#to be comfortable with that kind of powers again. of having Power again. to not fear that it will make them corrupt or a weapon or sadistic

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The next two weeks were interesting. 

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption. 

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been. 

So, a routine began to form. 

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was. 

You failed. 

Obviously. 

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs. 

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.” 

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant. 

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter. 

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?” 

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.” 

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—” 

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?” 

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting. 

And to look afraid. 

Really, truly afraid. 

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides. 

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…” 

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice. 

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles. 

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.” 

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve. 

It had to have been fear. Or stress. 

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.” 

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…” 

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions. 

You agreed an escort would be better. 

Azriel volunteered. Every day. 

And so you got to know Azriel. 

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger. 

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently. 

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool. 

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted. 

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again. 

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with. 

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him. 

It was wrong. 

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest. 

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be. 

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel. 

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle. 

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table. 

After your time exploring Velaris, you read. 

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!” 

Reading felt easy. 

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to. 

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did. 

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room. 

But nothing had returned to you. 

You were still a shell.

~~

“What do you think?” 

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow. 

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.” 

“And Az?” 

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress. 

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant. 

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words. 

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him. 

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork. 

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force. 

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead. 

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.” 

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him. 

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment. 

“I thought we agreed—” 

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.” 

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face. 

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw. 

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation. 

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—” 

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.” 

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head. 

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with. 

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.” 

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?” 

“Cassian and I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“We can’t guarantee—” 

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.” 

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence. 

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.” 

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring. 

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless. 

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest. 

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.” 

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.” 

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling. 

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—” 

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.” 

You took a painful breath in. 

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead. 

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord. 

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to. 

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role. 

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.  

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings. 

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist. 

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back. 

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being. 

This was your body. 

Something that remained unchanged. 

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you. 

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.” 

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it. 

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there. 

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest. 

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”  

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.  

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t release the ring. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.” 

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows. 

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you. 

Another beat of silence passed. 

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead. 

“I—” 

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee. 

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—” 

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.” 

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it. 

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp. 

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment. 

His shadows consumed him. 

Azriel was gone. 

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction #fanfic

[hannieehaee]

ahh i dont know if this is weird but i was just curious abt how you think svt would react to their s/o using a safeword during sex???

18+ / mdi

their s/o using the safeword during sex

content: mentions of sex, assumed established relationship, mentions of using the safe word, mentions of reader getting hurt, etc.

wc: 873

a/n: thank u for requesting!! i made it kind of ambiguous as to why the safe word was used so u can just use ur imagination for that<3

masterlist

seungcheol -

freaking out internally at having hurt you but!! externally he'd immediately jump into comforting mode and do everything in his power to ensure your safety and comfort. he'd apologize endlessly for having delayed even on second in detecting your discomfort and would spend the rest of the night cooing and pouting at you as he babied you.

jeonghan -

for once in his life he'd be caught so off guard and enter a state of shock, stopping immediately and unsure of how to proceed. even though things didnt go too far and you hadnt gotten hurt or anything, he'd still feel sooo fucking bad. wouldnt be able to joke to lighten the mood either bc he'd just feel so bad to have hurt you in such an intimate setting. would coo at you and caress you the rest of the day.

joshua -

soooo worried and apologetic. the apologies would be endless as he held onto you and ran his hand up and down your back. sex would be the last thing on his mind as he made sure you felt safe and calm. would make sure he knew what made you use the safe word so he'd never do it again.

jun -

he'd go from 0 to 100 super quickly with his brain completely disregarding what you guys were doing just a few moments ago to make sure you were okay. would ask a million questions as he checked with you. if you pointed out his still massively hard dick, he'd grab a pillow and cover it, claiming it was 100% off his mind at the moment.

soonyoung -

super apologetic lol would just mutter apology after apology after apology and hold onto you so tightly whenever you gave him the green light. he would barely even allow you a word in at first bc of how many apologies he'd be blabbering. would thank you for letting him know before things got too far bc it wouldve absolutely broken him if he had actually harmed you in any way.

wonwoo -

he'd be slow at stopping, knowing that if he suddenly were to stop he might run the risk of hurting you or scare you off. he would continue to be slow in his movements as he pulled you closer and held you in his arms, always giving you time and space to create a distance or move however you pleased. he'd apologize if he hurt you and try to do anything you needed to make sure you were comfortable.

jihoon -

irrationally scared he might've hurt you beyond forgiveness at first. this was a first for him, so he'd feel beyond apologetic and like he had committed a capital crime at having hurt you, even if it was an accident. once you both caught your breaths he'd comfort you (and himself) as he held onto you and made sure you were okay, apologizing for whatever it was that caused you to use your safe word.

seokmin -

stops immediately and becomes extremely apologetic about it to the point where he almost cries. he'd NEVER want to let his lust go so overboard to the point of even giving you the slightest discomfort so this instance would stick to him. you'd have to come to him next time u wanna have sex bc he'd wanna give you space to decide if u wanted sex again on ur own.

mingyu -

jumps off you so quickly he knocks himself off the bed with a huge tud, making himself become the actually injured one. the tables would turn, making you have to take care of the bruise he gave himself but would be consistently interrupted by him wanting to tend to you in case he had somehow hurt you.

minghao -

he'd take it so seriously even if you told him it wasn't that big of a deal, that you just felt off for some reason. none of your rebuttals mattered when he entered a zone of utmost worry for you. he'd switch things up completely, telling you to lay down while he made you a warm drink and prepared a bath for the two of you.

seungkwan -

really loud lol. he'd get scared at the situation, having never been through it and not knowing what to do. he'd end up going overboard and overcompensating in trying to tend to you after having accidentally hurt you.

vernon -

another member who would be too shocked to react at first, simply pulling away from you and blanking on what to do. after a few moments of staring blankly, he'd finally move and ask if you needed anything, checking if you were okay or if you were hurt in any way. he'd feel kind of awkward but would still be sincere in his worry for your wellbeing.

chan -

jumps back immediately, eyes wide as he freezes in place. would take him a few moments to actually get close enough to you to check what was wrong and offer his comfort. would feel soooooo fucking bad. would also feel embarrassed that he had somehow hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. you'd somewhat have to comfort him to make him realize it was fine since he listened when you used your safe word.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen #svt #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut

[angelcent]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ・❥・ S. GOJO

summary. you share a bottle of wine with your professor at a weekend conference by the sea, unaware of his intentions and ardor for you.

tags. age gap (early 20s & 40s), professor!gojo, power imbalance, morally grey gojo, idolization, undertones of manipulation. 789 wc.

it was almost too easy for satoru to get you like this—soft and flushed with blood red wine in your veins; the thin strap of your sundress cascading gently over the curve of your shoulder, exposing more of your lovely skin to his greedy gaze. he almost envies the moonlight that's kissing every inch of your soft skin.

if everyone back at the conference room could see you now...

alone with your professor (and mentor) in his hotel suite balcony, sharing a loveseat and bottle of wine while watching the waves roll in and out. there's no trace of the diligent student everyone, including satoru, is normally met with. vulnerable—that's what you are, and satoru has never seen anything lovelier than his student like this.

and why wouldn’t it be easy to have gotten you to this point? you have so much blind faith in your esteemed professor gojo. in your wide, star struck eyes, the older man could do no wrong. that dark flame inside him that's begging to corrupt you grows at the thought of it because an ulterior motive to this would never cross your mind.

“another?” you murmur, voice thick and sweet like honey.

it's the first either of you have spoken in about fifteen minutes and satoru can't remember the last time he's been so comfortable in another's silence. probably since he met his best friend over twenty years ago. he needs you so fucking bad.

satoru smiles and declines, eyeing the loose grasp you have on your wine glass, wondering how your delicate wrist would feel beneath his teeth. “none for me. but I think it’s time I cut you off, kid.”

you sit up at this and don’t seem to notice some wine spilling with the sudden motion, or that the hem of your dress is exposing your thighs now. how would those feel beneath his teeth? "but why? i'm not drunk at all, satoru!” your lip juts out in a cute pout, unaware of how drunk you actually sound.

satoru you said, not sir. you’ve grown more comfortable with your professor throughout the conference weekend. eased into it without the ever present reminders that the university plagues upon you. he’s been a patient man, knowing you'd come around and open up to him in time. all you need is a little push to leave that kids arms.

"are you okay?" he asks with a raised brow. "you've been a wilted little flower since dinner."

under the influence you're even more of an open book, so he catches the way your eyes nervously shift towards the ocean.

"um, it's nothing," you shrug, a failed attempt at nonchalance. it's such an awkward little movement, never failing to remind satoru of a clumsy fawn. as much as he wants to help you grow and fulfill your potential, he also wants to keep you like this. endearingly naive. "i'm sorry if i'm ruining the mood, but i don't want to bore you with my problems."

"and why would that bore me?" he scoffs, trying not to let his irritation show. now he has confirmation that your boyfriend is the reason you often apologize for your own feelings. "what kind of man do you take me for?"

"an old one."

he clicks his tongue and snatches your wine glass from you, taking the final swig. "forty-one isn't old, you little brat."

you giggle. "sorry. but okay, this is about...um..."

satoru resists the urge to roll his eyes. of fucking course. “I see. alright, since I’m such an understanding man and the best professor and boss, we’ll make a deal.”

your full lips, now bitten red under his scrutiny, almost capture all of satoru’s attention. those sweet doe eyes of yours curiously peer up at him. "what's the deal?"

“we’ll have another,” you cheer at this. satoru chuckles again, the lines on his face accentuating with it. “while you tell me what's wrong, kiddo. that boy is ruining an important weekend for you and I think that’s his intention.”

and so you settle even closer, turning to face him as you confess your relationship troubles through a bottle of rosé. satoru notices the cracks and red flags immediately, knowing full well that there's no saving this. not that he'd want to, anyway. but satoru nods and hums along sympathetically, playing the part of a concerned mentor who truly intends to help you through your issues.

he can easily make his move right now and steal you away from that boy who's never deserved you, but that's not all satoru wants. he wants you to make the first move—to break every rule and boundary as professor and student. letting you confide in him is all part of it.

#starring: satoru gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader

[silkscream]

our boredom's bone-deep

ੈ✩ aki hayakawa x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, drunk sex, angst, alcohol, smoking, hurt/comfort, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of s*icidal ideation

ੈ✩ wc: 3.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: theyre both so repressed. also sorry about the tswift reference guilty as sin is just on repeat this week

“Yo.”

Aki turns around to see you walking towards him. You join him on the balcony, reaching over to steal his cigarette back from the breast pocket of his windbreaker. 

He looked good in civilian clothes. You didn’t see him like this often – out of his dress shirt and tie with his hair down. Dressed casually like he was a normal boy and not a hunter who signed his soul over.

“You can ask first, you know,” Aki grumbles, watching as you light up the cigarette in your mouth. 

“You were going to say yes, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing that it’s true. He’d taken you to his apartment because it was closer to the location of the mission, offering aid to the wounds you’d gotten in the face of a devil. He didn’t have to. You could still walk and you certainly weren’t dying, but he felt the need to keep you close, anyway.

You chuckle when you see the irritated look on his face.

“Don’t pout.”

The cigarette in his mouth is burned down to the nub. You take it out, grazing the cherried end against the ceramic eightball ashtray you’d gotten him for Christmas the year before. The paint was chipping from how often he used it, speckles of white against the black paint. 

You take another cig out from the pack before placing it back into his pocket, holding the stick between your fingers up to his mouth and lighting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Smoking and silent, staring at the sky post-golden hour, when everything is blanketed in cobalt blue bleeding into a light orange.

“How are your cuts?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckle. “Why do you worry so much? I’ve been around longer than you have, you know.”

Aki merely shrugs. He doesn’t look at you. Holds in his emotions like a geyser begging to stay dormant. 

“I just do,” he says plainly.

“How sweet,” you scoff, flicking your cigarette off the railing. “Thought you liked me the least, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, irritated. “You’re the one who trained me. Obviously, I don’t hate you.”

You merely chuckle, discarding your blazer. Your uniform shirt is still slightly bloodied.

“What, you think I don’t like you?” Aki asks, a brow raised.

“I’d be surprised if you liked anyone,” you shrug. “But I can tell you have a soft spot for Denji and Power, even if you refuse to admit it.”

He grunts, looking away from you as he finishes his second cigarette. The late spring breeze blows his hair into his face. He doesn’t realize how close he is to you until he adjusts his arms on the balcony, his elbow grazing yours. You don’t react, your chin tucked into your arms as you lean forward. He looks at you with curiosity.

You look at him finally and grin. 

“You look better with your hair down, you know.”

“I was thinking about cutting it,” he mumbles. 

“Don’t. It’s cute. I always thought you looked kind of like a girl. The hair is working.”

He rolls his eyes again, grimacing. He tries to hide his flush. 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?” you grin. “You think I’m scary and mean? I’m very sweet to my lovers, you know.”

He could cringe. That wasn’t what he meant. He shivers at the word “lover” like it’s taboo, knowing very well that images of you are flooding his brain against his will. Your proximity makes it worse, how even despite both of you getting roughed up during your mission, you still smelled sweet to him. 

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you really think I’m so cruel?” you challenge him. He’s not going to take the bait. He won’t. 

“I’d assume you were a sadist.”

“You think I’m a sadist?” you laugh. 

“Probably,” Aki grumbles. He fidgets. 

He doesn’t want to take out another cigarette, but he’s convinced that it’s the only thing that would help him tolerate your presence right now. He’d felt unusual since he took you back to this apartment. His nose wrinkles at the memory of your body hours prior, your side saturated in blood. His rabbit heart thumping out of his chest at the thought you’d die in his arms — and yet here you are, next to him, teasing like you always do.

“Why?”

“Because you love pushing me to my limits,” he mutters. 

“Oh, come on,” you chuckle. “It’s not like I treat you like a toy. I’m not Makima.”

“What does Makima have to do with this—”

“Because you listen to everything she says. It’s like all of you fucking worship her.”

Your voice sounds bitter, but Aki doesn’t want to pry about it. For some reason, something in his chest riles him, makes his heartbeat faster at the prospect that you might be jealous of his devotion to Miss Makima. You’d always clashed in your beliefs but was never particularly candid about it – you were like him. You wanted to kill devils for the sake of avenging your family, but you also seemed apathetic about your life. With no family or a promising future, you often didn’t care if you died. It was the most frustrating thing about you.

Aki huffs. “You hate following rules yet you’re still controlling. It’s hypocritical.”

“I am not controlling.”

“You are. And you love to torment me because I’m the only one willing to put up with your shit,” he says, laughing humorlessly. You don’t know that he would do anything you told him, that he didn’t give a fuck about Makima. It had always been you, at the forefront of both his blissful dreams and worst nightmares.

“I like your resilience,” you say quietly.

“Resilience?”

You nod slowly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Aki.”

He hates how much dopamine fills his brain when you say this. The smallest praises from you would have him hung up, lately. Even a smile was motivating, though he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. He was never one to pine or yearn, keeping to himself since he was young. No girl could pry anything out of him that wasn’t surface-level until you. 

He hated it. It felt like a weakness.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“If I’m actually that strong, I probably would’ve broken down your walls by now.”

It could be a teasing statement, but he tucks his expression away into the fabric of his jacket, looking away from you. You’re so close to him, close enough to touch, but he still holds himself back.

“You should save your efforts,” you mumble. 

Aki looks at you with narrowed eyes and tries to scan your face for anything telling, but you’re as stoic as him. He’d always found it frustrating, how he could never get anything out of you. He didn’t know how to be selfish. He was apprehensive about provoking you despite how much he wanted to.

