you settled for the most urgent one in your mind—

“How long have you been hiding this from me?”

He forced a smile, the gesture awkward and tense. “A couple of months.”

“Months?” you asked, voice rising in volume. “You’ve been—you—god, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

You pursed your lips. “Come here.”

He tentatively complied, sitting down in the spot next to you. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs brushing over the bruises and making him grimace slightly. He didn’t say a single word. It was as if he was also dumbfounded himself. You were still upset, but the longer you looked at him, the more the anger faded. At least he was home. Injured, but still home in one piece. It was leagues better than the thousands of scenarios your mind was conjuring up earlier.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically meek. It was unlike the Caleb you grew up with.

“But it can wait,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried about you.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your waist and he held you close to him, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He held onto you with a desperation you’d never seen before. He relaxed into your touch just the slightest, reassured by feeling your warm body against his. You pressed your cheek to where his heart would be, feeling its steady rhythm remind you that he was here—that he was home.

Your voice was meek when you spoke. “I thought you left me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you decided with radio silence?” you snarked back. Something in his expression flickered, making you calm down once again. You frowned at the amount of bruises visible on his face and the dried blood on his split lip. Softening, you told him, “Go take a shower and get changed. I’ll patch you up.”

He didn’t argue. He only nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, walking sluggishly. The sound of running water filled the stifling stillness as you took a proper glance around the room. There was an evidence board, several open books, and a well-used first aid kit on the desk. Your heart sank. Just how long had he been doing this, getting himself hurt and having to mend himself? Didn’t he trust you? Why did he keep this a secret from you? You heaved out a sigh and hid your face in your hands, frustration and sadness simmering beneath the surface.

There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the right time. Right now, all you could do was be there for him.

He emerged a handful of minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes. You scooted over and patted the space next to you, lips pressed in a taut frown. Now that the suit was off, you could see the hits he’d taken more clearly. Splashes of blue and purple were scattered across his skin, some big and some small. There were a couple of cuts and scrapes close by, both old and new. It was the worst you’d ever seen him.

“Sit,” you urged timidly. You gingerly applied the ointment on his bruises, careful not to hurt him as he stared up at you. He looked so vulnerable and so fragile that it made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of its confines. “Talk to me. Please.”

“It was Gran,” he said. “She made a serum. I didn’t know it until a few days later. I was stronger, faster… I could hear everything. I could feel everything.”

“How come I never knew this?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I’m supposed to be your hero, remember?” He laughed in a self-deprecating way, avoiding your gaze. “I had to stay strong. Figure things out, get stronger… Make sure you’d always be safe.”

Setting the first aid kit aside, you pulled him into your arms once again. He held onto you tightly, fingers grabbing the fabric of your shirt so tightly that his hands were trembling. You raked your fingers through his hair and brushed them back, keeping them away from the wounds on his face. For a moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. All you could hear was his quiet breathing as he latched onto you, unwilling to let go.

It broke your heart to see him this way.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t rely on me.”

“No, that’s not it,” he sighed. “I’d go through anything for you. I just… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t keep any secrets from me anymore.” You pulled away. He looked up at you with a pained expression, years of secrecy and isolation making themselves known in his glossy eyes, the quiver of his bottom lip. “Can you do that for me?”

He nodded weakly.

“I need words, Caleb,” you said, your voice firmer than intended. You cupped the side of his face, feeling him clasp your hand with his own, warm and calloused. “Can you promise me that?”

“I can,” he exhaled shakily. “I promise.”

The tears you were holding back brimmed at the corners of your eyes, small droplets sliding down the sides of your face. A hushed whimper broke out of you. Caleb held on to you like you were his lifeline, refusing to let go for even a split second. The gravity of his words weighed heavy, as did him baring his heart. He melted in your embrace, sinking deep into your comfort as you gently scratched his scalp, easing every worry he was holding.

“Don’t lie to me again, okay?” you murmured into his ear.

“I won’t anymore. I swear.”

