#my feetsies hurt. where is he to take care of me

[alienaiver]

i wanna drag kenma to a con. he technically already has to go bcos his company has been sponsoring parts of their gameroom but itd been his obvious plan to duck out last minute with a half-cooked excuse.

then you come into his life, beautiful and thriving at conventions. you cosplay, you go to the events, you mingle and you walk around. he reluctantly agrees and ends up carrying an extra jacket or shirt for you, change of shoes (in case you need it; cosplay shoes are rarely ever comfortable), your makeup bag, a bottle of water and any medicine you might need. he's not afraid to complain about it but if you even try to suggest putting the bag in the con's wardrobe or that he can just sit in the manga lounge while you do something, he grumbles even louder, grabs your hand and drags you to the next event. he carefully takes off your cosplay boots after a long day and massages your feet, lets you sit on the bathroom counter and hand you any makeup remover or skincare product you might need, ducking into your shared bedroom to get your change of clothes and a light snack after such a long day, kissing you with a heated blush on his cheeks as he admits that you looked really beautiful in your costume and that he fell in love with you again seeing you shine like that

[muffindaddystyles]

Keep holding my hand.

Harry was in an emotionally abusive relationship before y/n, something happens that makes his insecurities float back.

Impetuous reel of dithery thoughts rapidly bustles on the wall, Harry stares at it blankly – he stares and stares and stares ..... yet it does nothing for what he wishes.

His stomach fills with acid and his mouth burns with foulness with each painful beat his heart gives realizing maybe this's the end ---- he doesn’t spare a glance to the dinner wafting off he cooked with much happiness looking forward to tonight.

Where did I went wrong?

Did I hurt her in any way? What if she didn’t like me popping up at her studio that day to remind her of tonight

Well Keat didn’t like it ..... She used to hate it Infact,

No! She’s not like keat —--

But, then why isn’t she picking your phone? She knew, promised and she still didn’t came tonight?

What if she’s sick? Fuck, then I should go to her.

He shuts his screaming conscience down, shoving the heels of his palm against his pop-sockets wearily to make him feel something --- to escape the hurt that’s looming around him, crushing and squeezing him to death.

He blows off the candles, melted to their base from being sorrowfully lit from three hours atleast --- mocking him and his sincerity.

You deserve this.

Why did y’think ye' deserved anybody’s love?

She doesn’t love you anymore --- just like keat....

The corners of his glossy eyes prickles with pearly tears and it drops down his clavicles, with blurry vision he dials her one last time and it goes straight to her voicemail alike past three hours.

Hiya, Y/N here! Leave a message ‘cos I mighty be busy or maybe lazyin' round the farthest corner of my home .......

He tosses and turns, does it manifold times --- his sleep betrays him too and he’s angry soaring with venom, if he could scream from a cliff and throw stones down the pound furiously he'd instead his eyes runs droopy.

His shuddering breath sulks to tranquillity, all he could hear’s a screech of wind that’s hitting the window and his guts.

His body jerks at the chirp of voice he’s oh so familiar with —- other days he'd be submerging in the honeyness of it but at the moment he bites down his wrist to keep him wrenching his empty stomach out.

“Happy anniversary, bub!” His brows clinches down into a grumblish frown and he presses his hand between his thighs turning his back upon hearing the careful steps treading in.

The creaking stalls and she stands at his doorway with heavy heart, her throat —-- uff her throat feels like as if someone punched it several times.

Not letting her tongue to utter any word —- anything that’d assure him and her, everything’s alright --- it’s not a big deal.

Ofcourse, it is!

Little things matters most to him – told you —- he .. — he told you himself and you hurt him, you hurt him just because you couldn’t stand to your boss.

She wanted it to be perfect for him, for them — winded up the work her boss hoarded on her mercilessly last minute demanding her to wrap it up in an hour --- felt giddy and motivated to do it speedily looking forward to their celebration. Bought his favourite chocolate moose cake standing in the line of his favourite bakery, since he doesn’t like any other flavour.