“Why?”

You finally look him in the eye. Your features are painted with stubborn contempt as you glare at him.

“Because I’m not worth it.”

Your words strike him through the heart. You weren’t one to be particularly insecure – he’d known this since he met you. But your words now are trying to downplay how much he feels for you, and he won’t have it. 

Aki moves close enough to you to smell your breath.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I waste my time on you,” he protests.

You stare at him. You’re surprised he wants to know you at all. You’ve barely processed the meaning behind his words, the possibility of him wanting you beyond mission support and devil-hunting guidance. Both of you had walls up and that was fine. You never had any intention of breaking any of his, regardless of how often he showed up in your dreams. No matter how often you’d find yourself glancing at him, drinking up his features until you had snapped yourself out of it.

“You can’t want things as a devil hunter,” you say blankly, staring at the dark sky. “There’s no use. Desire is the root of all suffering and shit, right? Like in Buddhism?”

Aki feels his face warm up, his frown deepening as you say this without even looking at him.

“I’ll suffer for you if I want to,” he says firmly.

“Always a masochist,” you whisper, sighing. You smile weakly at him.

“Maybe I am a masochist.”

“I know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a devil hunter, huh?”

“Why are you a devil hunter?” he raises a brow. 

“Because it’s better than killing myself. If I die because of this job, at least I died being useful, you know?”

He swallows thickly at the thought of your death. He’d imagined it a thousand times since he met you and realized how sardonic you were, how little you cared about your own life. You were a mirror of him. 

“Don’t say shit like that,” he says, his tone cold. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you die.”

You stare at him, the expression on your face unreadable. Your eyes look dim.

“Thanks,” you mutter. You slide the glass door open and go back inside. Aki feels his lungs ache.

Eventually, he follows you in and sees you on the couch, staring blankly at the television with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. He rolls his eyes. You were just as bad as Kishibe these days. 

He sits down next to you without a word, stealing the bottle to take a gulp, flinching. You watch with amusement. He grimaces at you.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

“You can do better than that.”

He wants to wipe the smirk off his face. Maybe with his mouth. He blinks at you a little too fast, then distracts himself with another gulp. A longer one that makes his throat burn, his head dizzy. You laugh.

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbles.

“I didn’t force you to do it,” you scoff. 

No, you didn’t. But it was always easy for Aki to do things for you. He often wanted to, didn’t ask any questions. You always wondered why.

“Would you roll around like a dog if I asked you to?” you grin.

“Fuck off.”

You lay down, perching your legs over his lap. He sets his hands on your thigh like it’s second nature to him. You scan his features. His midnight eyes glisten with the blue of the television reflecting in his irises, his mouth downturned into a default pout.

“You should keep your hair down more often.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he’d forgotten you were there.

“Pretty boy,” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.” He tries to keep his expression level. His face is hot from the whiskey, not you, he tells himself.

You shift your position and your foot grazes his crotch. It makes his breath hitch, the creature of want inside him gnawing at his heart. He thinks maybe you’re teasing him, so he takes your foot and rubs it. You raise a brow.

You’re sitting up now, grunting as you do. He pretends that you aren’t staring at him.

“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.

“Nah. I’m good.”

There’s contempt on his face when he looks at you, his eyes tracing your collarbone just for a second before gazing at the blood on your shirt. Speckled shapes turning from red to brown.

“Let me see.”

“Aki. I’m fine.”

“Let me see,” he mumbles.

You sigh, unbuttoning your shirt until you’re only in a sports bra. He frowns at your wound, how the gauze is dark and nearly falling off. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it needed to be changed?”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” he scolds. “Stay still.”

He pins you down by your hips. Somehow, he’s in between your legs, his face frowning in concentration as he looks at your skin. He gets up to grab the first aid kit.

You take another sip of whiskey.

It numbs the pain when he fixes you up again. His fingers are delicate when they handle you — you can’t help but stare at the way they move when he blots your cut. A small press to the center and you feel it sting, making you hiss. He grips you by the waist to disarm you. 

Stay still.

“There,” he breathes, kneeling on the floor in front of you. “It’s more secure now.”

He looks at your stomach, watching the rise and fall of your skin as you breathe. You reach out and pat his head like he’s a pet. Aki was a cute drunk. Still stoic, but malleable in your hands. There are moments during group outings when he opens up a little, places his head on your shoulder. Looks at you for a bit longer than he normally allows himself to. 

He presses his cheek to your thigh and sighs as you skim the nape of his neck with your fingers. You stroke his jaw. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you. 

Your thumb hooks on his mouth briefly and you feel his tongue on the pad of your fingertip. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. Glazed over in the dimness, dripped in syrup.

“You’re barely awake,” you breathe. “I should go.”

“No.” He grips your wrist when you pull your hand away, saliva from his mouth creating the string of fate. The sight made your heart sing. Disgusting. 

“Why?” you whisper.

He’s quiet. He could bite the bullet, let the heat of it soar straight through his chest so you can see all the gory bits of desire in him. The whiskey only exacerbated the feeling. He was usually good at keeping it down, despite clinging to you like an extra limb. You probably saw right through him. 

“Just stay,” he mutters. 

“Make me stay, then.”

He hides his face in your lap again. He feels like such a boy. When you run your fingers through his hair again, he pulls away and grabs both of your wrists, pulling you toward him until you fall onto his lap, his body on the floor. He grips your hips and stares at you from below.

“What are you doing? You wanna wrestle?” you joke half-heartedly.

“No,” he slurs quietly. “You’re hurt.”

Aki sits up and leans on the back of his elbows. He looks at you like he’s eager prey, offering himself on a platter, but he won’t say it. It’s killing you.

“C’mon,” you grin. “I can take it.”

“Stop.”

You pin him to the ground. You’re playing. It’s just that and nothing else, isn’t it?

“Aki,” you say. Your face is so close to his. Your breath smells like tobacco and cinnamon, your neck like petrichor.

“I’m not letting you provoke me,” he groans. 

You roll your eyes. “Stop trying to take care of me.”

“But I want to,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. 

“Then I’ll take care of you. I’m your senpai, remember?”

His face is hot again, sweat sticking to his shoulder blades. Fuck, he needed to fix the fan since Power and Denji had broken it while wrestling. The memory reminds him of the position he’s in right now and a flush creeps up his neck.

“I–”

Your mouth interrupts him. It’s an experimental peck. Impulsive. It’s short, but Aki groans into it and touches his tongue with yours. You pull away with wide eyes.

There’s hunger in his gaze, something like desperation. You could work with this. You knew that you had Aki wrapped around your finger since he started at Public Safety, but you didn’t know he would be like this. 

He breathes deeply, dark lashes blinking at you from the mess of his bangs. His dick was infallibly hard since you’d straddled him. It was aching now underneath your cunt — there was no hiding it.

He narrows his eyes, trying to disguise how much he wants you.

“Thought you said desire is the root of all suffering.”

“I guess we’re both masochists, then,” you whisper.

He kisses you with more force this time, buries his mouth into your neck to exhale the scent of his shampoo in your hair. Drunk on you. He sucks a hickey into your flesh like it’s payback.

He groans when he feels your hands underneath his shirt, rubbing against the pale skin of his abdomen until he takes the liberty to pull the fabric off himself. Aki has always been pretty – like a girl, like you’d told him before. He was also remarkably boyish. The shy type. He’d seem to grow muscles over the past year, his lean figure always hidden by the uniform. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” he huffs.

“Get uglier, then,” you roll your eyes, pulling at the zipper of his jeans. 

He lets you handle him like a doll. 

“Thought you’d be rougher,” you whisper.

“You’ve… thought about this before?” he asks.

You blink at him, then look away.

“Once or twice.”

“I’m not gonna be rough with you,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Not when you got stabbed earlier today.”

“Told you I’m a masochist,” you chuckle dryly. You strip off your slacks, showing off your less-than-sexy cotton underwear. He grazes your core, the wet patch growing larger with your slick.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, mesmerized. He licks his lips, wanting to taste you, lust transparent on his face. It humiliated you, for some reason — you were always used to it rough and fast, your vision blurred while you took cock that you didn’t give a shit about. This was different. This was real.

You put your fingers in his mouth again, pinning him down. He moans when you spit on the head of his cock, palming him gently. Taming him.

You slide your panties off of your legs and do the same with his briefs. When you hover over him, your throat feels tight. He keeps looking at you like you created him. Like you were the world itself.

His tip catches on the slick of your cunt, circling your entrance. Your blood boils, every ventricle in your body sparking to life. You feel him buck his hips, desperate and rutting.

“Use me,” he groans, muffled from your fingers on his tongue.

You sink down on him and his eyes roll back. You remove your fingers from his mouth to toy with your clit, whimpering at the sensation of him filling you up. He was bigger than you expected.

Aki shudders from sensitivity. Alcohol usually numbs his senses, but he can feel all of you, how hot and tight you are. It’s driving him mad. He hiccups through moans, his throat raw. 

Your cunt pulses as you grind on him, trembling above him as you try to keep your hips from stuttering too much. Already, you were about to fall apart. 

“Fuck,” Aki mutters. 

Your hand grazes his face and jaw, and he leans into your palm to kiss it earnestly. Your face burns as you tangle your fingers in his raven hair. When he rises to kiss you, you pull his strands while your other hand holds him back by his shoulder. He groans and thrusts upward into you, holding your hips so that your thighs are flush against his.

Your pulse throbs against the cave of your chest. Aki is desperate to kiss you, to get his tongue in your mouth, so he uses your own trick on you – pulls you in with force and grabs a fistful of your hair. You moan into his mouth, tapering off into a whimper, and you feel him let out a breathy laugh in between kisses.

Aki lets himself be a little loud — no one else was home, and fucking you was cathartic. He squeezes the fat of your thigh, his lunacy suppressed into his tight fists. Entranced by the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick. 

You whimper as your knees start to get rug burn, the skin as raw as the love bites on your neck. Your stomach stirs, ecstasy boiling in the pit. You could pretend it was love from the way he gripped you.

“You’re fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Do you like it?” you rasp. You almost sound like you’re begging.

He nods and holds your face, his other hand making an imprint on your waist. Aki was so much taller than you — his size didn’t register until now, the way he was forcing your chin up to look up into his eyes. 

He can barely speak, only letting out choked moans and heavy breaths. You look so vulnerable despite being on top of him. He could picture it now, your thighs shaking with arms outstretched to him in morning light. Bare-faced and illuminated, not a bruise on your body. Happy in another life.

“Fuck, Aki,” you moan.

“Again,” he breathes.

“What?”

“Say my name again. Like that.” Like you love me.

“A-Aki,” you whine, gasping for air. “Close.”

A rush of blood to the head. He almost wants to tell you he loves you, force you to say it back to him in between swapping spit. Even if it was just pretend.

You writhe as you cum. Heat-struck by the coil breaking in your stomach. It was like he was melting your insides. He feels your cunt twitch and spills into you with a groan, nose buried in your hair. 

He winces as he pulls out of you, his cum getting the carpet wet. He’ll have to clean it up later. He breathes heavily and looks anywhere but your face.

“Lie down with me,” you whisper.

So he does, face to face with you, his arm loose over your waist. He wants to kiss you, but he assumes you’ve had your fill. He wonders if you’ll ever toy with him like that again. He hates himself for how badly he wants it.

But then you look at him, your eyes searching his for meaning. Unspoken words. 

“You okay, baby?”

He’s shocked at the nickname, blushing like he didn’t just fuck you to the moon and back.

He nods, blinking rapidly when you stroke his jaw gently. Branding him with tenderness. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept with you. He didn’t want to be a sycophant, but he still felt attached to you, and it would only get worse from here. Stuck on his heart like chewed gum.

“Angel boy,” you sigh, hazed. You’re still a little drunk. “Pretty.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog.”

“What are you, then?”

He says nothing. You smile. The warmth in his chest is immeasurable. It aches like a wound that never heals. He supposes that’s what you are for him. But what is he?

“Yours.”

#aki hayakawa smut #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man fanfiction #csm smut #chainsaw man x you #chainsaw man x reader #csm x you #csm x reader

[cuubism]

hurt/comfort you say?

I'm a sucker for party or parties unknown trying to (re)capture Dream or otherwise damage/control him and Hob going absolutely feral to protect him... but what if Hob gets badly wounded protecting Dream and Dream has to take care of him....

I know it's not a new idea but..... I love it...

omg yes i love it. a classic

--

Hob hadn't thought you could die in dreams.

Okay, you could die, but you didn't actually, well, die. You just woke up in a cold sweat feeling all discombobulated until it faded to a distant bad feeling and then nothing.

Figures he'd only learn otherwise now.

(Really should have paid more attention when Dream kept telling him dreams are real, Hob.)

Fucking figures.

He gasps awake in his bed with a whole sword still stuck through his chest, and then immediately checks back out again. Happens when you've got a sword through your aorta. When he comes back to life, Dream is standing above him, holding the bloody sword flat on his palms. The blade, the murderous expression on his face, the hallway light haloing his hair makes him look like a holy executioner.

Hob's heart is still pumping blood all over the bedsheets. "Dream, the fucking--" he starts trying to say, then just checks out again.

When he wakes again, Dream is gone, and Hob feels speared through the heart in another way entirely. Take a sword through the chest saving a bloke's eternal existence and he just dips out? But no, that's not like him, not anymore--

Then he's gone again, and when he wakes, this time--

--Dream catches him.

"Wha--? Dream?" Everything feels muzzy, and he shakes his head to try to clear it. This... isn't his bedroom. He's lying propped up against Dream's chest, Dream's arms wrapped around him, one hand pressed to the hole in his chest-- to where there was a hole in his chest, it doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore. "Where are we?"

"Don't pay attention to it," Dream says, voice close to Hob's ear. This of course makes Hob want to pay attention to it, but whatever's around him, the sort of nebulous impression of lack of place and vaguely unsettling haze, hurts to look at. Dream tuts in disapproval when he tries to turn. "This is an in-between space. Not for your mind to perceive."

"Great. In between where, exactly?" Hob tries to push himself up, but a bolt of pain to the chest has him collapsing back into Dream's arms.

"Between sleep and waking," says Dream. "Do not move."

Hob's not moving again. His breath wheezes. He feels like there should be a sword stuck through his chest, and there isn't, but he keeps trying to breathe around it. No, wait, Dream took the sword out. "Did I die or not? I thought I died."

Now there's a crease of pain in Dream's voice. "Temporarily."

A shiver of unease runs through Hob. "Dream, you're... not supposed to be able to die in dreams, right? For real?" He's not sure what it means. If his deal with Death extends to whatever kind of soul-death they might be talking about that could happen in the heart of the Dreaming.

"Not in a way that carries through to the waking, but you so love to defy precedent," Dream says, teeth gritted, and Hob feels him shudder, and his hand on Hob's chest grows warmer, like he's... channeling power? "Admittedly, the spell they used to ensnare me had unforeseen effects on the Dreaming."

"Okay." Fuck, he's tired. Too worn out for this questioning. He leans his head against Dream's shoulder. Nice to touch him like this, even considering the circumstances.

"I am unmaking the dream," Dream says, "hence, this liminal space. You have already brought it with you to the waking and so it can no longer be easily reabsorbed into the Dreaming."

"Yeah, I noticed all the blood." He shudders, eyes falling shut. Still as tired as if his body is expelling all its blood somewhere down... wherever. "I saved you though, right? I killed that guy before they could finish the spell?"

"Yes." Dream strokes a hand through Hob's hair, a gentle touch. His voice is softer when he speaks again. "You saved me."

"Good." That's all that matters, in the end. Hob'll live. Always does.

