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steddieas-shegoes · 18 days

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heaven and hell were words to me

for @steddiesmuttyseptember prompts 'soft and slow' and 'bruise'

rated e | 2732 words | 18+ only, minors dni | check ao3 for tags

🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣

steve is somewhere between heaven and hell. is that purgatory? he thinks they read about it in school, but he didn’t think it would ever be relevant for him. he didn’t exactly believe in a higher power.

but the first time eddie munson kisses him, he thinks that god had to have something to do with his creation.

he’d never been kissed the way eddie kissed him. hungry, but reserved. soft, but with a promise of more. hands floating and finding every sensitive place to touch while their bodies are flush against each other.

and when he kept doing it, every day after school when steve picked up dustin and eddie was there waiting to see him, after visiting steve at work, after a date, steve started to wonder if all they’d ever do was kiss. and while he’d probably find a way to be content with that because this kissing was unlike anything he’d ever done before, he wanted more.

it took him two months to say anything. two months of tongues tracing teeth and lips, two months of wandering hands that never quite wandered far enough, two months of wondering if eddie didn’t want anything more from him.

they’re boyfriends, they’d had that talk surprisingly quickly after their first kiss.

steve just needs to know if he’s the reason they haven’t done more. that’s all.

this particular purgatory is the waiting. waiting for eddie to finish up hellfire, waiting for the kids to all be picked up by parents, waiting for them to be alone for the first time all week. he thought about waiting for eddie at the trailer, but he’s pretty sure wayne’s off tonight, and if the conversation goes the way he hopes, wayne shouldn’t be around to hear what they get up to.

finally, five minutes later than usual, the kids file out of the auditorium side doors, laughing and talking excitedly amongst themselves. it must’ve been a good campaign.

gareth and frankie exit next, heading to frankie’s car parked behind the auditorium. he gives them both a small wave from his driver’s seat, they wave back.

steve sighs as he checks the time on his phone a couple minutes later. eddie usually stays to clean up, but he rarely takes this long.

just as steve shuts off his car and opens his door to get out, the side door opens and eddie comes out holding his folders and bag of mini figures.

“eds!” steve calls.

“stevie! what’re you doin’ here?” eddie walks over to him with a grin. “thought we were meeting at my place.”

“i was actually hoping we could go to mine?” steve feels nauseous, worried that eddie will immediately sense what his plan is and tell him no. break up with him, even.

“sure, sweetheart.” eddie kisses the corner of his mouth. “i just gotta stop for gas and then i’ll be there.”

of course eddie wouldn’t say no. steve feels instant relief.

“okay. be safe.”

“always. you too. you seem stressed.”

“i’m okay. i’ll see you soon.”

****

they’re making out in steve’s bed when he finally gets up the nerve to say something.

eddie’s hands are holding his hips steady, keeping him from getting friction on his neglected dick, and he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t ask, he’ll combust.

“could we…like…touch each other or something?”

eddie pulls away and frowns. “we are touching each other.”

“no, yeah. we are, i guess. but i meant like, can i touch your dick and you touch mine? or can our dicks touch?”

eddie snorts. “did you really just as if our dicks can touch?”

steve groans. “yes! my dick is desperate! i get so hard when we do this and then i have to hide in the bathroom to take care of it because you don’t seem interested and that’s okay! like i don’t wanna pressure you or anything, but i just wanna know if that’s the route i have to take or if we’re ever gonna do more than this.”

he covers his face so he can’t see eddie’s reaction and so eddie can’t see how red his face is. at least his dick isn’t throbbing in his jeans anymore. the embarrassment seems to have made him go softer.

eddie’s hands pry steve’s away, and steve thinks that the look on eddie’s face is probably similar to how a lion looks before it tackles its lunch.

“i was waiting on you to make a move,” eddie explains. “robin said i should take it slow so you know i’m serious about you.”

“you won’t fuck me because of robin?”

eddie shrugs. he cups steve’s face in his hands and leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“if you want me to have sex with you, all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”

“will you please have sex with me?” steve has literally never said those words before, but eddie gives him a lot of firsts, and this might as well be one of them.