She stands at the side bed looking down at him, heartbreaking in million pieces seeing him torn, all teary cheeks and this stoic for the first time they’ve been dating.

“’M sorry -- I –- my boss trapped me and – ‘n I really wanted to call you —-- then it took me forever at your favourite bakery, I’m so sorry baby.” She rambles nebbish-ly and catches onto his shoulder when he tries to face away from her.

He mutters, “Forget bout it. Go back home ‘s getting late.” Though, his heart lurches forward to embrace her and shower her in kisses telling her “it’s totally fine.” And that “how bout we celebrate now,” but being an emotionally sensitive person has it's very cons and one of it is requiring space and time to recover for better thinking.

His eyes slips into abyss and he holds back a sniffle when he feels the mattress dip behind him, she sighs, coos in the softest voice she only keeps it for her lover, “Oh baby .... you’re my home.” She's well aware of the anxiety he goes through. He feels like everything crumbling but she's there to catch him and she rubs his back.

The many many reassurances he needs from his lovie to keep going for them, the praises for him for treating her like the most precious daffodil —- because he never got praised before; even though how much of the world’s luxuries he'd lay at his ex's feet was never assured that how much she loves him (because she never did).

Y/N would never want his insecurities to float back and sting his scars, she'd never want him to ever go through from what he did in past —-- to be used like a toy and manipulated, might sound weird and whumpy of her but she’d kill many dragons to keep him protected at any cost.

He sleeps with her body cocooning him from behind and his erratic breath syncs to her calm ones.

..

His dreams full of suffering, void and darkness violently clashing and swirling against eachother as the ugly creature takes Y/N away from him, leaving him in prison of his own pathetic head.

Fear of loss —- he fears loosing her and does it make him toxic? He was snubbed so many times – being told his behaviour was toxic that he’d hesitate before doing anything precisely very fondly caring —- but then Y/N came in his life and she'd tell him how much she appreciates him, how he’s like the best sundae in hot summer and he felt like she’s the sunshine he was waiting for in the never-ending rainy days.

Y/N stirs from her light sleep on hearing the broken whimpers, the valley of her chest moist as he cries into her and she cups his cheeks gazing down at him concerned, “What happened sunny .... baby talk to me ...” Her voice groggy and on verge of tearing.

She sits back a little with him still between her legs and wipes his tears away gently, “I’m so sorry ...” He mumbles –-- eyes bloodshot and she shakes her head pulling him closer, if she’d be able to cradle him in his lap she'd but apparently he’s too big.

Queasy hiccups, “f – fo'--... d —- dou...” sad sniffles and hiccups that tightens his chest.

She tenders his wobbly lip kissing his temple, “shhh. shhh, puppy I should be the one apologising yeah?”

“no .. I didn’t gave another thought before doubting --- that –-- that you’re about to leave, no person in right mind does this – I —-,” His body trembles with blue sobs.

“Harry ...” she tries to gain his attention and when he still doesn’t listen, “I know I don’t deserve y'n – ‘n maybe you don’t want me anymore —--” she raises it a bit, “Harry!” he falls quiet --- nibbling the corner of his cheek to hold back hiccups.

“Look at me puppy, yeah? Shh hold my hand and take a breather.” She smiles. Takes his sweaty hand and aligns his palm to her mouth for a deep kiss – then squeezes it.

“Keep holding it baby, keep holding my hand, you’re going to be fine --- we – see us here,” she points between them with gleamy eyes and he nods timidly wiping his nose with his sweater paw, “we are fine baby –- we are okay..”

How could someone be this dreamy? This gentle and sweet? What did I do to deserve my lovie?

“Better?” She inquires. Little worried that he'll fall back into rabbit hole and tucks his head under her chin, keeping him warm against her chest and he clutches the hem of her shirt nuzzling into her.

“Did you really think, I’d leave you and that on our first year anniversary? Sorry to tell you .... ‘m stitched to your hip for life time, there’s no exchange policy puppy how much you grump.”