He's... slipping, again, he can still sense Dream's hands on him, but it's distant. "Will I remember it, if you unmake the dream?" he asks. He wants to remember it. Saving Dream, and Dream's hands on him so gently. Even if it means also remembering the slide of the sword between his ribs.

Dream hesitates. "I--"

Hob wakes up.

Again.

In his bedroom this time. He comes to wakefulness groggily, spreads his hands on the sheets. They're dry, no blood--

He shakes himself. What is he saying, blood? Why would there be blood? Fuck his head hurts. And God he had a strange dream--

There's a sword lying across the foot of his bed.

A proper longsword, the metal gleaming unnaturally bright. Hob reaches for it, mesmerized, and as his hand closes around the hilt, a voice comes from his side.

"I thought you might like it for yourself."

Dream. He's perched beside Hob on the bed, looking strained and tired. Reflexively, Hob rubs at his chest with his free hand. Nothing there.

But when he meets Dream's eyes, he catches a feeling in them. A fragile awe. A hunger. He catches it and while the exact details won't come back, he feels the moment, the killing blow, the one that he'd struck and the one that had struck him. And Dream, holding him close after, trying to make it right.

He lets go of the sword -- it doesn't turn back into sand, surprisingly -- and takes Dream's hand instead. Dream watches him, utterly still, then says, "You saved me."

"I know." He knows, even if he can't remember the exact detail of it. Dream did... something to make it sort of not have happened, except it did happen. Sort of. "Course I did." It happened because of course it happened.

"Of course," echoes Dream. And then a tiny smile blooms on his face.

And, of course, Hob chases that smile until they're kissing.

He's not quite managed the boldness to kiss Dream before now. But the echo of Dream's hands in his hair and his palm pressed firm over his heart gives him courage. And it feels so right it's like it's already happened, only he knows it hasn't, he would remember that.

Well, maybe it's happened in his dreams.

Now, he kisses Dream, leaning in, and Dream cradles the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair. He kisses Dream.

And this time he doesn't wake up.

#this went a different way than the prompt i feel #dreamling #ask #anonymous #my writing

[azrielgreen]

I am genuinely so impressed by how you are juggling so many projects. What is your writing process like for that? I remember you sharing about how you romanticize the process but like how much time is given to each project? Is it based on where the dopamine leads you during the day? How do you maintain the discipline? How much of a project is mapped before you start drafting and editing? It is so hard to create and i just *genuinely* admire your work ethic so much.

Hi, oh thank you so much, that's really kind of you! So, juggling multiple projects is still new to me, I've only ever had 1 or 2 at once before but the last year has taught me a LOT about how to manage it, how to roll with the punches and the importance of balance.

TL;DR this became a ramble so I summarised:

3 hours a day

dopamine led but with consistent rewards in place

discipline countered with indulgent self care

embracing change and new inspiration

not comparing to others

making work space very pleasing and comfortable

trust you will do it because you've done it before

romanticise

stay open to the universe

you've never failed unless you give up completely - it's fine to miss a deadline, life is very short and it's better to be healthy, happy and inspired than burnt out and sick. take it slow, enjoy it, work when you can and reward yourself CONSTANTLY.

So, time wise, I will try to dedicate at least 3 hours a day to one single project and I'll try to keep it one project per week otherwise my head is all over the place. It's usually dopamine led as following joy is key to my energy levels, but I have also learnt the past year to discipline myself and adapt to a constant flow of creation.

I maintain the discipline by treating myself as wonderfully as I possibly can. I still and always will romanticise everything I do and make it fun; all frills, self indulgent and lovely. Having a space I love that's set up well is hugely important for me. My desk area is amazing now that I've worked on it for well over a year.

One of the best things for crafting discipline but not losing the joy is the THRILL of achievement. When I complete something, i feel amazing and that spurs me on. I cultivate multiple ideas as indulgently as I can and expose myself to a lot of new inspiration. If something doesn't work or feels not good? I give myself the freedom to change it up and the confidence to know that no matter what, it'll work out beautifully so long as I keep going because it always has. There were times during Touched I would CRY it was so hard to write and I was so distracted.

Knowing you can do something because you've already done it is an incredibly powerful little power up that I use often to give myself a boost.

But honestly, overall, I really do romanticise my life in general. I make beautiful things, I love what I write, I'm so grateful for everything and always open to new ideas and I never close myself off by comparing, doubting or clinging too hard to what felt good before. I give myself space to realise that I'm constantly changing and growing and that my writing reflects that which is SO exciting!! I think honestly, I'm my biggest fan. I hype myself, reward myself and treat writing like a blissful escape, which it is, even when it's 7 hours non-stop for a story I am very ready to be done with.

The most important thing about maintaining this level of output (for me) is giving myself space to mess up a little, to miss a deadline, to delay posting and not feel awful. 'You're Divine' is one of the greatest writing lessons I've ever learned, in that just because you can physically write 25k+ a week doesn't mean you SHOULD. Towards the end I had made myself very ill. I won't ever do that again. It's never a failure, unless you give up completely. Life is very short, it's difficult to feel inspired when you're hard on yourself. Treat yourself like the person you love most in this world. Be a little selfish, lean in where you're weird and praise it to the skies.

Thanks so much again!

Love, Az

💜💜💜

#askaz

[blueraineshadows]

Blood Bound Part 9

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

MC escapes the shadows she must walk through in the arms of her Auror, whilst Sebastian takes matters into his own desperate hands.

14.3k words. Tags: NSFW / angst / crime ring / murder / death / blood / fighting / mentions of torture / anxiety / violence / sexual tension

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Reading tag list at the end, let me know if you want to be added ❤️✨️

Nine: Revelio

MC

The shadows were her friends. They were her cloaks through the crooked nooks and paths of Knockturn Alley, and she made use of them, slinking through the night like some kind of nocturnal wraith as she maintained a watchful eye on the Ashwinders. With each night that passed, she became more comfortable with being outside of four walls, although the cloying smog of London was still something to suffer after the fresh, sea air of the Cornwall coast.

Standing across the street from the Black Rose pub, MC pulled her robe a little closer about her slender frame to ward off the chill. The nights were now colder as October moved them towards winter. She eyed the crooked door of the notorious drinking hole, debating the wisdom of entering. She had seen Rosier around a few times, watching him from a safe distance after their run in a week ago. She had seen Carrow, too, his face like a mask fit for nightmares. These were hard witches and wizards who frequented this place, and she needed to be sure of herself before entering their midst.

As much she hated to admit it, she needed Sebastian, and it surprised her how much that thought grated along her nerves. An unsettling strain of resentment had buried itself in her chest, the few times she had glimpsed him made her stiffen as she thought of the endlessly long hours she had spent locked in darkness whilst he roamed free. Free to be whatever he wanted, and he had chosen the path of darkness. He had put himself in the bed of the enemy.

The thought of approaching him after all this time filled her with confusing emotions. On the one side she longed for it, her fingers caressing the scar on her palm with the same reverence she always had, but there was another side that filled her with trepidation. She wasn’t sure how it would feel to have his eyes on her again, the fear that she would resent it made her tremble more than the night air. Putting it off was only prolonging the inevitable, and yet she hung back, lingering alone in shadows still while he roamed as he pleased.

She needed to make the first move, get it done, rip off the bandage and maybe start the healing process. If there could be one. Her emotional scars were deep and twisted, and she suspected she would never be the girl she once was. That girl died in Azkaban, and now she needed to figure out what was left.

Drawing upon her well practised shields, MC stepped from her shadowed corner and walked slowly towards the door of the Black Rose, her heart thumping with erratic flutters as she reached out and pushed against the old wood. This was madness, and yet her legs carried her smoothly over the threshold, her face an indifferent mask and her eyes glittering with hardness as she entered the smoky bar room.

The dark haired man behind the bar waited with a curious gaze as she approached, her hood still up and casting a shadow across part of her face.

“A pale ale, if you would be so kind,” she said quietly.

With a nod he turned to meet her request, and she swallowed, risking a glance around the room from beneath her hood. Nobody was really paying her much attention, the bar often saw strangers come and go she supposed. As a tankard was placed on the bar before her, she drew out a coin and placed it down beside it, proud of how she refrained from trembling as she did so. “Thank you.”

Taking a sip of the cool ale, she perched herself on a bar stool, her ears and eyes alert to her surroundings. The comforting press of her wand at her hip reminded her that she had the power to protect herself now. She was stronger than she looked. With her ancient magic, she could devastate this entire room in one move. The thought almost made her lips twitch with a smile, but she kept her face carefully indifferent.

Just when she thought she could manage this little adventure without interference, a figure approached her with a confident sway of hips, blonde curls framing her beautiful face. Up close, MC could see the delicate dusting of freckles across Luella Rookwood’s nose, and the look in her eyes that suggested self assurance. She eyed MC curiously, her head tilting slightly as she tried to get a better look under the hood of her robe.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” she said, her voice laced with a French undertone. She leant casually against the bar. “What brings you here tonight?”

Dislike, thick and searing, coursed through MC as she stared at Luella’s pouty mouth and glowing skin. Healthy and strong, beautiful, and close to Sebastian. Any misgivings MC may have felt about her connection to the boy from her youth seemed to vanish under the cold twist of envy that claimed her stomach. It made her shields thicken, and her gaze turned icy as she fixed it upon Rookwood’s daughter.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said coolly, placing her tankard down unfinished.

Luella’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Careful, now. You’d be surprised what my business is around here.”

MC smirked and slowly slid back her hood, revealing her full face and hair to the room. People were starting to take notice now, and she stood so that she was on a level with the far too confident witch. Luella’s eyes widened slightly, her pretty mouth parting as she stared.

“Oh, I know what your business is, Miss Rookwood,” MC said, allowing her inner darkness to form behind her eyes, the slightest flicker of blue and white glowing as she glared at Luella. “Perhaps it’s not me who should be careful.”

“So, the ancient magic witch finally shows her face,” Luella said, recovering quickly, but she was rattled. MC could see it in her eyes.

MC smiled, cold and hard on the outside, whilst inside she was screaming and wanting to run. “We finally meet, Miss Rookwood. I hear your father wishes to speak with me. Do tell him I dropped by,” she said, turning for the door.

Pausing, a wicked gleam lighting her eyes, she glanced back at Luella. “Oh, and while you’re at it, say hello to Sebastian for me. Now, there’s a handsome face I look forward to seeing again. Our reunion is long overdue.”

Luella stiffened, her face rigid as her eyes almost bulged. MC felt a sweet satisfaction as she stepped out into the street, her heart hammering at her own audacity. Before anyone could dare approach her, she pictured a destination firmly in mind, the practice of Apparation becoming more and more familiar to her now. In the blink of an eye, she became a swirl of darkness and then vanished, her boots hitting the floorboards of a small living space lit by a single lamp.

Pressing a hand to her tight chest, MC took a steadying breath, still surprised at herself for goading Luella like that. She wondered if the smug bitch would actually say anything to Sebastian. Had Rosier? These small steps into the vicinity of the Ashwinder group were leading her deeper into trouble. She just needed to keep her head and not blow the cover. Not just because bringing Rookwood down would be satisfying, but she didn’t want to let Leander down either.

Her eyes moved slowly about the small living room of the London flat, everything neat and in its proper place. The fire had burned down low in the grate, but the room still clung to some warmth. She stepped quietly across towards the bedroom. The door was ajar, and she slipped quietly inside. Leander had fallen asleep whilst reading, his book open and face down upon his chest. His face was soft and peaceful, and she was reluctant to disturb him, so she lingered beside the bed watching him for a moment. It scared her how attached she was becoming to him, the lines of his face so familiar to her, his scent and warmth meant safety and comfort in a way she had not expected.

A few days ago, he had brought her to London and invited her into his private home, allowing her to come here whenever she wished. He didn’t have to do this for her. He was just a probation Auror that she had to report daily to, and by rights she should have found herself somewhere to stay by now, and yet she kept coming back to his flat. This was more than a job. Whatever it was between them had deepened into something that was heavier than just friendship, but they were not a courting couple. They couldn’t be. Looking at him now as he slept, remembering all the ways he had helped her with kindness and respect, she knew she was far too dark and damaged for the likes of him.

Leaning forward, she carefully lifted the book from his chest, his long fingers languidly moving as he shifted in his sleep. Making sure to bookmark his spot, she placed the book on his table, glancing back towards him to find him blinking sleepily.

“You’re here,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” she said quietly, slipping her robe from her shoulders and placing it on the chair. “It’s alright, you can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He watched her through sleepy eyes as she continued to remove her clothing, piling them on his chair until she was in just her chemise as though she had every right, an unspoken agreement that she would be sleeping here seeming to exist between them.

“Did you see anything interesting tonight?” He asked, his cheeks turning pink as she climbed up on the bed beside him.

“I had the misfortune of meeting Luella Rookwood,” she said, her mouth twisting into a sour smirk. “Don’t worry, I resisted the urge to cast an Unforgivable on her. I was actually rather polite.”

Leander’s expression was rather sceptical as she slid herself under the blankets, making herself comfortable in the welcoming warmth beneath. “What did you say, exactly?”

“To tell her daddy I said hello. Oh, and I reminded her that Sebastian and I were due a little reunion. I thought she was going to hex me for that little comment, and so I took my leave. Let her stew over that for a while.”

A slight frown appeared on Leander’s brow as he settled back down into the bed beside her. MC lay on her side facing him, seeing the way he was fidgeting with a button on his pyjama shirt, his teeth catching at his lower lip. He was thinking, perhaps about the unspoken situation that was building between them. She had mentioned Sebastian, something she usually avoided because it had the potential to lead them towards some rather loaded questions.

“You are going to come face to face with Sallow at some point, probably sooner rather than later now that you are spending time near his haunts,” he said quietly.

“I think I am going to need him,” she sighed. “He will be able to help me infiltrate the gang, I’m just a bit uncertain about how that will play out depending on his allegiance.”

Leander turned to look at her, his eyes glittering in the almost dark of his room. “You sound unsure about it, MC. Are you worried about seeing Sebastian again?”

Her fingers absently sought out her scar, the niggling worry that her inability to turn against Sebastian might prove detrimental to their plan if he really had chosen the dark side. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, reminding herself that she was in a safe place here.

“I don’t know,” she said, dropping her gaze to the mattress. “Seeing him the other night just seemed to remind me that he has spent the last four years living a life I know nothing about. There was a time when I thought it would be me and him against the world, and now I’m not sure I even know who he is anymore.”

“I don’t think he has changed all that much,” Leander said, turning fully towards her, their faces mere inches apart. “I have my own very selfish reasons for wishing that you never had to see him again, but I know that, despite everything, he is someone important to you. I’m sure you are still someone important to him, too.”

Meeting Leander’s gaze, her heart squeezed at his noble and generous spirit, her fingers reaching to touch gently at his temple. Stroking lightly towards his hair, her hand cupped against the strong lines of his cheek. Perhaps he underestimated just how important he had become to her, slowly weaving a web of complex feelings around her that left her confused and scared, as well as curious and alive. She didn’t want to hurt him, but couldn’t seem to stop running back to him despite knowing that things were not going to end with rainbows and roses. It never did with her.

“I can’t imagine you ever being selfish, Lee,” she whispered, her fingers sliding over freckled skin.

His hand settled over her hip, fingers grasping gently. “Yes, well, sometimes you come across something that you just don’t want to share with anyone else,” he said, his usual soft voice darkening into something unexpected, his grip on her hip subtly tightening as he closed the gap between them.

This spark of possessiveness sent her confusing feelings spinning madly, her pulse quickening as she realised they were crossing lines that were becoming more and more dangerous. Her gaze dipped to his soft, full mouth.