—

Though months seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, the emotional turmoil stayed deep in your heart the entire time.

Life had turned completely upside down. With the new knowledge of him being Spider-Man looming over you, you were having trouble placing yourself. Some days, you felt excited and happy for him. He was more open with you when it came to his successes. He’d tell you about the petty criminals he caught or the passersby he helped while swinging through the city. He was passionate about his identity as Spider-Man, and he was committed. You wanted to support him in every step of the way. Some days, you’d feel like you were sinking. You previously didn’t worry all too much when Caleb returned home late, but since that day, fear and anxiety kept you company on lonely nights.

He didn’t always return looking completely beat up. Sometimes he was unscathed. Sometimes it was just a couple of bruises. But you hated being home alone, especially in the dark where everything seemed to get much worse. You were losing sleep because you’d stay up to wait for him to come home. You needed to see him with your own eyes, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to go to sleep in peace. He tried to give you estimated times to soothe you, but it didn’t always work. You’d wait in the living room, rock yourself back and forth as you wondered if he was coming home.

Your mind wouldn’t let you forget that he lied, either. You already forgave him a long time ago, but you remembered. You’d question yourself, question him, and what would come after was an overwhelming sense of guilt. He was trying. He was more open. He was showing you an important part of himself, bringing you along with him on his journey, yet doubts still lingered in your mind. He kept his cheerful disposition, constantly reassuring you that everything was going to be fine, but your mind was filled with what-ifs. What if he was hiding more from you? What if he was lying? What if he thought of you as a burden?

It was irrational to feel this way. You knew that very well, and yet, you still felt like you were fading out of his life. You talked to Caleb normally, interacted with him like you always did, but something felt different. It was as if he was drifting further and further away from you. Your outstretched hand, desperately trying to reach him, and his fading silhouette. Everything had changed. You felt like you were losing him in real time and there was nothing you could do about it. Everything had changed, yet it was all the same. You still had breakfast together. He still picked up the phone after the first ring. He still smiled at you, looked at you like you were his whole world. You were teetering between security and uncertainty. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you were helpless. These feelings came by themselves, and the more time you spent alone, the more difficult it became to ignore them.

Your sentiments towards Spider-Man had only grown stronger with the knowledge that Caleb was him. His name was more well-known in the city, growing popular among kids and women, and he was constantly being praised by the press. You supported him. You had total faith in him, trusted in him and his strength. But sometimes you’d stay awake stressing about how safe things truly were. More fame meant more notoriety among criminals, and you’d often wonder how long it would be before something drastic happened. You wanted the best for him, you really did, but something guttural gnawed at you. The desire to keep him to yourself, the need to protect him. You wanted to sink your teeth into his flesh, to keep him in your maw. You wanted to hide him away somewhere only you knew.

You dreamt of it sometimes—of risking your life for him just to keep him safe. You constantly wondered if things would be easier for him if you left. You knew there was much that he wasn’t sharing with you yet. You knew it would take time regardless of how much he trusted you, Still, you felt as though you were being kept in the dark. Being Spider-Man seemed to be so easy for him. It suited him, even. You couldn’t see anyone else doing the same thing that he did. But you didn’t know what you were meant to be. You felt for him very deeply, as did he, but the vagueness in the air bothered you more and more every day.

Were you only being selfish?

You thought back on one of the mornings you spent with him. A full spread of breakfast lay across the table and the news played in the background. The sun was shining bright, peeking through the gap between the curtains, and the weather was good. But there was a sense of foreboding that loomed over you, one that you couldn’t keep to yourself. You called his name softly, leading him to look away from the screen.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He blinked at you, confused by the question.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t know.

“I’m good. Sorry, I just thought you looked a little distracted.”

The lie slipped out of you with ease. You felt childish. You felt burdensome for needing reassurance from him that he wasn’t going to leave you behind, but you could never bring yourself to say it. Between your pride and the overwhelming fear of rejection, the words you desperately wanted to stay would remain within the confines of your mind. He didn’t seem to be convinced by any means, but he didn’t push the matter. A part of you wished he did.