“yeah, stevie. i’ll take care of you.”

it’s still slow, slower than steve’s ever done anything in bed.

eddie kisses down his neck, careful not to miss a single inch. he only pauses to take his shirt off, then continues kissing his shoulders and collarbone, across his chest, sucking on his nipples until steve is breathless and arching his back for more.

steve’s never felt taken care of like this. he’s always been the one taking care of someone, in bed, in life, in friendships. he’s not used to melting into sheets while a tongue traces lines between his moles on his stomach and sides. he could be, though, if this is what it’s always like with eddie.

“you okay with a mark?” eddie pokes a spot on steve’s side. he looks down to see the heart-shape patch of freckles under his ribs. he nods, feeling weightless and like he weighs a ton the moment eddie’s searching gaze rests on his eyes. “tap my head twice if you want me to stop.”

steve nods in agreement and his stomach does some kind of swooping maneuver that he didn’t think was possible outside of roller coasters and skydiving.

eddie’s mouth is hot and wet against his skin, his tongue darting out to taste him. he hopes he doesn’t taste too sweaty. unless eddie likes that.

teeth nip at his skin, tugging it further into eddie’s mouth as he sucks gently at first. steve moans. he thinks he could probably come like this if eddie doesn’t stop, which would probably be even more embarrassing than admitting he jerked himself off in the bathroom while eddie thought he was just taking a piss.

the pain gets sharper as his skin rolls between eddie’s front teeth. he knows he’s leaving a bruise now, and that makes everything blur a bit.

every time he sees the bruise, touches the bruise, presses the bruised part of his body against a counter or table, all he’ll think about is being under eddie.

this is heaven.

eddie pulls away what could be hours later, looking at steve with glossy eyes and red lips.

“good?”

steve can only nod. his voice has drifted far away and he doesn’t even mind if it never comes back. as long as he can have this, he doesn’t need to speak.

eddie unbuttons his jeans and slides them down, kissing down his thighs as he does so. steve’s shivering under his touch, his gentle care as he strips steve’s underwear off too.

steve’s leaking against his stomach, drops of precum adding to the light sheen of sweat across his waist and upper body. it’s not even hot in his room, it’s just the proximity of eddie’s body and the excitement of finally getting what he’s wanted.

“even better than i pictured,” eddie says against the inside of his thigh. his eyes haven’t left steve’s twitching dick since he finished taking his pants off. “can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

“you’ve had your mouth on me all night.” steve’s being a shit, and eddie’s raised brow and shake of his head tells him eddie knows that.

“but i haven’t had you begging for me to let you come in my mouth, have i?”

steve feels heat blossom on his face.

“you’re gonna let me come in your mouth?” steve feels overwhelmed suddenly, too caught up in the thought of eddie licking the precum off his dick.

“if you’re good for me.”

“how can i be good for you?” steve dares to ask.

“oh, sweetheart. i’ve got so much to teach you.” eddie half-laughs, half-moans. “for now, as long as you stay still, i’ll let you finish once i’ve had my fill.”

steve can’t help but notice that eddie’s still fully dressed, but it doesn’t bother him the way he thinks it should. in fact, his cock jumps at the thought of being completely bare while eddie just stares at his vulnerability.

just as steve feels the blush on his cheeks shifting further south, eddie’s tongue licks a stripe up his length, from base to tip. steve clutches at the sheets, doing his best not to buck up and slap eddie’s face with his cock. he’s not sure eddie would be into that, and even if he were, now isn’t the time to test it.

“good. already so good for me,” eddie says before he takes half of steve’s length in his mouth and sucks.

is there something better than heaven? if so, steve’s there.

eddie was made to suck his cock. he’s gonna tell him that the moment he can breathe again.

eddie moans around him and swallows, and steve has never come in the first ten seconds of a blow job, but he thinks tonight might be yet another first for him. eddie does it again, and steve looks down to see him smirking up at him. he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“fuck, baby,” steve gasps when eddie takes him further, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat. “need to come.”

eddie pulls off of him with a pop, spit dripping from his mouth. “not yet.”

his hand circles the base of steve’s cock, tightening around him until it’s almost painful.

“please, eddie.”