“I should stop coming here, you know…” Her lips captured his mouth, despite her weak protest. “It’s becoming a rather dangerous habit…” She kissed him again.

The hand on her hip grazed feather-light touches down towards her knee, his fingers splaying as he slid his palm up her thigh in a slow, deliberate caress that ignited the fire in her blood. “So, stop,” he murmured against her mouth, stealing a firmer kiss of his own in retaliation.

Opening her mouth to offer up a sassy comeback failed as he swirled his tongue past her lips, her words dying in her throat as her eyes closed and her hands urged him closer. Apparently, she couldn’t stop. She was sliding down a slope with no idea what awaited her at the bottom, but she was going down there with him anyway.

Leander

Friendly chattering, and the soft glow of the lamps inside the bar room of the Leaky Cauldron made for a cosy atmosphere, the tension of a day tracking a band of poachers through the New Forest beginning to ease from Leander’s shoulders as he wrapped his large hands around his tankard of ale. The poachers were a part of the Ashwinder network, and whilst his attention had been mostly focused on MC’s infiltration into their midst, there was plenty of field work to wade through on top of all that. A beer and a catch up with an old friend seemed the ideal way to spend his evening.

Across the table from Leander sat Garreth Weasley, his sandy red hair curling and flicking outwards from his freckled face, his brow creased in concentration as he wrote inside his small order notebook. Pausing, he twirled his quill, brushing the delicate feather against his lips as he raised emerald eyes to Leander with a mischievous twinkle.

“So, restoring potions, essence of Dittany, your regular healing tonics, and a restock of the old faithful contraceptive potion,” he listed, his eyebrows lifting in a teasing wiggle. “It’s been a while since you ordered the baby blocker brew, Lee. Something you want to tell me? Sounds like you’re getting lucky.”

Just like that, Leander’s shoulders hunched with anxious tension as his cheeks flooded with heat, his eyes glancing up around the bar as he twisted his tankard on the table top. “Shush, Garreth, for Merlin’s sake,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat. “I don’t want the whole pub to know.”

Garreth brightened with curiosity, leaning towards him over the table top. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mate. So, who is the lucky witch? Anyone I know?”

“I…I…” Leander faltered, cringing slightly as he realised that telling anyone about sleeping with MC could prove dangerous, no matter how much he wanted to boast to Garreth about it. That information could end up being whispered into the wrong ears and jeopardise the mission. He frowned and shook his head. “I’m just being prepared, that’s all.”

Garreth gave him a long, considering look between narrowed lids, his lips widening into a grin. “Alright, then. Keep your secrets,” he winked. “Aside from your mysterious bedroom adventures, how’s the Auror life treating you? Working on anything exciting? Oh yes, I saw in the Prophet that our murderous school hero was released. I bet that caused a little stir in the office.”

“Don’t call her that, she has a name you know,” Leander muttered, his blush darkening. “And you know I can’t talk about work stuff outside the office.”

Garreth slowly put his quill and order book away, giving Leander a careful look. “After all this time, you still carry a soft spot for MC,” he said, tilting his head. “Doesn’t it bother you, what she did?”

“It’s all very well listening to idle gossip, or reading whatever the Prophet deems print worthy, but not everything is as it seems, Garreth,” Leander said, fiddling with his tie. “You shouldn’t judge without knowing the whole story.”

“And, you do know?” Garreth lifted his brows with interest.

“I couldn’t possibly reveal Ministry information,” Leander said tightly.

“You’re rather twitchy and full of secrets this evening, Lee,” Garreth said, a slight crease appearing on his brow. “Is everything alright?”

Leander sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, Garreth. I’ve been working on a large case, and it’s a really important one. I guess I’m a little stressed, hence the beer.”

He lifted his tankard with a tight smile, taking a sip and licking his lips. It was so easy and almost cliche to blame his tension on work, a convenient get out clause to avoid talking about the real anxiety that had a choke hold on his emotions. As he gazed across at his old friend, he wished he could admit how deeply he had got himself into trouble over a girl, not just any girl either. The murderous school hero who was sharing his bed, an ex-convict with a notorious ex lover she was bound to by a dark magic pact.

Garreth was a light hearted, lovable chap. Life was simple in his corner of the world, and Leander wondered if he would have any wholesome and useful advice to give him. No doubt his response would be to keep a distance between himself and MC, and Leander didn’t want to hear that. It was likely to be the best advice, a warning his family would no doubt impress upon him, too.

But, it was her. MC had slowly embedded herself under his skin, staring into the endless possibilities her eyes held, he was drifting on a tide he felt powerless to swim against. Behind that tough exterior there had been flickers of fire, a warmth as she lay in his arms and brushed her fingers through his hair. Deep down, he knew it was doomed to end one day, she would get up from his bed one morning and it would be the last time. She would slip out of his reach, and he would have to let her go. But, for those precious hours when she did slide in beside him, pressing her body against his in a silent plea, he savoured every moment.

Garreth took a drink from his own tankard and considered Leander. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard, mate. I know how much your job means to you, but don’t lose yourself along the way,” he said, placing down his tankard with a smile that was rather serious for him. “I understand that you can’t talk about specific details, but if there is anything you do want to talk about, then I’m here if you need to, alright?”

Leander bit his lip, the words balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he felt the presence of his Auror badge in his pocket. The weight of it carried the responsibility of the oath he took, an oath that he had already betrayed more than once since taking this Ashwinder case on. MC must remain his secret.

“Thanks mate, I appreciate it,” he said, nodding. Leaning his elbows on the table top, he fixed a smile on his face. “So, what do you think of the latest Chaser signing for the Chudley Canons?”

Garreth’s face lit up at the mention of Quidditch, and their conversation switched into much lighter tones, a distraction that Leander most definitely needed.

….*….

The briefing room was already rather full with Aurors when Leander arrived for a meeting the next morning, his cheeks flushed from his mad dash here after being held up, the intoxicating warmth beneath his bed covers making him reluctant to rise and ready himself for work. He had left MC in the comfort of his bedroom, her tousled hair spread across the pillows, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before Disapparating out.

A mug of tea was thrust into his hand by an assistant, Leander smiling his thanks as he took a seat next to Odessa, her delicate perfume teasing at his nose.

“Good morning, Prewett,” she smiled, crossing her trouser-clad legs elegantly. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Sorry, I slept in. Late night,” he blushed, dipping his gaze to sip at his tea.

“You weren’t having fun without me, were you, Prewett? I’m still waiting for that date.”

Saved from having to answer that question by Harrington calling for their attention, Leander gave Odessa a quick smile, before fixing his gaze on the elder Auror who was leading this case. Harrington was dressed in his suit, his greying hair neatly combed, and a serious expression darkening his blue eyes.

“Good morning, folks. Time for our weekly update on Rookwood and his Ashwinders,” Harrington said, getting straight to the point. He flicked his wand towards the hovering blackboards, arranging them behind him in a row, each board containing case notes and highlights. Using his wand as a pointer, he moved towards the first board. “Good progress on the poaching ring yesterday in the New Forest. It seems the Sweetings are tracking a potential Golden Snidget nest, although our Aurors on location have acquired the assistance of a Magizoologist in order to help protect these endangered creatures.”

Leander rolled his shoulders, still feeling the effects of tracking through the forest yesterday in search of the poachers camp. He sipped some more tea, avoiding Odessa’s gaze as Harrington continued.

“Unfortunately, there has been another theft of a valuable and rare item,” Harrington sighed, moving to the next board. He pointed towards Rookwood’s name written in chalk at the top. “We know this bastard enjoys collecting rare and beautiful things, and the scene of the crime suggests that Ashwinders were behind this particular theft. Annoyingly, the Muggle Royal Family is involved in this one.”

“What was stolen?” Odessa asked, leaning forward, her eyes lit with curiosity.

Harrington grimaced. “The bastards looted Hever Castle in Kent, entering the secret vault hidden beneath the castle from prying Muggle eyes. They took some gold and spell books, but the most valuable item they pilfered was the famous pearl necklace worn by Anne Boleyn.”

Soft murmurs of surprise were uttered around the room as Andrew Larson stepped forward with a parchment, holding it out towards Harrington. Leander recognised the image printed on the parchment as Harrington held it up. It was a portrait of the English queen who had lost her head in The Tower in the 1530s, heralded as a witch and a traitor to her King and country. She was innocent of being a traitor, but the Wizarding World knew her as one of their own.

“We all know this portrait of Anne Boleyn. The original hangs proudly in the halls of Hogwarts, and she is wearing the very necklace that was stolen this week. It’s a string of pearls with a gold charm in the shape of the letter B,” Harrington said, his gaze roaming around the room. He paused on Leander. “I want eyes peeled and everyone on alert for a sighting of this piece of jewellery so that we may return it. Needless to say, Buckingham Palace is keen to see it in their possession. It has been held in secret for hundreds of years, and they do not want to see it in the wrong hands.”

Leander nodded, making a mental note to mention this to MC. Harrington moved on to his next board, updating everyone on the recent sightings of various gang members. As Andrew Larson passed Leander’s chair, he paused, bending to speak near his ear.

“Come and see me afterwards, Prewett,” he whispered. “I have something for you.”

Leander met his gaze and nodded, a look of understanding passing between them. Anticipation flooded through Leander at the prospect of what Andrew had found in the archives regarding MC.

Pulling out his notebook, he tried to focus on Harrington’s voice, jotting some points down as he tried not to fidget in his chair.

“How are things with our little spy?” Odessa asked as they stood, the meeting over. “Is she behaving herself?”

Leander tucked his notebook away and fiddled with his tie. “MC is fine,” he said, holding back his smile. “How are things with you? Did you manage to track down that lead at the port of Dover?”

“Indeed, I did,” she nodded, smiling as he held the door open for her. “The shipments coming in from Norway seem to be of particular interest to the Ashwinders, I’m not sure why yet, but I intend to find out.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the challenge and he smiled as they walked along the corridor towards their cubicles. “I’m sure you will. You strike me as the determined type.”

Her smile was incredibly feline and she touched her hand to his arm, her eyes lit with a teasing twinkle. “Maybe one day you will find out just how determined I can be,” she murmured, leaning slightly closer. “Especially when you take me for that drink. Friday, Prewett. You and me, The Leaky Cauldron.”

Leander’s mouth worked, words failing him as a blush stained his face. He couldn’t possibly agree. It wouldn’t be appropriate considering he was sharing a bed with someone else. “Odessa…”

She was already strolling towards her desk, throwing him a cheeky wink over her shoulder. “See you Friday.”

….*….

Leander took the file from Andrew, flipping it open to see the neatly inked words within. “You found this rather quickly,” he said, impressed at the amount of information enclosed.

Andrew shrugged, his smile a little bashful. “It’s surprising what you can find when you really get into the search. Once I found one record of ancient magic, I found a trail that led to others. This is what I have uncovered so far, but what’s most puzzling about the trail is how fragmented it is. If I’m not mistaken, I would say some information has been deliberately left out.”

“That’s what MC was expecting, I think,” Leander said, frowning as he noticed a parchment with more recent information written down. He studied the page more closely, his eyes widening when he saw MC’s name and a date that could be her birthday. “Are these MC’s birth records?”

He lifted his shocked gaze to Andrew. MC’s file had no details of her birth or blood relatives, only her records from the orphanage in London where she had been raised. Andrew nodded, his eyes hesitant. “I don’t know her that well, Leander, but some of the information I found about her might change a few things if people were to discover the truth. I promise I won’t speak a word of what I found, and if I were you, I would keep that file under lock and key.”

Leander swallowed, his eyes dropping back down to the page, scanning the details further. “No way,” he gasped, eyes darting back to Andrew.

Andrew nodded, his look pensive. “Yes. I was shocked, too. You might want to break the news to her gently.”

Leander sank slowly into the nearest chair, reading over the information again, just to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. Shock numbed his limbs, the implications of this information sending his thoughts scattering in all directions. His hands actually trembled as he closed the file and gripped it tightly on his lap. Somehow, he was going to have to hand this information over to MC, and he wasn’t sure how she was going to react.

“Are you alright, mate?” Andrew asked, putting a cautious hand on Leander’s shoulder. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

Leander looked up at Andrew, nodding with uncertainty. He licked his lips and smoothed his hand over the top of the file. “I’m not entirely sure how she will take this news, but I’m glad I will be the one to tell her.”

Andrew bit his lip, his hands slipping into his pockets as he regarded Leander. “You er…you have grown rather close to MC since working on this case,” he said awkwardly, scuffing the floor slightly with the toe of his smart shoes. “I could sense the familiarity between you the last time you were here, and your request was not your regular Auror request. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fascinating. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into.”

“I’m just trying to help her, Andrew. She doesn’t have anyone else, at least I didn’t think so,” he said, glancing down at the folder on his lap. “This file rather changes all of that, doesn’t it?”

“That really all depends on what she chooses to do about it,” Andrew said with a shrug. “Whatever she decides, just be careful, Leander. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Oh, he was already in far too deep to climb back out now. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, reaching out to shake Andrew’s hand. “I appreciate your help, Andrew. I owe you one.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said, shaking his hand firmly. “I will keep looking through the archives when I get a chance. There might be more to discover. These Keepers that MC mentioned have me curious. I’ll let you know what else I dig out.”

As he left the Auror Office, the file hidden with a vanishing charm in his possession, Leander pondered how he was going to hand it over to MC. He would have to do it tonight when she returned from her nightly spying on the Ashwinders. He didn’t want this lingering over his head, not something this big. Plus, MC had a right to know where she came from.

Sebastian

The cool air was thick with the scent of old paper and leather, rich tones of wood, and a lingering pinch of dust. The quietness settled over Sebastian like an old cloak, and he savoured the familiar and comforting feel of being inside a library. Walking slowly through the huge stacks, he gazed at the laden shelves, his eyes scanning the titles as he pondered how different his life could have been had things worked out differently. Perhaps he could have found contentment working within the safety of bound knowledge, pursuing his thirst to discover and learn. That life felt so far out of reach that he couldn’t even call it a dream. Those you could chase, and he didn’t think he would ever get the chance to make that idea a reality.

Pausing at the section he was searching for, he ran his fingers against the spines as he chased down the particular book he was after, a text recently published that he had heard about that might prove useful, no matter how far fetched. The author, Nora Treadwell, had undertaken research about the renowned wizard Merlin, and the curious puzzles he had scattered around the Highlands of Scotland. Sebastian had spent many hours helping MC solve some of those puzzles when they were kids, and they had speculated about their creation after MC noticed traces of her ancient magic around them. Not one to pass up the prospect of delving deeper into lore, Sebastian wanted to see what Nora Treadwell had to say on the matter.

Finding a copy of the book, he tucked it under his arm and found a quiet spot to sit and read The Trials of Merlin, his unruly hair falling across his forehead as he bent over the pages with a frown of intent.

….*….

Dusk was drifting over London, the sky deepening into the glow of the autumn sunset as Sebastian strolled through Knockturn Alley, one hand in his pocket, and the other settled close to where his wand sat ready in its holster. One could never be too careful at the best of times, let alone when the shadows were beginning to lengthen. As he walked, he let his gaze wander carefully over the cloaked figures he passed, appearing nonchalant in his manner, but ever mindful that MC could be hidden behind any corner. He didn’t want to miss her a second time.

As he approached the turn that would take him to the Black Rose, he met with Rosier who was leaning against a brick wall as though waiting for him, his handsome smile as charming as ever as he nodded towards Sebastian.

“Evening, Sallow. I wondered when you were going to show up. You’ve been gone most of the day.”

“Just gathering some information,” Sebastian smirked, pausing beside him. “Did I miss anything?”