It wasn’t a fight. There was nothing wrong. Even when he returned home blood and bruised, exhausted out of his mind, you took care of him with love and care. It didn’t matter that you didn’t understand why he was risking his life. Caleb never broke his promises or broke away from the path to his goals. He wasn’t about to let you stop him. With great power comes great responsibility, he said. But was this responsibility thrust upon him, or was he doing it out of his volition?

You hated feeling helpless. You knew he didn’t need you to do anything, but you felt like you weren’t an integral part of his life anymore. You felt like a bystander, like someone he was slowly forgetting. You shouldn’t feel this way. You should feel happy that he still cared about you, that he cared about the city to give his all into protecting it, yet your mind just wouldn’t let you. Your thoughts on Caleb hadn’t changed. You still thought he was the most important person to you, but what used to be admiration and even love for Spider-Man was turning into resentment little by little.

Some days, you hated him. You felt like a little kid without her favourite toy. You felt like a lonely child in a class full of people. You knew it was useless to dwell on these things, so you tried to occupy yourself. You put all your effort into your studies. You kept yourself busy doing chores even on the days when it was his turn. You didn’t wait to eat dinner with him; you went out for food and drinks with your friends, came back a bit later than the sunset. It wasn’t as if he’d notice. He wasn’t home when you needed him to be.

His name was constantly trending on social media. Spider-Man rescues bus from hijackers. Spider-Man stops bank robbery. Spider-Man comics and merchandise releasing. His name became the talk of the town, earning the attention of the rest of the country. The newfound fame kept him even busier to the point where people were starting to dig deeper into his true identity, leading fans and investigators to wait outside your home. You kept ignoring them, but they were persistent. Your declining of their questions only made them more curious. Not only did you feel like he was slipping out of your grasp, but also like the safety of home was in jeopardy.

It wasn’t his fault. You couldn’t blame him for it. But sometimes you wondered if he knew just how much this was affecting you, as self-centred as it seemed. The satisfaction you expected from uncovering the truth about Spider-Man never came. The final piece of the puzzle was right in front of you, living and breathing under the same roof as you were, and all you could harbour was disappointment.

What Caleb was doing was major. He was keeping the city safe—keeping his home safe, for you and everyone. You found yourself sinking further into guilt and bitterness, the light at the surface growing smaller as you fell deeper and deeper. It was childish of you to be throwing a tantrum over something like this. So, you decided to grin and bear it. He understood you like the back of his hand; doing the same to him was the very least you could do. You pestered him less about his missions, stopped trying to call again and again when he didn’t respond. He’d always come home, even if it took days. He never broke promises. He promised he wouldn’t.

If he noticed the change in you, he didn’t mention it. His actions, however, said otherwise. He did his best to pay more attention to you. He tried to spend as much time with you as he could despite your conflicting schedules. He listened to everything you spoke about, promised you to be careful when you asked, and continued to protect you in his own way. You didn’t know exactly what it was that seemed to switch the dynamic completely, but at a certain point, you were no longer drowning in the pool of negativity. The sun seemed to shine brighter, the flowers in full bloom, and your cheeks ached from how much you’d been smiling. The lingering sense of foreboding faded into nothingness, replaced by pure optimism and trust. The future didn’t feel so glum anymore.

You supposed all you needed was time.

Time to heal, time to process everything. Time had a way of turning wounds into scars, healing phantom pains into a comfortable stillness. The claws that had your heart in a death grip had loosened, letting go of the chains they wrapped around it. You felt lighter, happier. Some semblance of normalcy had returned—as normal as it could be considering his dual life, but you weren’t going to take it for granted. You felt like you could finally breathe after being underwater for so long. Even here, where you were alone in the apartment, you didn’t feel lonely. It was… normal. A relief. It didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

It was quiet save for the sound of your nails tapping against the keyboard. It was a sunny afternoon. Having had a productive morning, you aimed to finish the rest of the day in the same way. You were focused and determined to finish the essay quickly so you had more free time. But as the hours went by, that determination waned, and you found yourself at a dead end. You blankly stared at the blinking cursor on the word document. It almost felt like the thing was mocking you. Fatigue and boredom were catching up to you increasingly quickly. You knew the material by heart. You knew what you wanted to talk about. Yet no words came to mind—you were drawing a blank, and the thoughts in your mind were already drifting off elsewhere.