“i wanna enjoy this more. you can hold off for another few minutes, can’t you?” the way eddie asks feels like he’s teasing, and steve kind of loves the shame it brings him.

who knew he was a little bit of a freak?

eddie turns his head and bites down on steve’s inner thigh. it hurts, but his hot breath sends chills up steve’s spine. he throws his head back and moans.

“i’m taking my time with you, stevie. you’re getting cherished tonight.”

steve melts further into his mattress, and he hopes he can hold his orgasm off. he wants to give eddie what he’s asking for, and he wants to let eddie have his way with him, but his body is coiling up, ready to spring forward and end the night too quickly.

“i’m trying, i promise,” steve says softly, feeling tears in his eyes.

eddie looks up at his tone and immediately scoots up his body and covers his face in kisses.

“you’re doing so good for me, stevie. i know you’re all worked up and this is hard. i promise it’ll be so worth it if you can wait just a little longer,” eddie says between messy kisses.

steve giggles— he didn’t even think he knew how to giggle— and bunches his shoulders up. eddie’s breath tickles against his jaw and neck, but he doesn’t want him to stop.

he’s already thinking about calling out of work tomorrow so he can stay in bed with eddie for as long as possible.

“more?” steve asks, scared to make a demand, but happy to have found his voice.

“anything you want, stevie,” eddie says against his shoulder.

he kisses back down his body, leaving steve a trembling mess before he even gets his mouth around his cock again. steve’s fingers are tingling, his heart’s racing, and his stomach is fluttering at the attention.

it’s almost too much. it’s hard for him sometimes to see that he’s worth all this. he doesn’t understand how eddie can look at him like the sun shines from his pores, how eddie can spend so much time in his presence and not get tired of his needy behaviors.

he doesn’t see how eddie could want to give him everything when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

“you’re thinking too much,” eddie’s voice rumbles against the head of his dick. “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

steve looks down at eddie and finally decides he needs to touch him. his hand settles in eddie’s curls, fingers gently scratching at his scalp.

“i just feel like you’re doing more than i deserve,” he admits.

eddie kisses the tip of his dick. it would be comical if his eyes weren’t burning with desire and he wasn’t opening his mouth to argue.

“you deserve the world, steve. and i’m gonna give you as much of it as i possibly can. i want you to feel so good you can’t think straight. is that okay?”

steve nods and watches as eddie does exactly that.

he’s never heard some of the noises he’s making, but eddie seems to like them. he’s moaning around steve’s cock every once in a while, eyes closing as he pushes steve to the edge.

“eddie. gonna come.”

eddie nods and pulls back so just the head is resting on his tongue, eyes watching steve intently. his fingers reach up to trace the bruise he left on steve’s side.

steve’s eyes bore into his as eddie’s fingers press into the bruise.

steve comes down his throat, shaking apart at the seams, quivering until he goes numb. the sharp pain of the pressure on his bruise, the overwhelming pleasure of his release, the warmth of eddie’s mouth, all more than he can handle.

he taps eddie’s head twice, hoping that will still be enough to get him to stop. he needs a second to wrap his head around what’s happened. he needs to focus on feeling human instead of like an angel in the clouds.

eddie pulls away, wiping the corner of his mouth.

“okay, sweetheart?”

steve laughs. “never better.”

eddie kisses over the bruise, lets his lips linger as he blows cool air against the wetness. steve shivers.

“kiss me?” steve breathes out, scared to break whatever moment is happening right now.

but eddie just smiles and kisses his hip before moving back up his body and kissing the corner of his mouth.

“a real one,” steve pouts.

“let me brush my teeth first,” eddie laughs as he tries to pull away.

“wanna taste though,” steve pulls him back down and smiles against his lips.

they kiss until there’s only the taste of them, until steve has to pull away for air.

he doesn’t know how long they’ve been here, and he doesn’t care. he could stay here forever. he hopes he gets this forever.

“oh,” steve’s eyes widen as it hits him.

eddie is surrounding him, the weight of his body and his gaze enough to keep steve anchored to the earth despite the sudden flight his heart has taken.

“i love you.”

he realizes the risk the moment the words leave his mouth, but he’s not taking them back. he feels safe.

eddie’s quiet, but steve isn’t worried, smiling up at him and letting himself feel it all. every ounce of love he has for eddie is there in bed with them.

“you do?” eddie finally asks.