Rosier gave him a knowing look as he took a drag on his cigarette. “I’ve not seen any sign of your pretty witch, if that’s what you mean,” he said, shaking his head. “Not much else has happened either. Unless you count Marvolo hexing that aggravating poacher that keeps playing the dodgy hand at cards.”

Amusement curved Sebastian’s mouth as they began to walk again, making their way towards the pub. “I’m surprised it took him this long, to be honest. She was blatantly cheating. Any news on Rookwood?”

“Funny you should ask,” Rosier said, his eyebrows lifting. “I hear he will be making an appearance this evening. It seems his little friend, Black Dahlia, has crawled out of the woodwork.”

Sebastian’s face darkened with a scowl at the mention of Rookwood’s informant, his dislike of the shifty witch blending with fury and mistrust ever since she had sent him into the horror of that prison and he had come out empty handed. There was something about her that made his skin itch. Devious and smug, her eyes still bothered him. Whatever enchantments she used to disguise her face didn’t work on her eyes, and he knew he had seen them before somewhere.

“I wonder what she could possibly be telling him,” he muttered, his stomach clenching with apprehension. If Black Dahlia was about to blow MC’s cover, then that could put the kneazle amongst the jobberknolls.

Rosier shrugged. “You know Rookwood. Everything is on a need to know basis, but I think he will be meeting with her tonight given his impending arrival.”

Deep in thought as they entered the pub, Sebastian considered the possibility that Rookwood might still allow MC to enter the gang despite knowing what she was really there for. She could be walking straight into a trap that would end with her ancient magic being extracted from her, and absorbed by Rookwood himself. The very idea made his spine feel like ice, his fear like claws around the back of his neck.

An idea was forming in his mind, and it turned his stomach if he had to be honest about it, but he just couldn’t risk MC walking into danger. No matter how powerful her magic could be.

“There’s something I need to do,” he said, patting Rosier on the back. “I won’t be long.”

“Anything you need some help with?” Rosier asked, a curious look in his eyes.

Sebastian shook his head, his face lighting up with one of his confident smiles despite the twisting feeling in his gut. “Nah, I’ve got this one.”

Stepping out of the pub, Sebastian didn’t think Rosier would even believe him if he told him where he was going. Moving into the deepening shadows, he pictured the fine house he had checked out a while ago down near the Thames, and Disapparated with a swirl of black.

The lights were lit inside the house giving a welcoming, warm glow from the windows, so somebody was at home. Sebastian climbed the neatly swept steps and eyed the fancy brass knocker, wondering if it would be the pretty wife who answered the fine front door as he knocked. Footsteps sounded from the other side, and when the door swung open, Sebastian grinned.

“Just the man I was wanting to see. Good evening, Andrew,” he greeted, with a nod of his head.

Andrew Larson frowned, a tinge of pink flushing across his cheeks as glanced nervously back over his shoulder. “How the bloody hells did you find me, Sallow?”

Sebastian tapped his finger against the side of his nose and winked, his cockiness shielding the true twist of his emotions as he faced the straight laced Ministry worker. “I can’t be revealing all of my secrets now, Larson. Don’t worry, though. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then, why are you here?” Andrew demanded, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his very smart waistcoat.

Sighing, still not entirely believing that he was actually going to do this, Sebastian fixed Andrew with a serious look. “I need to get an urgent message to Prewett. You can either tell me where to find him, right now, or promise me that you will get word to him immediately.”

Andrew looked irritated, his blush deepening as he shook his head. “I’ve told you before…”

“This is urgent,” Sebastian insisted, cutting him off, “It’s about the case he is working on with MC. If I don’t tell him what I know, then MC could be walking into a trap.”

Andrew stilled, his mouth parted as he considered Sebastian’s words. Swallowing hard, he nodded, pushing his fingers through his blonde hair. “Alright,” he conceded. “I will send a message. What is it you need him to know?”

Sebastian looked up towards the sky above his head. For once, the stars were visible, the smog had cleared for a while. It wasn’t quite the glorious, open display he was used to seeing as a boy, but it was enough to give him some hope. Bringing his gaze back to Andrew, he took a breath and set his look to one of determination.

“Ask Prewett to meet me in one hour. I will be at the Floo point near Gringotts. He must come alone, and tell nobody. He can’t risk the snitch in his office finding out. I hope you understand how important that is.”

Andrew paled. “Merlin’s beard,” he muttered. “Of course. I’ll send the message right away.”

Leander

Arriving home, the file feeling heavy in his pocket, Leander unlocked the door and entered to be greeted with a strange burning smell. He closed the door and MC turned to him from the little stove, a sheepish look on her face.

“I tried to cook dinner,” she said, grimacing as she gestured towards the pot on the side. “It didn’t go well.”

Pressing his lips together, Leander moved further into the room, trying to hide his amusement at the forlorn look on her face. A glance into the pot revealed a charred looking mess, and he wrinkled his nose. “What was it?”

“Beef hot pot,” she said, folding her arms, her chin tilting upwards defensively. “You said it was one of your favourites.”

The simple gesture of trying to cook for him had his cheeks turning pink with pleasure, no matter that she had probably ruined his cooking pot in the process. Touched at the thought behind it, he slid his hand along her jaw, gently cupping her face as bent to press a slow kiss against her forehead. “You are adorable,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips.

She wrinkled her nose and playfully shoved him. “Hardly,” she scoffed, but a blush was staining her cheeks. She looked down at the ruined dinner and sighed. “I guess we shall have to find something else for dinner.”

She rarely smiled, but tonight her face seemed softer, her lips teasing at one as he looked down at her. The file sat in his pocket like an exploding snapper waiting to go off. He hesitated, his hand lingering near his robe, ready to take out the file and hand it over to her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her face dropping. “Are you upset I ruined your pot?”

“No, no, of course not,” he assured her, his hands slipping about her waist. He held her close, their gazes meeting, his pulse flickering. “Let me fix us something to eat before you go out this evening,” he suggested.

“Or, I could stay in tonight?” She suggested, her teeth catching at her lower lip.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, his pulse picking up even more speed. As he was about to lower his mouth to hers, a loud tapping noise came from the window, both of them turning to see a gorgeous snowy owl on the ledge with a letter.

“That’s Andrew’s owl,” Leander said, frowning. He released MC and moved to open the window, the owl relinquishing the letter and nudging his hand for attention. Leander fed her a treat, scratching affectionately under her chin before she took off over the London rooftops. Tearing open the envelope, he noticed MC had moved closer towards him to have a look.

Gryffindor,

SS found me, he has an urgent message regarding the young lady you are assisting. She may be in danger. He wants you to meet him by the Floo outside Gringotts at 6.30pm. He also requested that you go alone, and tell nobody who might alert loose lips. Be careful.

Ravenclaw.

Leander read the note twice before lifting his eyes to the clock on his mantelpiece. He had 45 minutes until the meeting time.

“I’m going to assume this is about me,” MC said. He turned to her, his stomach sinking at the next words out of her mouth. “Who is ‘SS’? It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Sebastian.”

He nodded. “I think we can safely agree that it's him, yes.”

Her face hardened, the earlier softness disappearing. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly, tearing the parchment in two and throwing it into the dying flames of the stove. “If he sees you with me, he will be suspicious. We can’t be certain where his loyalties lie. Besides, this could be a trap.”

MC huffed, moving to keep herself in his sight. “All the more reason that you need back up,” she insisted. “Let me help you. That’s what I was let out for, right?”

“I will have some back up,” he said, thinking quickly as he glanced at the clock again. “I’ve got time to speak with Harrington first. He can come along, hang back and keep watch while I see what Sebastian wants.”

MC folded her arms, planting herself firmly in front of him, her gaze determined. “If you think I’m going to sit here like a good little girl, you can think again. This is about me, and I’m coming. I’ll hide if I have to, I’ve been doing a lot of that this week whilst creeping around Knockturn Alley.”

The fiery determination that flared in her gaze was one of the traits about her that drew him in. Staring at her now, he found himself weakening under that look, ignoring all the sensible parts of his brain and his Auror training, because he found it so difficult to refuse her. Rubbing his hand against his forehead, he sighed.

“Fine, you can come along,” he relented, catching the flicker of a satisfied smirk on her lips. He wasn’t completely foolish, though. “You can wait with Harrington while I speak with Sallow. At least you won’t get into any trouble that way.”

Now, it was his turn to smirk as she grimaced, her arms falling to her sides as her little hands curled into tight fists. He took her robe from the coat stand and held it up for her, his expression clearly implying that it was this way, or not at all.

“Fine,” she huffed, thrusting her arms into the soft, black robe. He adjusted it on her shoulders, smoothing his hands over them and down her arms before spinning her to face him.

The time was drawing ever closer to her reunion with Sebastian. Watching him from a distance was one thing, but being in his company was quite another. The little glimpses of softness she was offering to him were lodged firmly behind his ribs, the endless depths of her gaze his inevitable downfall. He really wasn’t sure he was ready to lose all of it, but at this moment, it felt as though she was about to slip through his fingers.

He cupped her face, her eyes widening slightly as he dipped his head, claiming her mouth in a firm kiss. She stilled, but then responded, kissing him back, her fingers grasping his arms. When their mouths parted, she looked up at him. “What was that for?”

His smile was almost sad as he tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Sebastian

He barely felt the prick on his finger tip, the blood welling up swiftly into a ruby orb before he smoothed it over the surface of the old compass. Closing his eyes he muttered the charm, aiming his wand towards the location device and bonding himself to it. Relaxing his pose, Sebastian picked up the compass, the needle spinning erratically at his close proximity to it. Whoever held this in their possession would be able to track him for the next 12 hours or so.

He didn’t particularly relish the idea of giving someone that much power over him, but if it meant he could help MC, then it was worth it. Tucking the compass safely into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled on his black coat and envisioned the Floo point outside Gringotts bank before Disapparating away to meet with Prewett.

Diagon Alley was dark and quiet, the lamp lights reflecting off the slick cobbled street after a recent shower of rain. Sebastian avoided the patches of light, lingering in the shadows as he waited. There was a bite to the air this evening, his shoulders hunching as he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. Nerves tingled down his spine and he frowned, adjusting his collar as he reminded himself that he could take Prewett if he had a need to. He still couldn’t believe he was here, willingly about to assist an Auror.

The sound of approaching footsteps had him on alert, his hand smoothing over the familiar feel of his wand as he withdrew it. The tall frame of Prewett appeared out of the darkness, his robe swaying softly in the light of the street lamp as he walked towards the Floo point. He had his wand in his hand, his profile cutting an impressive line against the backdrop of the street. Sebastian stepped from his dark spot, moving in a casual but ready stroll.

“You made it, then,” he drawled, spinning his wand. Leander turned to face him, nodding once in greeting. “I did wonder if you would come.”

“You said it was urgent,” Prewett said, not moving too close as they sussed each other out. “What did you need to tell me?”

Sebastian glanced up and down the street, no sign of anyone else nearby. “Where is she, then?” His eyes narrowed as he studied Prewett, checking for any tells as he huffed and shook his head.

“How would I know? You said to come alone, and I’ve not told anyone. So, come on, out with it. Some of us have got work to do.”

Twirling his wand slowly, Sebastian suspected that Prewett knew more than he would admit about MC. Ominis had found them together at the Ministry, even hinting that there was something almost friendly between them both. It made Sebastian’s skin crawl with envy to think of her smiling at Prewett, the very idea that this insufferable goody-two-shoes could make her happy made him want to smash something.

He had no choice but to rely on Prewett, though. If they had anything in common, it was their affection for MC. Prewett wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about her.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else nearby, but that didn’t mean anything. Anyone could be hidden, watching this scene play out. Another Auror, perhaps, to back him up. What was to stop them getting their information and then arresting him on the spot? He had to be quick and careful, suggest his idea before anyone could get too excited with a wand. Sebastian stepped closer, holding up his hand as Prewett raised his wand.

“I know you have a snitch in your office,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s a woman, but she disguises her face with a charm. I don’t trust her. She told us details about MC at Rookwood’s request. He is up to something, and I don’t like it.”

He had to be so careful what he said, not revealing too much, but letting slip just enough to gain some trust. He could see Prewett thinking over his words, his teeth worrying at his lip.

“We know there has been a leak,” Prewett said, keeping his wand at the ready. “What is Rookwood up to? You said MC could be in danger.”

Sebastian couldn’t resist a sly smirk, baiting Prewett about MC was just too easy. He could see the worry in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. “Rookwood wants her power, Prewett, and he is using the snitch to find out what he can about MC,” he said. “He is meeting with her later this evening. She goes by the name Black Dahlia. If you’re willing, I can lead you to them.”

“Why would you do that?” Prewett narrowed his eyes.

“Because you are not the only one who cares what happens to MC,” Sebastian said simply, taking the compass from his pocket. “Here, take this.”

Tossing the compass forward, Prewett caught it easily, turning it over in his fingers as he studied it. “A compass?”

“It’s been charmed with my blood. It will follow me,” Sebastian explained. He slipped his wand back into its holster as Prewett held up the compass, his eyebrows lifting as it clearly pointed towards Sebastian. “Track me to the meeting point, and you will have your snitch.”

Prewett turned the compass over in his hand thoughtfully. “What’s in it for you?”

Sebastian shrugged, not really willing to unload the thoughts in his head to a man that could easily be classed as an enemy. He dared not say too much, slowly backing up away from the tall Auror. “You can owe me one,” he smirked. “Follow the compass, and catch your snitch. If you see MC, tell her I miss her, and that I am looking forward to seeing her again.”

He caught the subtle tightening of Prewett’s mouth, the downward turn of his brows. The tug of war between them over MC was nothing new, something that had begun in their school days, and now continued as adults. The stakes were higher now. Life outside of Hogwarts was darker and more dangerous, no professors to watch over them. Sebastian cared not for the authority of the Aurors, and he knew how to play dirty if he had to.

MC was obviously watching him, turning up outside the Black Rose that night, appearing in the bar itself a few days later. If she truly was planning to infiltrate the gang and spy for the law, then it was only a matter of time before she was within his reach again. He just needed to be patient.

Despite this, he couldn’t resist having a dig at Prewett, his smirk devilish as he disappeared into the shadows before Disapparating swiftly to The Black Rose.

MC

The breeze cut sharply across the back of her neck, making her huddle under the soft material of her robe as she peered down into the street below. Perched on the rooftop of a Diagon Alley shop, MC could see Leander as he stood near the Floo point, talking to a stocky figure that was partially hidden by shadow. Both men were holding their wands, and she could only imagine the kind of taunts that Sebastian was throwing Leander’s way. The slow creeping worry that this was a trap hadn’t left her, and she held her own wand out ready. It would burn her blood to cast against Sebastian, but she wasn’t about to see Leander get hurt on her account either.

“What are you thinking, little bird?” Harrington asked quietly. He was crouched down nearby, keeping watch on the men below alongside her. “I hear you’ve been stretching your wings and keeping an eye on these bastards. Do you think lover boy is setting a trap?”

MC shifted slightly, pulling her robe closer around her with her free hand, but she kept her gaze fixed below. The term ‘lover boy’ could now be applied to both men down there, but Harrington couldn’t know about her and Leander. It was their secret. “Why do you think I insisted on coming along? You may be skilled Aurors, but I can bring down an entire room in the blink of an eye, and Sebastian knows that.”

“He doesn’t know you’re on our side, though, does he?”

MC shrugged, her eyes glittering as she threw a glance his way. She didn’t like him, not one bit, and it was clear the feeling was mutual. “That all depends on how loose the lips are on your snitch, doesn’t it?”