The counter was littered with snacks, surely something Caleb would chide you for. Your tumbler was long empty, left with nothing but melted ice cubes at the bottom. The dishes awaited cleaning in the sink and the TV remained turned on, playing a rerun of some generic soap opera. Defeated, you closed the word document, eyes drifting to the window beside you.

Outside, the skyline was painted in hues of orange and blue. Birds flew over the horizon, ready to migrate elsewhere for the upcoming spring. Your chest rose and fell with your exhale as you let your mind wander. You used up your creativity for the day, you thought. You haven’t made significant progress on the essay since you started it a few hours ago. Before you could beat yourself up about it, three loud knocks were heard from the window. Caleb’s masked face peeked over the wall as he gave you a gentle wave. Giddy, you got off your chair and skipped over, fingers deftly undoing the lock on its doors. You slid it open, allowing him to crawl in.

“I thought you were busy fighting crime,” you teased, watching as he took the mask off. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. “Are you slacking off?”

He huffed, amused. “I can multitask.”

He unhid his hand from his back and handed you a large bouquet of sunflowers, the gesture immediately making you melt. Flowers weren’t that out of the ordinary. Caleb liked bringing you gifts and trinkets he thinks you’d like. You got an equally large bouquet during your high school graduation and another one when you were accepted into university. You took it with a smile, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’ and curiously looking at him. He bounced on the heels of his feet, seemingly nervous about something. His brows knitted together.

“You okay?”

He met your gaze. “Do you still think Spider-Man is better than me?”

You blinked a few times, confused. From the way he said it, it appeared that it wasn’t the first time he thought of something like this. You chuckled and crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to the other leg.

“Getting jealous of yourself, Caleb?” It was your turn to be amused. “I never said he was my number one hero.”

“You never said I was your number one hero either.”

You sighed in mock exasperation. “Why is this important? You’re the same person.”

“I just wanna know,” he said, uncharacteristically sheepish.

“First of all, that happened once,” you corrected, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Second of all, I love you. Spider-Man or not.”

His lips curled into a smile. “You love me?”

Warmth blossomed across your chest, rising all the way up to your cheeks as your lips parted in surprise, sputtering incoherent syllables. You awkwardly turned your head away, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Love had never been discussed, not really. It just felt like an unspoken commitment since you were children. He was the most important person to you, and you were the most important person to him. You never really thought about labelling your relationship.

Your eyes widened when you remembered you always referred to him as your partner whenever you spoke of him to your friends. You already gave it a label without realising it. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, struggling to come up with a reply. You could feel his gaze on you, hear the satisfaction and mischief in his words. Clearing your throat, you tried to compose yourself and decided to follow through. You couldn’t take it back anyway, and even if you could, you didn’t want to.

“Yeah. I do,” you said, feigning indifference. “I thought you knew that.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from expanding into a grin. A breathless chuckle left him. His cheeks seemed to be getting even pinker as he fidgeted in his spot. He scratched the back of his head with flustered giddiness, struggling to keep eye contact with you. You didn’t think you ever saw him this shy. He was always your brave hero Caleb, the same boy who held you when you had nightmares, the same boy who held your hand when the thunderstorms got too loud. He was the same boy who defended you from bullies and got into trouble for getting into a fight with them. He was the same man who held nothing but affection in his words for you, the same man who would fall into playful banter with you.

You sighed softly, the corners of your lips twitching up. “You’re not gonna say it back?”

Though he didn’t need to, there was still a hint of insecurity in your tone. You looked at him expectantly, still watching as he tried to maintain composure. You weren’t used to seeing him this way, but you thought you could learn to do it. It made for a rather nice sight.