She grins. Happy to earn a feeble chuckle from him and scratches his head, looping his curls around her fingers.

“I love you.” She startles when he speaks hoarsely after the longest time and it’s not like he's saying it for the first –-- but it still doesn’t fail to engulf her in warmth, so much of it.

“I love you too, you’re my only puppy and very loved one.” His eyes crinkles prettily at that and she kisses the tip of his nose.

“You want to rest? We could eat the dinner you dearly made for me and oh we got moose cake in fridge too, what a coincidence!” She giggles. The room fills with wet treacly noises of smoochy kisses she’s patching on his cheeks and his jaw.

Without a word he holds her finger and leads her to kitchen, she creates proud noises of “ooh!” and “ahh!” trying to sneak a glimpse from over his shoulder but he'd shoo her away as he heats the food; she gets out gorgeous smiles from him she cherishes so much.

“You did all of this for me?” She gasps sweetly, hand over heart to accentuate the love she's feeling and walks towards him when he nods timidly rubbing his socks feetsies one over the other.

His cheeks blazes peach and she giggles pinching them, “You’re so cute aren’t you?”

“Okay then. Let’s eat!” she claps her hands together and pecks his lips before pulling her chair beside him rather than opposite to him and his heart flutters at that --- each pore oozing with deep love for her and every insecurity and anxious ideas completely drains out of him when she pats his seat and wiggles in her own --- anticipated to taste what he made.

“Hmm. This tastes so good, H! Your hands are really magical, huh?” She passes him a smirk pecking each of his knuckle to make him feel better about himself and his lips quirks up softly, “Thank you – d’ya w'na umm eat the moose here o'in bed?” Her face beams at that, him speaking more than two words and looking forward to spend the night with her.

“On bed, please –-- would you like tea? Think ‘m running out of if —- proper jello ....” She cleans the table and raises her brows when he gazes her adorningly as she’s the nymphs of stary oceans.

He shakes his head, nose twitchy as she nudges him teasingly and he takes her off-guard --- hugging her by waist and kisses her soft tummy.

“Nothing just love you bleedin’ much.”

..

[lihikainanea]

I can see bill and tiger going for hikes throughout quarantine and I think tiger would complain 24/7 about them because they make her ache. She wasn’t used to hiking and her feet started to get into really bad shape and she just basically was not taking care of herself because she can’t stand touching her own feet but she refuses to tell bill because she hates having her feet touched. So when he finds out about her feet good dude bill wants to (1/2) - 🐙

Anonymous said:

take care of her but mean daddy bill wants to punish the shit out of her for not telling him about it! Please feel free to elaborate 😏 (2/2) - 🐙

Them smol feetsies, I....  :*-)))) I am soff.

I miss hiking, god I am at SUCH PEACE when hiking. But this isn’t about me.

So I really, very much like the fact that Bill is a big dude, but Bill has also always grown up around like...very physically large people. So in his little mind, his innocent little peabrain, Bill thinks of himself as pretty average sized. And yeah I get it, some of you beauties are 5′10 and that’s awesome--but my dudes, Bill still has another beautiful 6 inches on you. So IDGAF if you HC tiger as smol (like me) or as your size--Bill is bigger.

Bill is always bigger.

And like, one of his steps is quite a few of tiger’s, and sometimes he doesn’t even realize that he’s just coasting and poor tiger is like, really givin’er just to try and keep up. And hiking is hard anyway the terrain can be rough and after 6-8 hours of climbing shit your back is going to hurt, your feet are going to be sore.

And maybe she hasn’t hiked in awhile, maybe she’s in dire need of some new hiking shoes--either way, who knows. All she knows is at the end of the day her feet are so swollen she can barely get her shoes off, and they’re covered in blisters. Poor girl is in some serious pain, and she’s been in serious pain for awhile and just never told him--which uh oh, is definitely against the rules.