Smirking at Harrington’s frown, she returned her attention back to the street, and realised Sebastian was backing up. “It looks like they are done. That was quick.”

Leander waited for a few moments before Apparating, appearing on the rooftop beside them with a pop. He shifted into a crouch, holding out a worn compass and filled them in on what Sebastian had told him.

“The snitch is a woman?” Harrington said, scratching his chin. “Smart to use a disguising charm, I must say, but bloody annoying when it comes to identifying her.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Leander asked, studying the compass. The arrow spun a few times and then settled, pointing in one direction. Leander followed it with his eyes. “If this really is tracking Sallow, then he is in Knockturn Alley.”

“Let’s follow him and find out,” MC said, a restless feeling settling over her.

“You’re not going anywhere, little bird,” Harrington said, firmly. “I indulged your request for this meeting, but you need to leave the Auror business to the Aurors.”

“Are you kidding me?” MC scoffed, an irritated frown darkening her face. “If you were doing such a good job on your own, you wouldn’t have needed to release me from Azkaban to do your dirty spying for you. Plus, I’m more powerful than the two of you put together.”

Harrington’s face darkened with a flush as he raised an authoritative finger up at her. “Now listen here…”

“Enough!” Leander hissed, holding his hands up at both of them. “There’s no point bickering amongst ourselves. MC, if you’re seen with us, then the game is up. They will know not to trust you.”

She wasn’t going to back down, folding her arms and tilting her chin upwards, her eyes flashed with determination. “I know how to stay hidden,” she said stubbornly. “If this is about me, then I want to be there. I particularly want to lay eyes on Rookwood if I can. I still find it hard to believe that the bastard is alive.”

She may have seen it in Leander’s pensieve memories, but she needed to see it with her own eyes. She turned her attention to Leander, knowing that he would be easier to persuade. Guilty of using his affections for her, she softened her gaze slightly, and she saw his resolve waver.

“You really think you can stay back and not get involved if things become difficult?” Leander asked, earning a huff from Harrington. “You cannot blow your cover, not even for Sebastian.”

Harrington’s gaze narrowed on her and she shifted slightly, but her resolve to accompany them remained. “I won’t blow my cover,” she agreed. “However, you had best make sure you aren’t on the receiving end of any curses so I don’t have to.”

“Is that so?” Harrington asked, his gaze narrowing even more as he glanced between the two of them. “How touching.”

MC felt her cheeks burn and she bit her lip, resorting to sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not living up to my super villain persona?”

Leander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I could go alone.”

“No!”

Both MC and Harrington had spoken at the same time, the pair of them glancing at the other in surprise. MC immediately stiffened her spine as she got to her feet, the two Aurors following suit. Leander held out the compass, the needle still pointing towards Knockturn Alley. “Sallow doesn’t seem to have moved yet,” he said.

MC moved closer towards him, linking her arm firmly around his. “And when he does, I’m coming with you.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Harrington said, sighing as he looked at them both.

“What other choice do we have?” Leander asked. “This could be our only chance to catch whoever is leaking out information. The danger of MC’s cover being blown is higher because of the snitch more than anything else.”

“Alright, fine. We will do it your way,” Harrington said, waving a hand in resignation as he settled back down against the rooftop ledge. “I guess all we have to do for now is wait.”

Leander met her gaze and she gave him a small smile, her eyes softening as she gave his arm a subtle squeeze. She wasn’t about to let him go, not even when he moved to sit down as Harrington had done. Huddled together on the rooftop, she leant against Leander’s solid frame, telling herself it was to keep warm as they waited.

It wasn’t too long before Leander gave her a nudge, her head lifting from where she had almost dozed off against him. He held up the compass. “Sallow has moved,” he said, looking over at Harrington. “It’s time.”

Sebastian

The distant rumble of a muggle train echoed down the tunnel, the atmosphere tight with tension as torch light flickered against old stone. Rookwood stood calmly checking his fingernails, wearing his usual long coat and top hat. He seemed unconcerned, and yet Sebastian was bristling with apprehension. Black Dahlia could reveal MC’s plans to spy on the Ashwinders, blow her cover and place her in even more danger than Sebastian already suspected she was in. The nagging worry about the magic extraction still played on his mind, and now he had handed over a tracking device to an Auror that placed himself in a rather dodgy situation, too. What was to stop Prewett barging in here with a horde of Aurors and hauling them off to Azkaban? If the Dementors didn’t get him, then Rookwood would in revenge.

“Why are we meeting her in the tunnels?” Sebastian grumbled, shifting his weight to his other leg as he glanced down towards the entrance again.

“Why indeed?” Rookwood smirked, dipping his hand inside his coat pocket and pulling out a very old looking wooden box. He smoothed his fingers over it with reverence. “Demanding a higher price means higher stakes, Sallow. I chose the meeting point this time.”

Something that felt suspiciously like anxiety began to creep over Sebastian as he eyed Rookwood and the old box. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

There was a gleam in Rookwood’s eyes as he held it up. “This old thing?” With a slow smirk, he creaked open the lid. “Just some old necklace a Queen used to wear. I doubt she will miss it seeing as she no longer has a head.”

Sebastian recognised the string of pearls and its pendant immediately, his eyes widening in shock. “You’re not going to give Anne Boleyn’s necklace to Black Dahlia are you?”

Rookwood gave him a sly look. “Why am I not surprised that you recognise it? The goons I sent to steal it had no idea what it was, the fools,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t think our little friend has earned a treat, then?”

“No,” Sebastian huffed. “I don’t trust her one bit.”

Rookwood only smiled, the box disappearing back into his pocket with a subtle turn of his hand. “That makes two of us, my dear boy. Why do you think I insisted you accompany me this evening?”

The tension in Sebastian’s shoulders tightened, but he kept his face as neutral as possible as he shrugged indifferently.

“If Black Dahlia doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, then you get to make use of those delectable Crucio skills of yours, Sallow. I don’t like to be disappointed, and should she let me down, I want to hear that bitch scream before I decide how to punish her. Down here, there is less chance of her being heard.”

“What is it you want her to say?” Sebastian fought back the bile trying to rise in his throat, the memory of almost losing himself the last time he cast the torture spell crowding into his thoughts.

Rookwood smiled that irritating, smug smile of his as he adjusted his coat, standing all expectant as though waiting for something pleasurable to arrive. “Let’s just say I’ve asked our little friend to do some deeper digging about our elusive prisoner. I’m hoping she is as good at finding buried treasure as she is at clever disguises.”

The effort to maintain the tight control over his emotions was almost strangling as Sebastian stood there beside Rookwood, his eyes tight and adrenaline kicking in something fierce, as they waited for Black Dahlia to arrive. If she had pleasing news for Rookwood, then he was going to need to think fast, because under no circumstances could he allow her to say it.

All of that with the potential for an Auror ambush weighing him down, and all Sebastian could do was wait. Whatever happened, Black Dahlia would not be walking out of here with that necklace, not if he had anything to do with it.

MC

It struck her as a little ironic that she was stalking Sebastian Sallow with two Aurors cloaked in the very spell he had taught her to hide herself. She clung to the shadows still, her presence barely a shimmer as she remained a few feet back from Leander and Harrington while they followed the path of the tracking compass. Sticking to more traditional methods and walking, MC felt the tiredness creeping into her legs, not used to so much exercise. It didn’t help that they appeared to be wandering in a circle, and she sighed as Leander paused, frowning as he glanced around the street and back down at the compass.

Harrington leaned forward to get a look. “It’s just spinning erratically. Where the bloody hell is he? I knew this was a bad idea. Sallow is a trickster, make no mistake.”

Disappointment flooded through MC as she bit her lip, fearing that Harrington was right. It worried her that Sebastian had gone too far and she wouldn’t be able to pull him back. It made her fear that she would fall into darkness, too.

She dared to creep closer, pausing beside Leander as she watched the arrow spin. “He should be right here,” she whispered. She glanced up at the buildings around them. “Do you think he could be above us?”

“Bloody hell, you’re a genius,” Leander said, his face brightening. “Maybe not above us, but what about below. In the tunnels.”

Harrington clapped him on the shoulder, nodding firmly. “You’re right, lad,” he said. “Time to go back underground again. Stay close, little bird, and stay out of sight.”

Both her arms and legs were aching now as she climbed down a ladder, shivering as her hands grabbed at the cold iron. Leander had gone first, checking the lower tunnel out as she descended, Harrington waiting above. Descending into a dark tunnel didn’t exactly inspire much excitement, if anything she was pressing down on tendrils of dread, flashbacks of dark stone and the distant crashing of waves making her chest tighten. She was near the bottom when she felt warm hands grazing against her thighs, gently sliding upwards to cup her hips and help her down. This time her shiver wasn’t because of the cold.

“Careful, there is water down here,” Leander murmured close to her head.

“I’m surprised you could see me,” she whispered, turning to face him, only the barest glimmer suggesting she was even there.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled, his hand caressing up over her waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. Staring up at his face, she allowed some of her guard to slip knowing he couldn’t see her expression, her face soft and her eyes burning at the feel of his hand at her waist.

Anxious about what might happen down here, to him, to Sebastian, worried about herself being discovered too soon by Rookwood, she took this stolen moment before Harrington arrived to savour being this close to Leander before she had to step away. She reached up, her fingers ghosting across his jaw, her thumb grazing his lower lip.

“Don’t get hurt, alright?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he whispered, his eyes searching the space where her head should be as he placed his hand over hers. “Leave the worrying to me, MC. I’ll be fine.”

The ladder shuddered behind them, and they moved away, parting from each other as Harrington huffed his way to the tunnel floor. MC moved back from them both, her fingers grazing against Leander’s once more. She did worry for him, it tightened her chest, the fear of losing him so very real as she stared down the length of the tunnel. She hated to admit it, but she agreed with Harrington. She had a bad feeling about this.

Sebastian

Black Dahlia and her brown eyes remained the same irritation as ever, her face a vague and plain visage that made him blink with uncertainty if he tried to focus on it for too long, but he could make out the smug smirk that twisted her lips as she stood before them. Rookwood had offered a glimpse of her prize, those brown eyes igniting with greedy excitement before he had snapped the lid shut again, the box vanishing into his coat before she could make any move.

“So, what do you have for me?” Rookwood asked, holding out his hand with a flourish.

Black Dahlia shifted, bowing her head slightly as she cleared her throat, almost rivalling Rookwood in the dramatics department. Sebastian watched her carefully, his stomach tied up in knots and his hand at the ready to aim his wand. There was a tension in the chilly air, he could feel it, tight and hot at the back of his neck.

“As far as any official records go regarding MC, there are very few,” she began. “She lived as a muggle until her arrival at Hogwarts when she was 15.”

Rookwood rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, we know all that. Get on with it.”

“Well, that’s just it, Mr Rookwood. There are no other files, unless they are buried deep within the archives, or they are inside the Department of Mysteries. I do, however, have some interesting information from the case that will benefit you. Perhaps that will be enough?”

Her eyes dipped greedily to his jacket where the box had disappeared, and Sebastian wrapped his fingers around the handle of his wand. This bitch was about to blow MC’s cover, and all for the hunger over a piece of jewellery she had no damn right to.

“What kind of information?” Rookwood asked impatiently.

She stiffened, her brown eyes darkening as she fixed them on Sebastian. “You dare to draw your wand on me, Sallow? Interesting…”

Sebastian could feel a bead of sweat trickle down behind his ear, his heart thudding double time as he stared at her. The flicker of a memory flashed behind his eyes, an office with paperwork scattering through the air…adrenaline pumping thick and fast, a pair of brown eyes, determined and feline.

“You’re an Auror,” he said calmly, recognition sweeping through him.

She chuckled, waving off his words with a delicate shrug. “Oh, Sebastian. Always trying to outsmart everyone, aren’t you?”

Risking a glance at Rookwood, Sebastian could see the hesitation, the first glimmer of suspicion as he watched them both carefully. Realising exactly who this bitch was, a plan began to form in his mind, especially if Prewett was on his way here. He withdrew his wand fully and aimed at Black Dahlia.

“You’re an Auror,” he said, firmly this time. “You chased me through the warehouse in Glasgow and attacked Miss Rookwood. How do we know there aren’t more Aurors lurking back there in the tunnel waiting for us?”

“Preposterous!” She scoffed, but a flare of panic lit her eyes. She even took a subtle step backwards.

Sebastian stepped forward, his confidence showing on his face. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he taunted. “It was you, wasn’t it. You found me in that office and chased me down the stairs.”

Black Dahlia shook her head but took another step backwards, her eyes turning to Rookwood. “I think your guard dog is losing his Gobstones,” she said, attempting another laugh. Her hand dipped slowly into her robe, clearly going for her wand. “Call him off, or I won’t tell you a thing.”

Before she had a chance to make a single attempt with her wand, Sebastian hit her with a basic cast, hitting her on the hand. She yelped, her wand clattering to the stone floor. As if they had timed it perfectly, Prewett and Harrington appeared in the tunnel behind her.

“Aurors,” Rookwood hissed, his icy eyes narrowing in hatred as he glared at Black Dahlia. “Do what you do best, Sallow.”

In a swirl of black, Rookwood was gone, and Black Dahlia paled as her gaze flicked from Sebastian to her wand on the ground. A slow, and dangerous smirk curved Sebastian’s mouth as he fell easily into a duelling stance. It was time to play.

Leander

Everything seemed to happen so fast, and yet any movement appeared sluggish as though slowed down. Harrington was running, his wand out, Sallow’s name on his lips as the first spells lit up the bricked curve of the tunnel. A woman in a heavy robe had rolled across the ground, snatching up a wand to fire defensive spells towards Sebastian. Leander hesitated for a few seconds, watching in fascination as Sallow attacked her with ferocity, his face livid with hatred. The speed of his movements, and the skill of his accuracy was something to behold.

Harrington cast against Sebastian, but he blocked it easily, firing off a lightning quick Stupify that sent Harrington crashing rigidly into the wall. That unstuck Leander’s feet from where they had been rooted to the spot, and he took off at a run, wand out.

The blast of Sebastian’s next spell lit the tunnel in bright red, the shooting blast cutting through the space with deadly accuracy as it hit the robed woman in her chest. Her cry echoed off the walls as she was thrown backwards, arms and legs flailing outwards, her robe flaring wide before she slammed into solid brick with a sickening crack.

Leander skidded to a stop, his pulse roaring in his ears as he stared, her body dropping to the ground like a ragdoll. She rolled, one arm slipping down into the gurgling rush of water that ran along the side of the tunnel, blood pooling thick and fast under her head and running down to swirl in the dirty stream. Gasping in a breath, he turned to Sebastian.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asked. The question was useless, but it was taking a moment for his brain to catch up with what he was seeing. “Is she…she’s dead.”

“It was going to be her, or me, and I don’t like losing,” Sebastian said, pushing a hand through his hair. He shook his head and shrugged. He gestured towards the dead woman, her glassy eyes staring up at nothing. “There’s your snitch, Prewett. I guess there won’t be any leaks from your office where she is concerned. You might want to check if your colleague is alright. I tried not to hurt him too much.”

Leander glanced at Harrington who was frozen rigid on the ground, but his eyes were pulled back towards the dead woman, a crease appearing on his brow as her face began to change. He moved closer, his palm sweaty around the handle of his wand where he was gripping it too hard. Her brown eyes, frozen in death, looked familiar, her nose moulding into a pretty little curve, her cheekbones becoming graceful and her jawline delicate. Everything being revealed was painfully familiar.

For years, she had worked alongside him, right through their training together, and then taking the desk next to his back at the office. He knew the scent of her perfume, could pick out her laugh in a busy room, and had looked into her eyes on so many occasions when she had indulged in her playful flirting with him. That girl had been vibrant and alive, crackling with energy and so skilled with a wand. This girl, laying on the cold, hard ground, was empty and lost as she stared upwards into the dark.