“I love you too, pipsqueak,” he finally said.

You beamed at him, placing the bouquet on the counter before leaping into his arms, delightfully laughing when he caught you effortlessly. You looped your arms around his neck and hooked your chin on his shoulder. Your legs were wrapped around him, your body supported by his arms around your waist. He held you as if you were as light as a feather. He nuzzled into your hair, letting out a content sigh. The air felt so light, so carefree. The remnants of your worries disappeared into the air, replaced by pure joy and unbridled affection.

“So… What’s the plan? Are you done with the day?”

“I’m going back to work. They need me,” he replied. With a jovial tone, he continued. “But I’ll be back for dinner.”

“You mean it this time?” You pulled away, searching into his eyes for honesty. You were still prone to worrying. His vigilante lifestyle was full of unpredictable moments, so it consistently kept you on your toes, leaving you unaware of what to expect. You were desperate for his words to be true. You felt as though you’ve been away from him for way too long. You craved his presence, his warmth—you craved him.

He gave you a boyish smile. “Yeah. I do.”

And that was a promise.

[my-my-my]

Let’s talk about Shunsui’s bankai, Katen Kyokotsu: Karamatsu Shinju!

There are different translations for it, with Viz’s translation being “Flower Crazed Heaven Bone Spirit Withered Pine Love Suicide.” Personally it’s not my favourite translation, I prefer this fan one “bones of heavenly blooming madness: withering pine lovers’ suicide.” Kubo apparently went through different variations for the name of katen kyokotsu: karamatsu shinju. At first it was kuromatsu, which is a specific pine tree (“black pine”), then it was karematsu which is “withered pine,” to what we have now, karamatsu – “withering pine.” Which is a more fitting name imo due to the nature of Shunsui’s bankai causing everyone in its range to “wither” with depression.

I wanted to focus on the anime depiction of his bankai because I personally found it enhanced my understanding of Shunsui and his bankai more than the manga did, but that’s not to say there’s anything wrong with the manga! I’ll also be adding bits of manga panels/sketches too. There are little additions in the anime that really fleshed out the “theatrical” nature of his bankai.

Content warning: this is TEXT and media heavy (images and video) and due to the nature of Shunsui's bankai, discusses suicide.

To preface this, I wrote this because I was so enthralled by the visual and sound design in the episode that I wanted to know more, so I figured I would share what I found and learned! Also, I’m still not too sure what kind of “play” Shunsui bankai performs (as in, is it Noh, kabuki, joruri, etc.), but maybe it’s a little bit of everything? I don’t have the cultural knowledge to make better sense of it, so you’ll see me referencing different theatre styles in my write-up lol. I am by no means an expert, just sharing what I’ve learned and understood!

For reference, noh uses masks and subtle movements where stories are often spiritual. Kabuki is dramatic and incorporates dance, music and elaborate costumes. In ancient times, noh theatre started as rituals for Shinto shrines (the Ise family is a Shinto family as an fyi).

To start – the opening act itself: Shunsui calling his bankai. We are immediately hit by a change in visuals and audio. A tsuzumi drum is heard, which is often used to signal the start of a kabuki or noh play. We also see the scenery change into a gold colour. I think this is to mimic the wooden stage kabuki and noh plays occur on.

Then we have the kakegoe being yelled (the “yooo”). This is a quintessential feature of noh and kabuki theatre and (prior to COVID-19), would be yelled by the audience (typically fans who belong to a kakegoe association). Another fun fact, these would be yelled from the far back, on the highest level of the theatre, to represent the voice of the “great beyond.” Kakegoe is often used to signal the beginning or ending of a section. The kakegoe also dictate the pace, meter and strength of the play in addition to the percussion instruments.

Visually, we only see Shunsui “painting” a black pine tree. All noh plays have a simple panel of a green pine tree. This is referred to as the kagami-ita (“mirror panel”). All noh plays are performed in front of this pine tree. The pine tree represents gods that have descended upon a pine tree at the Kasuga-Taisha Shrine and stood behind the audience, so the pine tree “reflects” on the audience  so actors would give a performance to god.