But I hear you on the foot thing. I can’t have pretty hands so I INSIST on having pretty feet via routine pedicures every 4 weeks, but I also really hate having my feet touched so it’s a bit of a struggle. I’m not a foot person. A foot massage is a really good way to get you fucking dead, don’t touch my feet.

Maybe tiger is the same way, and it’s probably a combination of things--she’s really ticklish while simultaneously HATING to be tickled (it’s a real thing, don’t fuck around with it folks) and feet are just...weird.

But like, look. Old habits die hard. So maybe after a hot shower, maybe after some Tylenol, she emerges from the bathroom to the smell of something delicious--Bill’s been in the kitchen, getting some food ready for them after their long day in the sun. She tries to keep the limp out of her step, walking in and having a glass of crisp white wine plunked in her hand immediately.

“Hungry?” he asks--and my god, he’s so fucking beautiful. A little bronzed from the day, that curl all loose and floppy on his forehead, his eyes bright and a kind smile his face--and whatever he’s cooking, it smells mouth-watering. Tiger hums happily, pulls her Big Dude down for a sweet kiss.

“Starving bud,” she murmurs, stealing another kiss as he ushers her to a chair. He puts a plate in front of her--a huge one, mounded with food, and tiger is drooling. Bill refills his wine glass and sits in his chair, and immediately--like she always does--tiger plunks her feet in his lap.

But Bill’s eyes are drawn down, and he places a big hand over her feet to still them as they fidget. 

“Tiger,” he says sternly and she gulps, “Is this from today?”

Her eyes flit nervously, and she reaches for her wine again. Bill’s mouth is slightly agape as he takes it all in--god he can SEE how swollen her poor feet are, and they’re covered in angry looking blisters and red marks.

“Answer me,” he demands, and tiger just wants to disappear because he already looks angry and she’s still in too much pain to deal with being punished.

“Yes,” she says lowly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and when she avoids his gaze he reaches out and grabs a light hold of her chin, forcing her eyes back to his.

“I didn’t really realize until I took my shoes off,” she mumbles, “It hurt a little, but hiking always hurts. I only noticed how bad it was when we got back.”

He sighs, pushes his chair back and puts her feet gently on the floor.

“Come on,” he says and he reaches for her, but she whines.

“But I’m hungry,” she pouts, grabbing onto the table for leverage in case he tried to lift her-- because damnit she is hungry, and the Tylenol is kicking in so she’s not feeling the dull throb in her feet anymore. Bill pauses, sizes her up. So much of her needs tending to right now but Bill is kind of old school, and her stomach always wins out. When tiger’s hungry, there’s always hell to pay. He’s better off taking care of that first, and taking care of all else after.

So he gives her a warning look, fetching a pack of frozen peas from the freezer and wrapping a dish towel around them. He sits back down, picking her feet up to put back in his lap and resting the frozen peas on them, tiger sighs in relief.

“Eat,” he says, “And then we’ll take care of this.”

But like, it’s torture after right. Because Bill just wants to put some polysporin on her blisters, wants to knead his thumbs into the soles of her feet just to get a bit of the swelling out, but tiger is too ticklish and she hates being tickled and she keeps squirming and nearly kicking him. Bill probably has to get pretty stern with her, give her a good shove into her small space where she’ll just trust him with anything,  all so he can just help ease some of the pain for her.

[noctuascion]

Requests remain closed, but I can't keep the well dry. Angst prompts for the soul!

"I can't breathe."

"i just can't be happy anymore, simple as that."

--

The last thing Park remembered hearing was glass shattering. He remembered leaving his room, and he remembered meeting someone in the kitchen. He remembered the smile that they wore but not the face it was attached to. He remembered the conversation, the talk about the tower, but he couldn't remember their voice, what they sounded like, merely the words processed and nothing more.

He didn't remember who was currently touching him, asking something—he could hear, but he couldn't process anything being said. He could feel the burning hot touch of someone, and he knew he was shaking like a leaf, like he was scared—but he wasn't ever scared, never afraid; that man was gone. He was acutely aware of words being spoken to him, but they were just noise. It was overwhelming, everything too much and not enough at the same time, and that didn't make sense.