“No,” he said softly, beginning to shake his head. “No, it can’t be…it just can’t.”

Shock made his breathing turn ragged, his eyes blinking as he tried to deny the familiar face that was emerging from the disguise now fading after her death. He couldn’t deny the truth that was sprawled on the ground at his feet, her blood flowing into the dirty water, her face already pale and lifeless. It was Odessa. She was the snitch. This whole time, she had been playing her game, and he had been the fool to fall for it.

Sebastian

Guilt was a strange creature. He had felt it many times over the last few years, the bone gnawing horror of it, the sickening pull that made you nauseous, the tormenting dreams that came to taunt you in the small hours. Everyone always said that the first one was the worst, and his first killing had been a horrific, heart wrenching incident that had torn his family apart. It had almost destroyed him, taken his girls from him, and he still woke up sweating from nightmares. There had been others since then, his arm a decorated memorial to lives taken by his hand, and it really didn’t get any easier. Those who said that it did were liars.

The tunnel was eerily quiet, the trickling rush of water a constant sound that was occasionally accompanied by the distant rumble of a train. He could hear the thud of his own heart pulsing in his ears, that cold sweat on the back of his neck making him shiver as he watched Prewett see the unveiling of their office snitch. He wouldn’t say he had ever cared much for the tall Gryffindor, but the expression on his face brought a lump to Sebastian’s throat regardless. Clearly, he had known her. Maybe he was even close to her. The betrayal on Prewett’s face was heavy and painful to witness.

Looking down at Black Dahlia, her face now revealed exactly who he had suspected her to be. It was the Auror that had chased him in Glasgow. He wished he could regret killing her, but despite the guilt and the new mark he would need to brand into his arm, it was for the best. He had stopped her from spilling any information about MC, and Rookwood was none the wiser for a while longer.

Leander turned, his freckled face flushed red as he made a furious grab for the front of Sebastian’s coat. “What is it with you, Sallow? You always have to go too far, don’t you? You didn’t have to kill her! Look at her!”

Sebastian wouldn’t look, he didn’t need to. He would never forget her face, he never did with the ones he killed. He grabbed at Prewett’s wrists, surprised again at how strong he was as they struggled against each other.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you’re going to be very disappointed,” he said, grunting as he found himself being forced backwards, his boots scraping on stone. “I did you a favour, Prewett. She was a dirty snitch.”

“Bastard,” Prewett hissed, shoving him hard and making him stumble.

Immediately, Sebastian aimed his wand, but gasped in shock as two hands clamped around his arm, fingers digging in like claws. A shimmering shape began to solidify, his eyes widening and his lips parting in disbelief as a familiar face came into view.

Healthier than the pensieve memory he had seen, but still pale, MC glared up at him with eyes blazing. He knew those eyes, he dreamed about them all the time, and now she was finally here before him. He stared at her, the fight draining out of him immediately.

“MC,” he croaked, a dizzying and overwhelming rush of joy sweeping over him.

“Don’t hurt him,” she warned, her mouth set in a familiar, determined line.

Time seemed to dip out of existence as they stared at each other. It was hard to believe that she was actually standing there, that those fingers gripping his forearm were hers. Sebastian couldn’t tear his gaze from her. He was too scared to in case she disappeared.

He slowly lowered his wand, his eyes devouring the lines of MC’s face, sweeping down over her slight frame that was hidden by a long, dark robe. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind had gone blank, he couldn’t find the words, and a simple ‘hello’ just didn’t seem right given the circumstances. His hand lifted, reaching out as if to touch her, but she let him go and stepped back.

Was that a flicker of fear in her eyes? She recovered herself quickly, her face becoming almost indifferent as she made to walk away, but he had seen something that almost crippled him.

This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to play out. He had imagined this moment for years, ached for so long to be this close to her, and yet she felt further away than ever.

“Wait,” he begged, his hand grasping at her sleeve. She paused, that flash of vulnerability there, and then gone again as she stared at him.

“You should have stayed hidden, little bird,” Harrington said, shaking off the effects of being stupefied as he came to stand beside Prewett. “Step away from Sallow, now. He’s going down for murder. Quite the pair you two make, taking out Aurors like it means nothing.”

Both Aurors had their wands at the ready, and Sebastian was a wanted criminal. He had taken down one of their own right in front of them, no matter that she was a dirty snitch. He had still killed her. He tightened his grip on MC’s sleeve. Nobody was going to take her away from him. Not again.

“I know I should have stayed hidden,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. It felt so good to see it, he almost smiled.

Prewett held out his hand towards her, and to Sebastian’s horror, she moved forwards. Refusing to let her go, Sebastian tugged her back, her gaze swinging back to him in alarm. Panic seized him. Why would she go to Prewett so willingly?

“Let her go, Sallow,” Prewett warned, a desperate edge to his voice.

MC turned to look at Prewett, her face softening in a way that Sebastian yearned for. “It’s alright, Lee. He won’t hurt me,” she said.

Sebastian felt that curling, hideous twist of envy solidify in his stomach as he watched them both. The look that passed between them was far too intimate for his liking, and he most certainly didn’t like the way she had shortened Prewett’s name. That screamed familiarity, and it sent a shard of ice through his chest.

“I would never hurt you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice hoarse. The haunted look she gave him tore him to shreds.

“Let her go, boy,” Harrington pressed, his eyes determined as he aimed his wand.

Four years ago he had been a broken teenage boy, and Harrington had come for MC, tearing her from his arms and dragging her away in nought but her nightgown. He hadn’t been able to stop it, and while he might still be that broken boy deep inside sometimes, his outer layers had become thicker and stronger over the years, and he had promised to himself that he would never let anyone take those that he loved away from him ever again.

This time, it was him Harrington wanted, but the stakes were the same.

Pulling MC towards him, he wrapped his arm firmly about her waist as her back hit his chest, her breath leaving her in a gasp. He saw the panic flare in Prewett’s eyes, the desperate way he reached out for her, but MC was his, she always had been. He held her tight and fixed a destination in mind. In a blink, they were gone from the tunnel, Prewett’s protest ringing in his ears.

They hit the dirt and rolled, cold night air stinging his face as he winced at the impact, but he didn’t let MC go. He felt as well as heard her gasping breaths, her body tiny and frail under the press of his arms, but she caught him by surprise. Her hands flailed and she bucked against him, slapping out at him wherever she could land a blow.

“What…did you…do?” She wheezed, thrashing like a wildcat. “Bastard!”

Her hands continued to hit out, but they were like tiny birds against the firm bulk of his chest. He scrambled to catch her arms, grunting in surprise as her fist landed with a smack against his jaw. As she hit him, she screamed through gritted teeth, her eyes wild and rolling as though she was in pain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he feared that if he let her go, she would Apparate immediately, and he did not want that to happen. Grabbing her wrists, he rolled them both, pinning her arms above her head into the carpet of dirt and leaves.

“Will you stop? I’m not going to bloody hurt you,” he snapped.

Looking down at her, a jumble of emotions burst through him, pride at the fire she still possessed, joy at the sight of her beautiful face, and burning desire to feel those lips crushed against his. He had fucking missed her!

“Let me go,” she hissed, lifting her head and kicking her legs against the ground.

“No,” he said simply, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ve waited a long time to see you, darling. If you think I’m going to let you go so easily, then you’re mistaken.”

He should have been ready when he saw the way her jaw tightened, the barest glimmer of her ancient magic searing the edges of those gorgeous eyes. Her knee slammed upwards and he groaned, relinquishing his hold on her and slumping sideways. She shoved him to his back and was instantly on him, her knees straddling his waist, her hands wrapped around his thick neck.

The little minx had winded him, his ribs expanding as he tried to catch his breath, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Even though he felt the tight grip of her hands around his throat as he tried to swallow.

“That’s better,” she said, puffing from the exertion of their tumble. Her eyes roamed over his face and that flicker of vulnerability appeared in her eyes again, just before it was shielded with fierce determination. “You and I need to have a little chat, Sallow.”

He stared up at her, trying to remember the last time he had felt this happy. He didn’t even try to remove her hands from his throat. He lifted his arms above his head, hands open in a move that was uncharacteristically submissive. His mouth curved into another smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

To be continued…

Taglist: @eternalremorse and @slytherin-paramour for being angels. My lovely readers @evaslytherpuff @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @ravenbronze @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #leander prewett x mc #leander prewett #blueraineshadows #blood bound

[swifty-fox]

i fucking LOVE kink psychology and talking abt it bc i've said it b4 and ill say it again: ppl are so fucking critical abt kinks without really understanding what kink is. like bdsm being called abuse when its so much deeper than that pisses me off sm. i just think kinks r neat

Kinks are so neat! People are weird and like to do weird stuff in bed! it usually ties back to their childhood in some capacity. t's kinda why I'm writing this Dom Gale au. I wanna explore kink with them in a real and accurate way

“What about people who say it’s abuse? I mean, what's the separation between some asshole who beats his girlfriend and then the dude in a leather mask whipping his until she bleeds?” 

It’s a blunt question, the kind of thing that would come off as rude if it wasn’t the whole reason John was here. Gale folds his fingers together, presses the steeple of his pointers to his nose and regards John. 

“When I dominate someone I am playing a role. I mirror them, make them feel comfortable.”

“You’re doing it now,” John points out, had noted the way Gale kept his body full on and open towards him, their shoulders aligned, hands in similar positions save fro when the blonde was speaking.

“So are you,” Gale shoots right back, grinning wider. 

“Journalist Jedi powers.” John winks at him.

Things are looser now, two friends chatting instead of an interview. It surprised John, the ease with which they slide into it.

“My question stands, though,” John asks, taking another sip of his tea. “What’s the difference?” 

“Consent. I’m selling someone their fantasy. And if they don’t like it or don’t want it then it stops with a single word. If you want to come at it from a psychological angle I’m giving someone a therapeutic space to explore desires they may be scared or ashamed of. I’m giving them safety and comfort and attention.” 

Gale looks John over, his eyes assessing. Though what for, John is not sure. “When I’m alone with someone I am in control of their safety. Mental and physical. It’s a thrill, having that power; and it’s a responsibility I don't take lightly. It’s like flying.”

#swiftytalks #clegan #swiftywrites #kitchern sink au

[alexa-nowak]

One of my old texts from YouTube arguments about Astarion endings

I am not that invested in this discourse nowadays because I lost hope to change anyone's opinion and also, I am simply tired from dealing with toxic bs that I am getting as a response to some of my old comments on YT to this day. My favourites are those who will reply to my every comment to say how delulu I am and I probably just dreaming about being in a toxic relationships myself, while being unable to understand that people have their own ways to heal through art and that throwing poison on people like that is not helpful at all.

I will leave it there and funny enough, I am not even so much of AA fan, I just don't like people being ignorant and rude.

And I like writing essays, so here it is.

So, what this dark romance fantasy is about for me personally,(even though i prefer spawn romance, i absolutely understand the appeal of asc Astarion because honestly, i was all about this kind of romance during my childhood and teenage years, hardocore the Phantom of the Opera girl is here, inside your head 💀), and why it's also healing route for some players,and no, it's not about kinky vampiric banging.

1)A lot of people feel extremely worthless and insecure, lonely, like no one really cares for them at all. It's a very deep wound that hurts and it's difficult to overcome even in perfectly loving, healthy and supportive relationship with a good partner,and even with therapy. So fantasy about a vampire, being obsessed with you so much that he is ready to do absolutely anything just to be with you for forever is really comforting. Also,you don't have to think too much about your imperfections, because for him you like a center of his vampire heart.

Besides, you sympathise with him - it's like a selfcomfort mirror, i love this monster despite everything, so in a way, i accept myself despite any flaws i see in me.

2) Safety. When the world around you feel like a wilderness, full of monsters, it feels like only the most terrifying loving monster can protect you from it. He is powerful and protective, and i am so precious to him, that he will set the world on fire just so i would be safe.

3) Responsibility. As you may see, this kind of relationship have daddy issues vibes and codependency, and in real life, you can't just fully submit safely to anyone, I don't think i have to explain why it's a dangerous idea to seek this kind of relationships in real life. You have to stay a grown up independent person and seek safety for yourself without expecting someone to come and heal all your wounds. But this is fantasy, so finally you can use this as a comfort fantasy with no fear about being taking advantage of, without shame to be called childish and etc.

4) Independence. Spawn ending is very terrifying for anyone who has issues with feeling safe and independent, because some of us prefer violent power fantasies over "we have each other and that's all that matters", second of all, this ending also has some shady co-dependency undertone to it that can be triggering for some people. I love Spawn Astarion a little bit more more than Asc and yet my heart stayed absolutely broken after running away from the sun scene, and i hate that he is so dependent on Tav. Larian owes me some emotional refund after this.

5)SA trauma: it wasn't even seen as a possibility for healing way by writer, but it is for some.Asc Astarion feels like he is the most powerful creature in the world,and he is fully controlling everything that happens between him and Tav,so finally, it's a kind of situation where there is no chance of him being abused again. It's one of the reasons why some people become Doms in BDSM dynamic relationships: finally, full control of the process and a partner, who trusts then enough to fully submit, trust issues is also big deal in Astarion story of healing. I find idea that that only Subs can enjoy Asc Astarion a little bit naive. Because,well, some news for you: Doms like it too because they understand why he is so eager to be a top :D

Unrealistic, not the healthiest way? Probably! But this man and this love is not real anyway.

Yes, i think many of us, especially folks who went through therapy and a lot of self reflecting are already aware that it's basically romanticized version of narcissistic obsession and in real life this is creepy, but it's not real, it's a fantasy. People use BDSM to heal, romance books and all other forms of art to deal with their inner demons and it's absolutely normal. Even if someone is blind to see what is wrong with Asc Astarion, I highly doubt that toxic bucket of shame and aggression are able to help see anyone problematic side of things. Do you know who is usually up to romanticize toxic dynamic in romance? Victims of abuse. In real life, if you just scream and yell at any poor girl/boy/whatever about how stupid they are for believing that their abusive partner really loves them, people will either break down and cry or tell you to f#ck off and they will have every right to do so, but they won't see what's wrong with their partner,in whom quite often victims of abuse see their only source of love and safety in life.

Hells, I am so sick and tired from this "white cloak knight saviour from cycle of abuse" toxic flood in this fandom. If you really want to educate people - do it with extreme care and compassion. Real life healing is not working like it's with Astarion in the game,few right dialogs and boom, dude is on the right path.

It takes enormous amount of patience and love, be kind to one another, and stay safe, darlings. Being toxic on Asc fans you are not helping anyone, you just hitting your superiority complex button in your ass.

#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 discourse #also I passionately hate modern fandom culture and politics around liking the bad guy #and surface level twitter psychology that is so popular right now #Spotify #fandom discourse

[carefulfears]

thinking about "you have a life" / "i don't know what i have" + "what do you want, dana?" / "i want everything that i should want at this time of my life" + the perceived shame in scully's loss of normalcy... "unlike you, mulder, i would like to have a life" + "do you believe in the afterlife?" / "i'd settle for a life in this one" + "don't you ever want to just stop? get out of the damn car? settle down and live something approaching a normal life?"

her friend ellen saying, "well, first you have to get a life." tara, pregnant with their christmas gift, saying that life before one grew inside her was "somehow...less, just a prelude," while barren dana cries in the kitchen. "i know you and dad were...disappointed...that i chose the path that i'm on."

thinking about how mulder said, "this is a normal life," and how she smiled. (he doesn't know any different). how, in the end, he said, "hey, scully? i know it's not your normal life, but thanks for coming out there with me."