I think Kubo does a subversion here, as the kagami-ita’s meaning is to represent the stage as a “divine” space. But this is a withering pine tree – it’s black, and is not painted behind Shunsui, but is painted in front and spreads almost in a downward motion. As Lille descends, there is no pine tree behind him, even though he is a “divine” being. While a black pine tree represents “longevity,” “happiness,” and “hope” in Japanese floral language, a withering pine represents the opposite. Shunsui’s bankai reflects his despair over his brother, sister-in-law and Nanao.

Overall, I think it’s deliberate take on using a traditional theatre technique, one that is considered “divine” and twist it to something almost opposite. As if Shunsui is welcoming Lille into his own personal hell.

ACT 1: Tameraikizu no Wakachiai – Sharing the Wounds of Hesitation

"As though to share in his suffering, the wounds upon his partner's body appear upon his own. Yet in a cruel twist of fate, he cannot die from those wounds."

I think the common idea is that Shunsui’s bankai is based off the play “The Love Suicides at Sonezaki,” by Chikamatsu Monzaemon. But I think it’s just Act 1 that represents that play. I think Kubo incorporated different plays and cultural features for each act, and this is the one for Act 1. I think there was a Klub Outside answer where Kubo implies that there are different plays Shunsui's bankai can perform.

Also to note, in the manga when Shunsui brings out his bankai, the chapter sketch are kabuki curtains.

Act 1 is loosely similar to “The Love Suicides at Sonezaki,” where the man stabs both himself and his partner to death, and they die from his wounds. They do this in front of an unusual pine tree and the play ends. The reason leading up to their suicide is entirely different and doesn’t narratively fit into Shunsui and his life imo.

Metaphorically, I interpreted this as Shunsui’s grief over the Ise curse. The Ise curse is the wound, killing Shunsui’s brother (physical pain) leaving him and his sister-in-law (Nanao’s mother) to “share” the wound (in emotional pain).

ACT 2: Zanki no Shitone – The Bed of Shame

“Lamenting that he has caused his partner such wounds, the man collapses upon the floor in shame and is consumed by an incurable ailment.”

This was a short scene in the anime and I think this is referencing an act in Yotsuya Kaidan, one of the “big three ghost stories” of Japan. It’s based on betrayal, murder and revenge. The plot is quite long not entirely relevant to Act 2 lol but in one of the acts, a character is betrayed and becomes poisoned. This may vary by interpretation, but the character looks “diseased.” They become disfigured, die by an accidental self-inflicted wound and begin cursing/haunting those that wronged them.

Aside from that, I couldn’t find much more in terms of references this act might be incorporating.

ACT 3: Dangyo no Fuchi – The Abyss

“Resigning themselves to their fate, the two hurl themselves into the gushing waters until no Reiatsu remains in their bodies.”

“Throwing oneself into icy waters can test one’s resolve. But that’s you being selfish. How can disgraceful can you be? The disgrace of the man she swore herself to. Only pity keeps her with him and bound to this world.”

The above is the full quote said simultaneously by Shunsui and Katen and I think is a reference to Kasane, a kabuki play. It is a story about a woman who unknowingly falls in love with her mother’s affair partner/father’s murderer. The man, Yoemon, leaves a suicide note that Kasane, his lover, finds. She’s distraught and keeps reminding Yoemon that they swore they would die together. They argue between themselves, with Yoemon saying he cannot love Kasane due to their stations in life (she is a lady-in-waiting, he is a servant). They both agree to jump into a river, but the man backs out, which leads to the woman being cursed into a demon.

The reason why she becomes cursed is because Yoemon sees a floating skull floating down the river. Katen Kyokotsu who has skull motifs in her design, is also a reference to the kyokotsu, a vengeful spirit that resides in wells and other bodies of water to scare its victims. It is a skull with tangled hair and tattered clothes. Yoemon, in the play, only sees the skull floating down the river before he tries to break it. As he tries to break it, he simultaneously harms Kasane, leaving her in a demonic state.