“i do.”

eddie stares at him, opening and closing his mouth, probably trying to figure out how to let steve down gently. steve doesn’t think he will, though.

“you’re mine,” he finally says.

steve beams back at him. “i’m yours.”

eddie says i love you in a lot of ways that night, and the next day when he misses school and steve calls out of work.

steve’s covered in bruises for days after, for weeks, months. anytime one fades, eddie adds a new one to his skin, a temporary tattoo of possession.

but the love isn’t temporary, and steve thinks he’s lucky that he gets to have heaven right here on earth.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie smutty september #steddie events #established relationship #love confessions

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

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In Love and War Pt II

Summary: Warlord!Rhys takes his mate back to his mountain camp and Tamlin's!sister!Reader has to decide the best way to try and escape

Content Warnings: Morally Grey!Rhys, talks of violence

Part I

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We ride for hours. The first two riders I’d seen join us after the first; they too have wings, tucked tight against their backs. Under different circumstances, I might be tempted to ask why they bothered with horses at all when they can simply fly, but thought better of it. The less I learn about them the better. All the easier to keep them in my mind as some faceless evil so I feel a little less guilty about putting an arrow in their eye when I escape. Rhysand has foolishly left me with my weapons, I'll put that mistake to good use when the time is right.

By the third hour, we’ve left the bog and the forest behind, riding through what was once a sprawling plain but is now nothing but weeds. There is no magic left to keep this place fertile and thriving. Hybern’s Cauldron backed powers have stripped most of the land of its power, leaving ruin and famine behind in its wake. Little has managed to grow since, he’s been using the Cauldron to make sure a majority of the crops grow in his fields, where his slaves can tend them and ensure he gets the bulk of the harvest. There's nowhere to run out here.

Especially not when the rest of the riders regroup. There are twelve of them in total, all falling behind my captor as his great, midnight black stead takes the lead.

I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, could not afford to keep one, but the ones that I had, back in my youth, had never been this graceful. Even with my added weight the horse gallops like it has wings, swift as the wind, its blue-black mane trailing gracefully behind it. I almost don’t mind the ride, minus the circumstance and company, as the sun begins to set ahead of us, the sky a symphony of purple, orange and pink.

Eventually, we come to a river, flowing with large chunks of ice from a not yet frozen ice flow further upstream, where they stop to water their mounts.

My captor dismounts first, large, gloved hands gripping my waist to help me down. By the Mother, his hands are so large against my hips! I’m suddenly very aware of my own size.

“Don’t try and run,” he warns.

I glance around to my lack of escape routes and roll my eyes. “Darn, I was planning on throwing myself into the river.”

One of the others, the male I’d spotted first I think, snorts beneath his hood.

Rhysand grunts out a warning before leading his horse to drink and filling a canteen he had tucked in his saddle bag. His back is, foolishly to me, I could easily draw my knife and stab him right here, but a quick glance around tells me that really would end with me taking a trip down the river. All his men carry swords and knives and there’s one with a wicked looking dagger strapped to his thigh; I barely reach the chin of the shortest among them, and that doesn’t account for at least a hundred pounds of muscle difference between us. I know that I have thinned, my ribs poking out beneath the heavy, hole ridden sweater. Some days I feel… brittle. Today especially. I’m not winning any fights against one of them, let alone twelve.

No, I just need to be smart. Wait for an opening, steal a horse, and run as far away as possible. So far, whatever this monster thinks I’m supposed to be to him has saved me from harm, I don’t plan on sticking around to see how long that protects me. Even if I did believe in mates-- as if the Mother ever cared enough about me to give me a soul tie to anyone--I’ve seen the worst in people enough to know it didn’t mean much in the end. What’s a mate but someone obligated to be a breeding mare? What’s a bond if not a magically induced aphrodisiac? I have little doubt that I’m actually safe here; just alive and conscious because it’s too much of a hassle to try and drag my limp body around.

My scheming comes to a grinding halt as Rhysand returns with the canteen, water sloshing the edge as he holds it out for me. It hasn’t occurred to me just how dry my mouth is until I see that water.

Of course, I’m not going to let him know that. “No thanks.”

“I’m not going to poison you,” he returns.

“Poison's the least of my concerns,” I retort.