He doesn't remember why he suddenly fell to the ground, why the glass shattered and who even was sitting next to him. It was so dark, and he couldn't see. He didn't know anything, and it was horrifying, like he was a blind newborn making its way into the world. He couldn't breathe, gasps and hiccups all that escaped him, hands clamped tightly over his ears, nearly curled in on himself against—a counter? A wall? He couldn't even remember where he was—why he was even here. What was touching him—what was touching him—

"I can't breathe…" he frantically whispered, voice harsh and forced. It felt like he punched out every word, and he didn't even know if it was spoken, if he just imagined his voice coming out after such a prolonged silence.

He heard that voice again, panic lacing it, though there was an intent on comfort, to lead him out of this pit he found himself in. He still couldn't recognize who it was, and those scalding hands were still there, like they were burning, but he knew it was just imagination, exaggeration. He just needed to breathe.

When he tried, it only ended in a sob ripping from his throat, more gasping breaths and hiccups that made him lightheaded, like the room was spinning. Why was he panicking? There wasn't any reason to—he was supposed to be better than this; his entire persona is calm, cool, and collected. Why couldn't he breathe?

"Breathe with me."

Park was finally able to decipher the background noise, the voice that was speaking to him, like warm caramel, so pleasant and comforting. It was Elliott—it was just Elliott. It was Elliott, the only man privy to Park's darkest secrets and the realest part of him, beneath the cool exterior and the mysterious shroud he's covered himself in. It was only Elliott, the man he gifted his heart to. It was just… Elliott.

Slowly, he lifted his head from where it was buried in his knees, and he felt Elliott's hands gently pry his own off of his ears. The heat wasn't painful anymore—more caring now, comforting. It was warm, pleasant. The darkness wasn't swallowing his shaking for anymore, and he could see they were in the kitchen—it was dark out still. It was quiet. There was a broken mug on the floor, his favorite one, and coffee was spilled on the floor. There was red, and, for a second, Park felt fear shoot through his spine at the realization he may have hurt Elliott in a moment of panic. But, upon returning to the same plane of existence, he realizes his feet were in pain, and that he was the only one hurt in his fit of fear.

He could breathe again—deep breaths in, long breaths out—and, soon, he was coherent again, able to remember everything that happened. Elliott made an offhanded joke about the tower being blown to smithereens, how it nearly crushed Octavio—"Kid probably got some weird kick out of it"—and something snapped in him at the thought of possibly hurting Natalie, Anita, and Octavio. He knows they respawn, and he knows he kills for a living now, but something didn't sit right with him, having that knowledge.

What if that was Elliott?

Elliott smiled when Park was beginning to respond to his requests now, relief flashing across that stupidly charming face of his.

"There he is. You okay, pumpkin?" Elliott's voice was the only truly discernible noise at the moment, and he was grateful for the anchor.

"Fine…" His own voice was hoarse, rough.

"That's good. Is it okay if I take you to my room and patch up your poor little feetsies?"

"Yes…"

With a nod, Elliott's hands moved under Park's back and knees, lifting him up with ease, before the two headed towards the trickster's room. The mug would still be there to clean up when he was done tending to Park's wounds.

Once inside, he set the hacker on his bed and went to his closet. Everyone had a small medical supplies kit in their room, just in case of emergency, and Elliott pulled his out within moments. Everything was fairly organized, so it was easy to find.

He returned to where his boyfriend sat, silent and still, the shaking having calmed down, now merely staring vacantly at the floor. He looked so tired, like he could collapse into a fitful slumber any second now. Elliott hated that.

The wounds on his feet weren't especially deep, just small cuts from stepping on shards. None of them needed stitches, so that meant no explanation to Ajay as to how it happened. No reclusive Park clamming up and refusing to communicate. It was always painful dealing with a Park that completely closed himself off, emotionally distancing himself to the point of erasing any sense of humanity on his face. It was… scary, frankly.