Without summarizing the whole play, I see Kubo’s take on this as another twist. Kasane is a story about a woman so in love, she’s blinded to the faults of her lover to her own detriment (she becomes disfigured and killed by her lover). In Act 3 of Shunsui’s bankai, the “woman” in the play (Shunsui in this case to “the man” who is Lille), is ashamed of the man and there is no more love between them – the only thing keeping them together in this act of potential suicide is her pity.

Both parties, in the play and Shunsui’s act 3, are “forced” to watch the other die.

ACT 4: Itokiribasami Chizome no Nodobue – Thread-Cutting Scissors upon a Blood-Streaked Throat

“Few things are as cruel as a woman's mercy. She has no ears for her lover's desperate pleas. At his precious throat, she spies glistening white threads, damp with regret. Thus, she resolves to sever with her own hands those threads of regret that pitifully entwine him.”

I saw some theories that this act may be a reference to kuchisake-onna (“split-mouthed woman”), because she carries scissors with her. I’m not too sure of it, I think this might be a broader reference to the red thread of fate, and Shunsui/the lover “cutting” it to split from their shared fate. In the manga, the little sketch is a pair of Japanese thread cutting scissors.

In this case, it’s interesting that “white thread” is what’s being cut (compared to “red thread” which is more commonly seen in Japanese media). White thread, in Shintoism is often considered a sacred colour of the gods and represents spiritual and physical purity. In Buddhism, white thread is used to protect a person against demons and spirits…  

I’ve always interpreted the sketch to be Nanao’s mother cutting the thread between her and Kyoraku, leaving him alone (in a familial sense). The subsequent sketch is the broken thread being tied together, which I think is Nanao’s presence in Shunsui’s life.

Thanks for reading all of this! I’m still 🫣 over writing all of this lol.

[asexualbookbird]

Okay, so, I didn't read a whole lot this month. Hear me out. I'm not mad about it. I got SO much crafting done across different mediums. Nothing to show for it, really, but I'm having so much fun being creative in a way I haven't felt in a very long time. I think I might actually be able to set up some type of tiny shop about it, too. Got my embroidery machine up and running in a way that allows me to create my own designs, and when I tell you the creative juices are flowing, boy howdy it's like a dam has broken. I also started pokemon Violet, and while that's slow going, I'm having a lot of fun with it. So, no I'm not mad at my reading habits this month.

In the Ravenous Dark by AM Strickland ⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Phew. Okay. This was. A very bumpy ride. The first half was a slog, honestly, and the writing and pacing is not great, but the last third or so reminded me a lot of Beyond the Ruby Veil which was also not outstanding, but it was fun. Fucked up, feral lesbians. Poly family friendship going on. The plot is so basic, the magic neat, the worldbuilding lacking. I would not read it again, but at the end I'm not entirely mad I did.

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch ⭐️ - I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect to be wowed, I went in expecting no more than a mediocre thriller. What I got was A Book Written By A Man™️. How many times can a guy fridge one wife? Infinitely, apparently! I was semi on board until he started fighting his other selves. That was dumb as shit.

The Art of Prophecy by Wesley Chu ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - *Gordon Ramsay voice* Finally, a good fucking book. This took me most of the month to read, but I'm not mad about it. It was nice to sit quietly with this book, and while it took it's time, I never felt bored with it. I can't really pinpoint what keeps it from five stars, and maybe my rating will change in the future, but I did really enjoy this. It has a wonderful cast, everyone felt very real and well rounded, it was bloody, but never felt gratuitously so. It was a good book and I very much want to continue the series.

Favorite of the month was most definitely Art of the Prophecy. Kind of unfair because Dark Matter was such a disaster, but Ravenous Dark had it's perks. Mainly being batshit crazy and ending in polyamory.