He grabs my hand and pushes the canteen into it. “Drink.”

“Bite me,” I snarl.

His men chuckle at that, which must upset him because his wings twitch behind him. He draws a deep breath before saying, “Ask nicely, mate.”

I should dump the water directly on his head, and my hand twitches around the canteen as I debate it, but in the end I decide against it. This male murdered half my family in cold blood, whatever thin amount of protection I might have remains only as long as he doesn’t think I’m a threat. To escape, I need to be smart.

On that subject, does he even know who I am? Does he remember riding into our camp that night, sword drawn, slaughtering my people as they jumped from their mats? Or were we just another blurred face in the mass of lives he’s taken in the name of conquest? He’s as bad as Hybern. Even if he has forgotten, I won’t.

I twist the lid back on without drinking anything, ignoring the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he growls as he takes it back and slides it into his saddle bag. There’s a rolled up sleep mat, a blanket, and another sword all tied neatly to that bag. Nothing too heavy, meaning their encampment can’t be far. I need to find a way to get away before they reach it; there will be too many eyes there.

“Your bow,” he says, holding out his hand.

My hand tightens instinctively around the belt across my chest, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. “No.”

“You can’t ride into camp with them.”

“Great, then you can just leave me here.”

It takes him two steps to be back beside me, and I’m embarrassed to admit how easy it is for him to snag the strap and yank it over my head, despite my best efforts to keep that from happening.

“Give that back!”

“The knife can stay, as long as you don’t do anything stupid,” he says like I’m a misbehaving child.

He keeps his back to me as he ties my bow and quiver up next to his second sword, my stomach rolling at the sight of my things next to his.

Rhysand orders his men to mount up as he turns back to me, and I get the impression he’s looking me over for more weapons beneath the hood. I still have no idea what he looks like. Ugly and scarred, like most warlords are, I imagine. I’d never gotten a good look at him that night, had only seen those three stars on his hood and that giant sword between his wings, dripping blood.

“You won’t need any weapons,” he says, in what sounds like it’s an attempt to be gentle, but falls flat. “You’re safe with me.”

I’d have been safer with the kelpie. But I don’t say it, I don’t say anything at all as those large hands lift me back onto the horse, or when he swings into the saddle behind me. I don’t say anything when we cross the river, icy water biting through my thin pants, making my teeth chatter, or when the wind whips relentlessly at us as we leave the grassy plains and head into the mountains. The chill feels like a thousand needles being jammed into my skin, but I will bear it silently. He will not get the satisfaction of seeing me weak; will not be gratified by any sort of conversation for the duration of our journey.

Or at least, that was the plan.

“You’re shaking,” he says, one hand gripping the reins as he uses the other to slide his cloak off his shoulders and over mine.

The material is thick, lined with fur inside, so startlingly warm between his own body heat and the fur that when it settles over me I give a little sigh of relief. The sleeves are too big, swallowing my hands as I try to pull it more fully over my body. “Thanks.” It slips out of me before I can stop myself.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he replies as he settles around me again.

The smell of him, jasmine and citrus and the sea invades all my senses. I want, more than anything, to get it out of my nose, to keep the knowledge of him far, far away from me, but yet, despite my mind’s protests, my body burrows deeper into it.

There’s still no encampment or settlement on the horizon, the horses moving deeper and deeper into the mountains as night falls around us. As long as we’re not stopping to make camp, I think I’ll survive.

“And you haven’t told me yours.” If there must be a conversation, best I can do to buy myself time is steer all conversation away from me.

“I’ve had many names, but most call me Rhys.”

Most called him Death Incarnate amidst a number of things that would make a sailor blush, but I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone call him Rhys. That was entirely too normal.

“Ok, Rhys,” it tastes like bile on my tongue, acknowledging him as anything other than the monster he has always been called back home. “Where are we going?”

The moon shines bright above us, illuminating the slender path we take through the mountains, a steep drop off on one side of us, nothing but sheer rock wall on the other.

“Home,” he replies.

I can’t help the scowl that escapes me, but at least he can’t see it. “And where is home exactly?”

“You’ll see soon,” he replies as he expertly guides his mount up a rocky path. There is no hesitation in his movements; he’s ridden this path many times.