(christmas before quantico, "i guess i'm afraid of making a big mistake. dad thinks i am." and missy's response: "it's not his life, dana.")

her application to adopt emily was rejected: "you're a single woman who's never been married or had a long-term relationship. you're in a high stress, time intensive, and dangerous occupation."

bill's reaction: "sounds like something your partner would say. this isn't about any little girl, dana. this is about you. it's about some...void, some emptiness inside you that you're trying to fill."

and mulder to the judge: "the fact that she can adopt this child, her own flesh and blood, is something i don't feel i have the right to question, and i don't believe anyone has the right to stand in the way of."

(that last christmas with missy before everything: "there is no right or wrong. life is just a path...just don't mistake the path for what is really important in life. the people you're going to meet along the way. you don't know who you're going to meet when you join the FBI. you don't know how your life is going to change, or how you're going to change the life of others.")

and ultimately, it all leads to a leather couch. and after contemplating that sacrifice of normalcy, what she should want, the decisions she could have made, she says, "i once considered spending my whole life with this man...what i would have missed."

she could've been a doctor, like her father wanted. she could've settled down, married waterston, had a normal life, like her friends and brother wanted. but what would she have missed?

"what if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong?" / "and all the...choices would then lead to this very moment. one wrong turn, and...we wouldn't be sitting here together."

#i truly believe that what's made this show so lasting and rich to so many generations #is how completely in touch with raw human experience it always was. there was always this kind of bleak undertone of...this is how it is... #and very rarely was it ever overcome or accepted or boldly subverted. it just was. #the pressures and the grief and the traps of abuse and trauma and power structures. this is how it is. this is how it feels. #'people thought the storyline and characters for x-files made it a 'dark' show but i never saw it that way. #i always thought mulder and scully were the light in dark places.' #my favorite quote about the show and why i think it's so comforting. it's the harsh reality of the world #of which mulder and scully are not exempt #but it's also mulder and scully going wherever they are needed with their unending kindness and their perseverance and their passion #and they bring all of those things to each other too. that's why she chose THIS life. despite it NOT being normal. #despite it NOT being what her father wanted for her. despite it NOT being easy. she chooses it over and again #because he is bringing light to dark places and she wants to be where he is and she wants to be doing important work. she wants to be #'on the side of the victim' #and that's rarely supported by societal structures and it's hard. but like she says #what would she have missed?? #txf.txt #you people make me crazy when you dismiss her decisions and act like she Ruined Her Life or mulder Ruined Her Life #congratulations! you've missed the point! #all things #emily #dreamland

[jekyll-doodles]

When the Human Lords first unraveled into their Animal/monster forms after being freed from Alagadda, what did it feel like? Did it hurt, with their limbs stretching and their bodies changing, or did it feel good, like finally taking off a really tight suit, or is it some other third thing? And how did they handle it mentally? Rubedo seemed to be mostly ok with it, but how did the others handle it? Were they scared?

“Rubedo seemed to be mostly ok with it” He desperately tried to repress it for days, despite how painful it was to do so, because he was terrified of what might happen if he lost control over it. That man was Not Ok for a while, and took some time after to come to terms with it. Ironically enough, it was his love of his friends that was triggering it – his attempts to suppress it because he was afraid of hurting them made the Unravelling painful. 

It’s more or less a running theme of Being Scared of their own feelings, abilities, etc., etc.. They’d come a long way, only to now develop – or at first thought, relapse back into – these strange forms. The first time any of them started to notice it on themselves, it was scary. For all they knew, it meant The Worst : That the Ambassador had found them, that all their effort in helping each other and their home was now in jeopardy, that they were still the monsters they had been in Alagadda.

Luckily, Rubedo learned to control his form and abilities quicker than the rest. Also informed the foundation about said form and abilities first, which is how the others found out about it which didn't go over so well. However, it allowed him to help guide and reassure the others through the process. It takes time for them to come to their own terms with it. Nigredo being the last to unravel fully.

#to be comfortable with that kind of powers again. of having Power again. to not fear that it will make them corrupt or a weapon or sadistic #scp wakey wakey #scp au #scp alagadda #ask #greenghostlyjekyll #one big trust exercise

[foldingfittedsheets]

Buckle up for another unhinged story time. Now, as I’ve said before, I used to work at a sex shop. At one point I had three roommates and we all worked the same dildo slinging retail job and lived together. It was extremely sitcom.

Now, as you’d imagine, living with three other people who also talked about sex toys all day created a microcosm of people who were all extremely comfortable around sex toys and related topics. No one left dirty toys laying around but seeing things left in showers or showing off a new purchase was just a Tuesday.

After some life upheavals I ended up living with one of those roommates again, just me and her. For the sake of this story let’s call her Betty. Betty and I shared a two bedroom, and the layout was all the common spaces were an open floor plan and then one hallway formed a T, with my room and bathroom to the left and Betty’s to the right.

Well, one day my cousin calls me up. He’s coming to town for a visit and I offer to put up him, his wife, and their more… sheltered friend. (Unbeknownst to me there was a full Briefing for this girl before she met me so that I didn’t overwhelm her with my blasé attitudes towards- well, most things).

They drove in from two states over and it was a long drive. I had to work and couldn’t greet them or spend the first day together. So I told them to come grab my key so they could all shower off and settle in before me.

I arrived home later that night and found the atmosphere a little awkward at first. Things quickly warmed up and I charmed their friend, impressing my cousin with my immaculate respect for personal comfort levels. We had a lovely evening. By the time we all said goodnight I’d dismissed the initial tension as being tired after a long drive.

The next day we all decided to go to the zoo. I’m a morning shower person, but I let them go first while I made breakfast. After breakfast it was my turn and I hopped in the shower.

Midway through my eyes fixed on it. A little pink sex toy, sitting brazenly on the rim of the tub. Oh no, I thought. This was why things had been awkward yesterday! I left out a personal object because I’d literally forgotten to ever put them away by that point.

What I felt wasn’t embarrassment per se, because that emotion had been utterly eradicated by that point. Rather it was a deep shame that I’d leave out something that might make a guest feel uncomfortable. They told me their friend was sheltered and I had left out a sex toy, it was the epitome of rudeness!

I rejoined everyone and said, “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize I’d left that in the shower, that was so rude of me!”

My guests all exchanged a Look. I looked from my cousin to his wife, she glanced toward their friend, and their friend looked at my cousin. No one would look at me.

“Well…” my cousin finally said, “you didn’t tell us which room was yours yesterday.”

I blinked in confusion, Betty’s room and bathroom were basically just like mine.

“When we got here,” his wife continued, “we went to the other side first. In Betty’s bathroom.”

Reader, Betty’s bathroom.

Had been absolutely covered in dildos. Sex toys of all shapes and sizes covered every flat surface, the tub rim, the sink, the shelves. Wall to wall sex toys. Apparently Betty was doing a spring cleaning and had left her entire extensive collection out to air dry.

These three weary travelers had opened a door to the dildo dimension and had no idea how to react. To this day I have no idea what context clues they used to figure out Betty’s room from mine.

But when I’d come home they were lost in the sex toy shell shock, presumably wondering how they could ever talk about it with someone who felt it was okay to leave out every sex toy they own when expecting company in some kind of bizarre power play.

By the time they finished telling me about this we were all laughing so hard we were in tears.

“When we saw your bathroom with one little pink toy it was so discreet we didn’t even care!” They told me.

After my cousin and his crew had gone on their way I finally told Betty the whole story. She listened with eyes growing wider and wider and finally burst out, “That’s why they were so weird when I got home!!”

#ramblies #funny #story #writing #nsft #ffs foibles

[starlooove]

No bc Jon makes me SO SAD like idk man the fact that it isn’t even just someone who looks like his dad but technically WAS his dad that did all that to him like imagine him having a nightmare or smth and Clark goes to help him out cause obviously and Jon gets MORE scared bc the person he’s looking at isn’t his dad who’d die before hurting him, but his captor of YEARS back in his room

#hc time 😋 #not structured they never are but #besides the claustrophobia I think Jon would have an intense fear of the dark and heat in general #like imo it’d be less than the claustrophobia but it’s pretty high up there #he CANNOT eat pork anymore the smell of it makes him sick to his stomach and could cause him to spiral #he doesn’t have the traditional panic attacks or dissociation dazes since he needed to be aware in case there was a chance to escape #not projecting at all 🤞🏾😍 but he dissociates in the sense that he isolates his emotions #he can still be productive and if it’s a good day he can fake them but he feels hollowed out internally and sometimes it scares him bc it- #-still applied towards the ppl he cares about: he knows he loves his family but in that state smth EXTREME could happen to them and he’d #only feel mildly upset and even irritated instead of the worry he usually would #He’s touch starved but also very averse to physical touch and sometimes he himself doesn’t know which is stronger at the moment #so he’ll ask Kon for a hug and immediately flinch away or avoid everyone but bump into Lois and melt #used to be a fucking chatterbox and still kinda is but genuinely forgets that other ppl are around sometimes #like he’ll say something out loud to himself and he surprised when ppl react #his sleeping schedule is FUCKED kryptonians usually wake with the sun but since his access was cut off he’s kinda getting used to it again #was very sensitive to the sun for awhile bc after his powers were cut off for so long all of it rushing back in overwhelmed him #the audio sensory overload especially fucked him over and he has a blue kryptonite in his room just in case #he hates not having his powers but it became his basic comfortable state so it’s kind of like a detox thing #like he has to let himself get used to it in short increments #Fuck canon he did not immediately jump back into hero work #he TRIED but he crashed hard and that’s when his healing process started #he WANTS to talk about it but the words literally just don’t come out he does extremely well with the ‘ask and respond’ method #absolutely told Clark it wasn’t that bad so he wouldn’t feel guilt. didn’t work. #cannot be around Clark sometimes he hates it so much bc he LOVES his dad but Clark is so understanding Abt it and tbh it makes it feel worse #he does not fuck around with other universes or even space for a loooong time #big step in his progress was sitting on the moon with Kon #that’s kinda it whatver 😍 #Jon Kent

[tender-rosiey]

“IT’S LAUGHING?! IT’S ALIVE?!”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the baby’s first laugh (f!reader)

a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.

his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesn’t get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.

not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.

no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.

he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.

it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, “I feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.”

“satoru, she is still a baby,” you hum, fingers carding through his hair, “you know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!”

“but I tried everything! even the unusual!” he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, “I tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloon—everything!”

he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, “come on, d/n! isn’t there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?”

a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.

d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, “mama!”

“hi baby!” you grin before smacking your husband—lightly but not so lightly—with a roll of newspaper.

he yelps, “y/n! why would you do that?!”

but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.

you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.

your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, “d/n! you’re not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! you’re supposed to get sad!”

she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shan’t falter!

at least, that’s what he thinks.

d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.

how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.

his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.

a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.

GETO SUGURU:

geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrong—which is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.

he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.

to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.

aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.

for the most part, they know to treat their father’s hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.

that’s why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.

each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.

and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so much—for the first time too—that they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesn’t want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.

another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.

that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.

so he sat his girls down—including you because you’ve tolerated the violation of your husband’s hairline so much—and took a deep breath.

“girls, we need to learn that papa’s hair is fragile and we shouldn’t pull on it so much,” he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. “right, honey?”

you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, “why, of course, my love!”

he rolls his eyes, “so, be good girls and don’t pull on my bangs, please?”

one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.

now, you have two crying babies.

congratulations!

so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.

they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angels’ happiness.

he should probably stop calling them that though.

NANAMI KENTO:

now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.

it also didn’t help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.

she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.

that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyone’s session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.

he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanami’s.

like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting her—poor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.

however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.

and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldn’t have been more relieved.

he hurriedly places d/n in kento’s arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.

she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, “hey there,” he hums, “did you miss me?”

anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?

so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.

you giggle, looking at her, “d/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?”

gojo gasps, “what?!”

you usher your husband, “babe, try it again!”

nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.

with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, “you okay there?”

she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her father’s. you coo, “she is so cute!”

“I never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.”

a very wounded gojo screams, “well I sure did! you family of haters!”

your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense. 

gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.

meanwhile, you’re holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.

the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.

everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son can’t help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his “scary” face.

the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.

you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to “hear their complains” as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.

you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closed—that started when you gave birth—but to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.

“you’re wasting my time,” your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.

“a-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!”

your husband scowls, “and now you’re ordering me around?”

the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldn’t have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyone’s attention.

sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, “y/n, why is he here?”

your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel content—until he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.

swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your son—who came out of his hiding spot—bursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukuna’s sadism was passed to your darling son.

while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.

when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, “my son is laughing at torture, sukuna.”

“he is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,” he says as he smirks and pulls you close.

you huff and bounce s/n lightly, “shut up, old man.”

sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, “you’re insulting your husband?”

s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukuna’s face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.

your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husband’s face.

you don’t know how to react. sukuna doesn’t know how to react.

s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.

why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughing—aside from you laughing or smiling—is literally any inconvenience that happens to him.

he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.

toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, “gosh damn it!”

shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.

toji’s eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, “no way you’re laughing at me getting—what the hell?!”

toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, “I think your son just loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, “I want my wife back.”

another time was when you guys grocery shopping.

you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?

so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the section—since megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.

megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.

to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.

you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.

so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, “you okay, champ? that made quite the noise.”

“don’t even start,” he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, “they keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ain’t with me.”

“isn’t that a good thing? It’s important for him to feel free around his dad.”

he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, “no kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.”

“you told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,” you deadpan.

“that’s because my dad is an ass; I am not,” he pauses, “for the most part.”

apparently, megumi senses his dad’s distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, “so’y.”

toji’s eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.

your husband doesn’t take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, “’s okay kid,” he hums and pets his head.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #geto x y/n #nanami x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n

[tgirlwithreverb]

I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle

8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

#anyway #not all encompassing or whatever #feel free to add your own tips but ill make fun of you if theyre stupid

[spideysatan]

the way i absolutely hate when people use the word vanilla to shAme women about their sex preferences....

#im turning into the joker if i see one more post like this #like. i like it weird sometimes. its fun and exciting >> to me << #but that doesnt give me ((or anyone) the right to make fun or otherwise shame women.... like. thats insane #'get out of here with your goofy vanilla ass' like???? #sorry brenda cant be your friend if you're not into being tied up in the ceiling and poked with a stick from bellow yeah sorry about that #like thats insane. insane. #also. on a more deep level this just gives power to gross men to pressure women into doing things they dont want. #things that might even traumatize them (ive literally seen this happen) #or make women never trust men again. or be grossed out by sex. #and to see WOMEN. YOUNG WOMEN !!!! doing these kinds of posts/videos about this is even more gross and rage inducing honestly. #idk man #whenever i see a video/post with this tone i get so grossed out and angry #there shouldnt be ANY shame in sex. sex should be fun and exciting. #for whoever is envolved. #probably TMI: #being pressured into having sex was the very thing that made not want to have sex for YEARS. #did it when i was 19 and then never again #literally only actually wanted to do it again like last year when i started flirting (more hihi) with **** #she got me interested again and made me feel safe about it #and btw i wasnt forced to have it the first time. he was very respectful and tried to make me feel comfortable #the problem wasnt him #it was that people kept speculating and talking about it and kinda making fun of the fact that i never had sex before #so i just thought yeah lets just get it over with #and then booom never wanted it again #lol #and im very much fine with it #i now know myself well enough to know that i would only want it if it was with someone i have some form of attachment to #(yes even if its just sexting/sending noods lol) #and thats ok. also ok with the gals and pals that arent like this. its all good.