"I wish I could make you happy."

Park's gaze snapped to Elliott's, the trickster staring dejectedly at the bandages in his hands. "Elliott…"

"You don't… deserve to always be so… so freaked out," he said, voice suddenly sounding frustrated, like he was angry with himself. "You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy. It's not… not fair…"

Park's hand was suddenly brushing his brown curls back, hazel optics moving to meet similarly colored orbs. Such beautiful eyes didn't deserve to have sadness dancing within the warm hues.

"I can't be happy anymore, Elliott," he whispered, his lips curled into a sad smile, brows furrowed gently. "It's just… something I'm not allowed."

"Bullshit."

Elliott's chin was delicately placed upon Park's lap, forehead pressed against his stomach, with strong arms wrapped around his waist. A frown crossed normally smiling features, some strange determination in those hazel eyes.

"Someone like you… doesn't deserve to be sad. Y-You always do nice things, even without people knowing. I know you were the one who bought Nads those biscuits she likes so much 'cause she ran out. You were also the one that fixed Pathfinder's grappling hook—you know he can't keep a secret, babe. A-And, fuck, you listen to me ramble about everything, even when you get tired of listening to me and kinda just zone out—but you always sit there and just let me talk." Elliott gently squeezed him, enough to be reassuring and gentle enough to not hurt him. "You deserve to be happy. You're doing so much and you deserve to knownwhat it's like to live a happy life. I really hope I can provide that."

Park was quiet for awhile. He didn't speak, merely running his fingers through Elliott's hair, the action soothing and calming for both of them. But, eventually, Park felt himself smile, and, if he could, he'd kiss his idiot of a boyfriend right on the lips.

"I think my happiness is already on its way."

[luminary-gremlin]

The Jesting Host (Part 4)

A/N: Welcome back to part 4 of the Jesting Host! I don’t really have any comments but once again this fic was fun to write! Let me know how you feel about this fic!

Word Count:1913

           Now that the Jims have been taken care of, it was time for Host to check up on their little star of the documentation, Bim Trimmer. He flexed his wrists and fingers before taking a deep breath, this next recreation will require him to create quite a large object. He felt a surge of energy rush through him at his plans for the optimistic gentle soul.

           Bim was currently touching up his make up for the next show, everything had to be absolutely perfect before he dare show his handsome face to the world. He extra polished his spectacles in such a way were any smudge was eradicated off the crystal surface. He fixed his beautiful raven hair until it was perfect without a signal stand out of place. It often took the man such a long time to perfect every single detail that his show wouldn’t start until another hour! Not to mention helping Wilford and trying to keep calm and then fix himself again.

           Host perceived his form with his mind eye, now…how on earth was going to play this out WITHOUT possessing the man. As he brainstormed millions upon millions of possibilities, he picked up with how frantic Bim would check his schedule…he only did that if something different was planned…perhaps he may not need to order Bim to do his bidding, thank god, but rather persuade him.

           Bim squinted at the mirror closely, did he use “MAC Powder Blush – Mocha” or “MAC Powder Blush – Blushbaby”? Yes this was very important, one was just a smidge to dark for his paling skin, evidence from the lack of staying outside. Maybe he should take it off and start all over again.

           He sighed as he grasped the make up remover and wiped down his face before splashing himself with cold water to refresh his face. Okay no big deal you can do this Bim. He looked at the folded paper that laid on his make up dresser. He was for sure he knew what was coming up…but one more glance couldn’t hurt. He fixed his crystal spectacles and muttered the list out loud before gasping dramatically.

           “A MAGIC SHOW PARTICIPANT?! IN 10 MINUTES?! Oh god how did I miss this?!”

           That was the Host’s cue to lightly knock on the door, disguising as a magician that Marvin would be jealous of. The showman flinched before screeching out,

           “I’M NOT READY DON’T COME IN!”

           The Host came in anyways and Bim hurringly covered his clean baby face, muttering swears into the towel.