I run a hand over my forehead. “I don’t remember coming this far out.” It slips out of me. If he knows this path then we’re close to the Illyrian borderlines, where his warband can make a semi-permanent encampment. These are grounds I’m not supposed to be anywhere near, nor did I think I was.

“Where were you headed?”

My brother’s made his claim through the Grasslands, the ground barely fertile to feed the livestock in the summer. With winter coming fast, he’d tried pushing his boundary lines into the forests near what had once been the Human Lands. I meant to go through the woods, skirting around Hybern’s slave camps and slip into the Uncharted Territories to find some game. I must have skirted too far past the slave camps when I’d lost my map running from those Highway Men.

“The Uncharted Lands,” I say because I honestly can’t come up with a lie that doesn’t make it look like I belong to Hybern or Amarantha. The boundaries between the warbands shift too often, encroaching too close. Sometimes I can barely tell who’s who and this is the only world I’ve ever known.

“Why?” He asks as we crest an incline and lead the men over a long, smooth plateau on the mountain’s western face. The wind is worse here, snapping at us like whips and before I can even burrow into my borrowed cloak, he’s drawing the hood of it over my head.

His arm tightens around my waist as he barks at his men to start riding single file.

“Was looking for food.”

The horse’s hooves echo between the valley of rock beneath us as we press forward, the precariousness of our situation buying me time to figure out my lie. If I’m not hunting for my brother, what am I doing out here? It’s been a long day; a long week honestly. The rumbling of my stomach and the wind at my face and the warlord at my back seem to occupy the limited space in my quickly tiring mind. The hood of the cloak doesn’t help. It is embedded with some sort of magic, because even though it makes everything dark and warm, I can somehow see right through the fabric, right where that cluster of stars are, as if they’re eye slits. Magic items are rare these days, and expensive, I could probably buy out the Grassland’s market of deer jerky for this item alone.

Eventually the plateau dips, taking us down the other side of the mountain, into the misty canyon below. If I didn’t know where I was before, I really don’t now. Mountains are Illyrian territory, as forbidden and unwelcoming as the Imperial City Hybern had erected in The Middle centuries ago. I need to be paying attention so I know the way back; my eyes are sharp, sharper than most, I should be able to make out a deer path or trail easily, even in the dark, but my eyes are so heavy.

I give myself a little shake. Gotta be paying attention.

The swaying, even gate of the horse reminds me of being a small child, sitting in my mother’s rocking chair as she reads me to sleep. She and my father had always loved telling us stories, my father his made up theories and tales from the road, my mother her books and poems. I try to sit up and adjust my position in the saddle so I’m not slouching forward.

“You do not ride often,” Rhys says, his grip pulling me back more solidly against his chest, so I can feel all the hard planes of him. He’s got to be freezing without his cloak, even if he is still wearing long sleeves and gloves.

“No,” I bite back the rest of the story; how my people had suffered with the loss of my father. How Tam hadn’t been able to organize our survivors in the aftermath, how he’d been unable to store enough food for us that first winter and many of our rider’s had deserted. How he’d had to decide if keeping our stables full was worth the price of the lives hunger was stealing from us; how we’d been forced to eat and sell a few of them, my father’s prized war horse included.

“We’ll change that,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I think I like having my mate ride with me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. At least I’m awake now.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

The mist settles around us as we step into the valley, even as the path ahead becomes nearly invisible, he doesn’t slow or get down to walk the horse. He knows where he’s going, has done this so many times he could do it blind. A rare gift many of our traveling cities don’t receive. Envy swells in my chest. I have never had a place secure enough to set up a permanent camp. The Grasslands are our borders sure, but we move through them daily in fear of an attack, keeping ourselves vigilant for whenever Hybern or Amarantha decide they want more than they’ve already taken from us. Always changing our paths, our camp layout, always moving. How come this monster gets this luxury and my people don’t?

“You are so hesitant to give it,” he muses, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Do I know it already?”

Shit.

“No, that can’t be right. Our bond is too obvious, I would have remembered.”

He’s as clever as he is quick on his feet, unfortunately.

“So I will know you by association, is that it?”