My friends, as always, have been incredibly kind to me. I could not have gotten through the last couple months without them. Would like to do a couple of buddy reads in the coming months. I really did like taking my time with a longer book, and I think I'm ready to tackle the final book in the Rook and Rose trilogy. My library also finally got a copy of The Bone Maker on audio and while I haven't listened to an audiobook since December, I'm excited to give that a listen. As always, be kind whenever possible.

[ghostlyerlkonig]

i'm doing @batmanisagatewaydrug 's 2025 book bingo and 9 books in feels like a decent 'let's check in on this' time, with thoughts and feelings.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman (2009) - Feels like it walked right out of 2009. I did not love any of the characters in this book, they are almost all major dickwads but I was enraptured by seeing what happened to them. 4.5/5.

The Magician King by Lev Grossman (2011) - I like the main cast now and care about them, granted half of the book was more interesting than the other due to prior book build up. 5/5.

The Magician's Land by Lev Grossman (2014) - Good conclusion to the trilogy. I still like and root for all the characters (except one). The ending felt A Little rushed but not in a bad way. 4/5.

The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman (2024) - I fuck with this book so hard. For a historical fiction that does not stray tooooo far from it while also making Arthurian magics real, it never once attempts to 'explain' certain factors that do not need explaining. Best handling of a trans character I've read from a cis author in a HF. I'm biased to Arthurian based works but man this was so good. I finished it a month ago and I'm still thinking about it. 5/5.

Bring Me The Head Of Susan Lomond: A High School Story by Connor B. (2025) - Great queer comic from an artist I like a lot. I read most of it out loud with voiced because I could hear them so clearly. 5/5.

I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons by Peter S. Beagle (2024) - Beagle has the most wonderful way of writing the silliest shit and making it fun and beautiful. Not a complicated read by any means but I enjoyed a return to his voice, especially since he's in his 80s and has been put through the fucking ringer over the last 20~ years. 4/5.

Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman (2012) - Made me think more than I wanted it to. Somehow the surprise queer character was treated better than I expected (and a little worse). I can't believe it had me rooting for a pope for a solid 5 pages. Made me pull my European History text book from high school out of my closet so I could figure out how many miles one guy traveled and how bad the Bubonic Plague was in the towns he would have passed. Leaves a lot to your own imagination to freak you out with your own visual interpretation of the Christian mythos' angels and demons. And perhaps the giant catfish in Chernobyl. 4.5/5.

Are You My Mother? A Comic Drama by Alison Bechdel (2012) - Psychology heavy. I've avoided reading it for a while due to how Fun Home makes me feel. Bechdel's illustrations are great as always. One review I read described it as "what happened to the ground after it is broken" and yeah. Rereading Fun Home before I started it didn't help the emotions beside parsing them better. 5/5.

Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist by Liz Pelly (2025) - Wild book. Feels like an exposé more than a business book. Spotify is so fucked up. I knew this. Now I know it with more detail. Not the most outsider approachable if you aren't aware of the history of how predatory the music business is, but the MOST important things are well explained and terms are easily google-able. It dropped some details in regard to specifically Gen Z artists as victims of this new mainstream system, but that's my only loud gripe. I've been rethinking the relationship with music I developed while living in a 13x13ft room for all of 2020-21 and how I've experienced a "returned to form" from that constant need of background to enjoying records and albums as they exist for listening and paying attention to over the last year, this book solidified that active return to me as a good choice. I love music and what it is without capitalism breathing down its neck. 4.75/5.

Other books read (that i'm not putting on the bingo): Lord of the Rings Trilogy, The Art of War of the Rohirrim, Fun Home, Tree and Leaf, and Bisclavret

Next up:

Dudes Rock: A Celebration of Queer Masculinity in Speculative Fiction edited by Romanus and Candra

My Father's Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett

Bury Your Gays by Chuck Tingle

All Down Darkness Wide: A Memoir by Seán Hewitt

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

Reclaiming the Heartland: Lesbian and Gay Voices from the Midwest by Karen L. Osborne & William J. Spurlin

Ma and Me A Memoir by Putsata Reang