           “Ahem, I apologize for the sudden intrusion sir, but perhaps you would be interested in possibly quickly practicing for our small act. I would prefer preventing any chance of actually cutting you in half.”

           Oh my, Bim didn’t think about that. He had never done this before! How could he get so absorbed in his facial features. He hesitantly dropped the towel and discarded it before facing the masked stranger.

           “Yes yes of course. Apologies for the naked look, I was just trying to fix up and something went wrong. What exactly is your name?”

           “...Ganjileom. But please, call me Gan for short.”

           Bim blinked at the name and held out a hand, in which the man named Gan firmly shook. It ease Bim’s nerves with how friendly and patient he was, almost as if it was a familiar feeling he’s had before. He clapped his hands readily as if he was about to announce something.

           “So! What was that about cutting me in half? Oh that was always my favorite trick in magician shows!”

           “Yes yes, I have brought the box with me for practice. Please step in. This act often is a people pleaser with the illusion of someone cut in half and surviving as well as put together.”

           Bim gulped nervously…yeah, that was why it was his favorite act. He slid off his Gucci dress shoes and lied down on his back in the silk covered box and pushed his feet through the holes, in which “Gan” had locked them in with a devilish grin.

           “Now to begin, you will come on stage as my assistant after I have announced my act. You will climb into the box and I will lock you in. I will announce to the crowd that the box is all one piece and spin you around and then just to show the people these are indeed your feet, I will give them a little tickle. Are you ticklish perchance Mr. Trimmer?”

           Oh god Bim blushed…this was the reason. Just the way how a magician would teasingly tickle the assistant’s feet just to prove they were real, even if it was just for a second, made him feel all bashful. He began to cover one socked foot with the other in a shy manner before speaking.

           “A-ah yes, just a little.”

           The Host’s evil smirk grew in to a toothy grin and lightly scratched one of his exposed soles to test the waters. As he suspected, the gameshow host squealed outloud and wiggled his sensitive foot around. It was worse that he couldn’t see and therefore unable to predict what would happen next.

           “Excellent. Now after that I will get my saw out and place it inside the box. This blade will absolutely NOT touch you. I wanna tell you this because it may get close, but I will not let anyone get hurt under my watch. Do you feel that slight vulnerability around your ah…buttock?”

           To be honest Bim was feeling a much more different vulnerability around his feet, but the moment Gan pulled the box in half he felt his butt almost…sag down a bit. Ah so that’s how it’s done. He arched his back to let the box slide back in. He felt quite confident now with the current situation.

           “Wow, it’s that easy? I never thought magic could be that simple!!! Now ah, shall you undo the stocks?”

           “Possibly, but first…I am awfully curious about your feet and their sensitivity. This sort of thing cannot go unnoticed. Most of the time I hear a giggle or so, but you…you’re different. Different in a good way of course!”

           Bim flushed a beautiful bright pink at that and rubbed his feet together bashfully. It embarrassed the heck out of him whenever people commented on his ticklishness. He felt dread pool into his stomach at the realization…he was stocked, he couldn’t see, his trapped feetsies were going to be tickled! Not that he minded of course.

           The Host grinned at his flustered silence, sensing the emotion Bim felt at the realization, and then began. He slowly peeled off his socks to expose the soft, well taken care of skin of Bim trapped soles.

           “My my, it seems your facial features aren’t the only thing you take care of Bim~”

           The Host purred. He then dragged a single finger up and down his soles greedily, enjoying the squeaks and sweet laughter of Bim. It was almost amusing how one little finger already got the poor man to unwravel.

           “CEHEhehhHEHEHEase AHAHahhahAHHAt OHohohOHonce FihihIHiHiHend!”

           “…Fiend? You call such a simple, gentle gesture…fiendish? Well, well, well…it seems someone needs to be reeducated about what such a word ACTUALLY means!”