I should just fling myself off the horse and try to lose myself in the mist. If I’m lucky, maybe one of his men will trample me by accident and this horrible nightmare will be over. At least, if I’m dead I will not have to explain my failure to Tam, or face the alternative of being this male’s breeding mare. Neither is a future I wish to meet.

It is only then that an alternative solution occurs to me.

Tam said I couldn’t come back without food; I’d made a nuisance of myself back home and had swiftly suffered the consequences of it, and with winter coming in fast, my brother has to know he sent me on a fool’s errand. Perhaps intending to keep me out of his way for a while; or to finally get me to bend the knee and submit to his authority as warlord. I hadn’t been of age to take father’s mark, and my allegiance had fallen through the cracks in the years after. Until I was integrated, Tam couldn’t marry me off, as I suspected he wanted to do often, and was probably using this opportunity to try and make me see reason. A future I also loathed to picture. Perhaps, if I played my cards right here, then I could find something more useful than a deer to bring back. If I played along with this little mates concept, what could Rhysand show me? Couldn’t I use any knowledge he gave to my advantage? Surely Tam would find other uses for me than marrying me off with this sort of leverage. My brother was known for his grudges, if I found a way to offer up his enemy on a silver platter, perhaps I’d never have to worry about being married off again.

My stomach twists as the plot plays out before my eyes: This fool taking me into the lands my people had never been able to access before, convincing him to let his guard down, to show me where his people were vulnerable. I could get my hands on camp movements or their supply lines; I could count the fighting men or the horses, make list after list to take back in the place of a few meals I know deep down I’d never be able to find before winter.

My parents faces flash before my eyes. My mother, so gentle and…sad. She had been sad long before my birth, always missing a home she couldn’t go back to because of Hybern. But she had always tried to be there for me. To sing to me and hold me. She had been good and kind and if she knew where I sat now… what I thought I might do…

And my father. He was cruel and cold and I’d spent a long time wondering if he’d ever loved me at all, but he had been a good leader. He had inspired the men, even on days that had been bleak. He’d been willing to shed whatever blood was necessary to ensure the survival of my people. If this opportunity had been presented while he was alive, he would have tossed a collar around my neck and dragged me to Rhysand’s doorstep himself.

As for Tamlin, well if he so much as saw Rhysand’s arm around my waist as it was now he would have torn him to shreds. He would hate it, but I think my brother was as calculating and ruthless as my father had been. His protective nature could be overruled by what he deemed necessary to keep us alive.

I’d need to play my cards right, if I was to make this work. “Yes,” and I force my voice to a whisper, my shoulders hunching in feign defeat. I will have to find ways not to look so utterly revolted about this male touching me; will have to bury all my base instincts to run and claw and fight every time he calls me his mate. But I can do it.

I will do it. For vengeance. For my angel of a mother. For the survival my father died for. I’d damn myself a hundred times over for a chance Tam had never found.

He rests his chin on my shoulder, thinking and it takes every inch of willpower I possess to not shrug him off. A few hours together and this prick thinks he can just touch me so casually? As if I have no say in the matter because he is my mate and therefore owed whatever affection he sees fit to grant me?

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t hold it against you,” his voice is… gentle. Far more gentle than a man in his position should be and I have no idea how to respond to it.

“My name is Y/N,” I saw softly, like I’m scared the wind will hear me. “Tamlin is my older brother.”

He stiffens behind me and I find myself holding my breath. This is it.

“He never mentioned he had a sister,” he says more to himself than me.

I almost audibly let loose a massive sigh of relief. “Yeah, well he isn’t too fond of me at the moment.” Never mind I didn’t know that he and Tamlin had ever talked on a mutual basis. Sometimes, usually over a mutually beneficial wedding ceremony, did rival camps come together and exchange weapons, food and sometimes training. If I remember correctly, I think there might have been times when we’d done so with the Illyrians, but never did Tam mention that he knew Rhysand personally. Rhysand was always a name whispered like a curse, as if saying it too loud would bring death and destruction upon us.

“He sent you out here? Alone?” That last bit comes out like a growl.

“Banished, is more of the term he used,” I say under my breath, hoping the tone conveys embarrassment.