           The Host sneered before snapping his fingers, causing Bim’s toes to uncurl and spread open as far as the could comfortably before freezing in that position. Bim couldn’t move an inch and now his toes where completely open under the “magician’s” mercy. Oh how he wish he could take it all back. If he had just kept his mouth shut. Before he could apologize, he was cut off with hysterical laughter at the feeling of something super, feathery soft like a make-up brush teasing the ball of his left foot along with 5 blunt, scratching nails traversing up and down his sole.

           “BWAHAHHAHAHAHHA ANOHOHOHHOH PLEHEHEHEHHEHEHASE!!!! GEHEHEHEHHEHT AWAHAHHAHAHAY FROHOHOHOHM MIHIHIHIHIHY FEEHEHEHHEHET! IHIHIHIHI’LL SUHUHUHUHUE YOU WHEHEHEHHEN I GEHEHEHEHT OUT!!!!”

           He howled with laughter. He banged his fists against the box for a way to open it. He shook his head wildly as red blush burned his delicate skin. It was blissful ticklish agony. The two wildly different techniques on different areas of his feet was driving him mad. Meanwhile the Host was having a blast of a time. He had made sure to check in on his levels as to not go too far.

           “Now tell me Bim, which tickles more? The make-up brush or my nails~?”

           Oh god don’t make me choose, he thought to himself. There was nothing worse than having to focus on what was the worse than the two evils. The scratchy, suuuuper tickly claws of this magician…or the feather soft brush teasing such a sensitive spot. The choice was horrible as it was about equal, but he knew he’d have to give an answer quickly for fear of upsetting his captor.

           “THEHEHEHHEH MAHAHHAHAHAKE UP!!!!! THEHEHHEHE BRUSH THEHEHHE BRUHUHHUHUHUSH!!!!! THHEHEHEH BRUSH IHHIHIHS WOHOHOHOHOHOHRSE!!!!”

           He cried out in hysteria. The Host continued to keep an eye on his limit, figuring that despite the man having excellent stamina, he would prefer not to push him to his limit. He was such an innocent one after all.

           “Excellent. The H- Ii-i-I mean…the great Ganjileom is delighted that you willingly answered his question. You are granted freedom from the box.”

           The Host unlocked him out from the split box, lifting him up and setting him in the chair while fetching a cold bottle of water. Bim’s lungs were on fire, sweat dripping from his skin, his hair was a mess as tears stained his adorable cheeks. Once he was given the water, he greedily guzzled it down thankful for its refreshing coolness. The Host then placed a cool rag over his head as well as cleaning up Bim.

           “Ah it’s impossible. There’s no way to fix this and the show is about to begin! I can’t go out there!”

           “Perhaps Bim, you are focusing too much on your perfect complexion. Yes a bit of foundation may help with making you appear correctly skin colored. But is perfection really necessary? The crowd loves you for your personality. You’re able to wow a group using a pinecone and a crunchy leaf!”

           Bim…hadn’t thought of it that way. He’s been so obsessed with how he appeared to others, that he had forgotten his talented skills of show business!

           “W-wow…you really think so? W-why thank you…I guess…I HAVE been obsessed…but is it possible to at least quickly fix up?”

           The Host chuckled fondly at him and nodded.

           “Well of course, you don’t think I’d actually expect to leave you like this did you?”

           With a snap of his fingers, Bim’s features were all fixed up. He wore a brand new tailored suit, clean, combed hair, as well as clear, fixed spectacle. His eyes glistened and hugged the Host happily.

           “HOW IN THE WORLD DID YOU DO THAT?!”

           “A magician never tells his secrets~”

           “T-thank you! I swear I owe you one! Anything! Let’s knock this event out of the park!”

           “Yes indeed let us…and by the way… ‘Blushbaby’ appeals more to your skin than ‘Mocha’.”

           And so the two men set out on their performance together, receiving quite amount of applause and cheers for their act. Bim was able to crack some jokes and wow the crowd with his own commentary as well as assure the crowd their favorite showman was quite fine after being cut in half.

4 down, 9 to go