“For what?” He hisses, his tone promising violence. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Now what would convince Death Incarnate that I was something meek and fragile and in need of protection from my big, bad brother? If we really were mates, it would be in his nature to want to protect me, from both physical and emotional harm, but I needed to be careful. Too extreme a lie and I was likely to restart the war between our camps that had cost me my parents. I needed something to pack enough punch to convince him he needed to keep me close, to be looked after, but not so bad that it sparked a fight.

Perhaps my best bet was to appeal to the bond. “He wants me to take his mark,” I twist the sleeves of the cloak between my fingers as I speak. “So he can reap the benefits of marrying me off to one of Autumn’s commanders.”

Rhysand has gone still as death itself behind me and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire as whatever dark power lives within his skin comes to life. All my instincts scream at me to run, hide.

“But Eris is… cruel and I told Tam I couldn’t do it.” Eris was probably too old for Tam to try, but there had been talks, even when I was a girl, about how my father had wanted an alliance with Autumn, and Eris had his own history with the Illyrians. “He told me I needed to sort out my priorities and when I didn’t, he threw me out.”

“That’s just like him,” Rhysand snarls.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from snarling all the things I’d rather say in my brother’s defense.

“How long have you been out here on your own?”

“About a week, I think,” I could say longer, but on the off-chance he has spies that could check that sort of thing--and I’m fairly certain the stories about Illyrians and their shadow agents are not far off--I’d rather play it safe.

He brings his mount to a brief halt as two, looming carvings in the mountain’s face appear through the fog. The touring statues sporting the same great, talon tipped wings as Rhysand, stand guard over the pass ahead of us, their hewn sword held aloft. Sleeping wyverns lay at the base of each statue, their carefully carved eyes at eye level with us as the men fall in line behind us. The air is tinged with magic--overly sweet and oppressive-- as we approach, some sort of shield.

“From here,” he says softly in my ear, the mask still shielding the lower half of his face from the wind rough against my cheek. “You’ll never have to worry about being alone again.”

I’m going to be sick! Play it safe. Play the game. For Tam. For Mom and Dad. I will myself to picture their faces again, to keep reminding myself what is at stake.

Rhysand kicks the horse into motion again, passing through the shield with a flick of his gloved hand, soft ripples of magic parting for us like someone had pulled back a curtain. I’ve never seen anyone use magic so casually, so fluidly. Once all the riders have passed through, I feel the shield fall back into place behind us. No turning back now.

Ahead, the path begins to widen. At the far end of the path, still shrouded on either side by the mountains, sit two torches, the light guiding the way. When we reach them, the path dips dangerously into a valley, all filled with large, midnight black tents. More torches and bonfires light the cloth city, the sounds of drum beats and revelry beckoning from beneath us.

“I see the party started without us,” one of the men says from behind us.

“Devlon must have had a good run,” Rhysand muses as he takes us down into the valley.

As the lights draw closer, I can start to make out the tribal markings and depictions sewn into the sides of the tents. There’s singing to go with the drum beats, all in a language that makes no sense to me, just like the markings. Something from the Mountains none of my people had ever been privy to.

When we reach the outskirts of the city, we are greeted by two towering males, wearing little other than loose, dark paints and a smattering of blood red paint along their bare chests and faces. Each holds a spear, a dagger strapped to their muscled thighs.

One barks something at Rhysand in Illyrian, his slate colored gaze fixed on me, still wearing the lord’s cloak. I’m grateful they cannot see my face, the fear I know will be clear in my eyes. It is hard enough to hide the trembling in my hands.

Rhysand dismounts to greet them, still speaking in Illyrian until they retreat into the maze of tents beyond. Despite the raucous laughter and music coming from the center, the rows of tents are organized into clear streets and sectors, some dancing bodies visible in between the rows, though most of the camp seems to be in its heart at the moment.

He runs a gloved hand over the horses neck as he turns to face the men, their mounts dancing beneath them. “We will strategize in the morning.”

That is apparently dismissal enough, as his men bow their heads and kick their steads into motion around the outskirts of camp, soon disappearing into the darkness. My stomach drops as I realize I’m alone with my enemy for the first time all night. My anxiety only heightens as he takes the reins and guides the horse forward without a word of where we’re going.

I’m too scared to ask either.

Staying on the edge of camp means I cannot see any of what is happening within, though I glimpse bonfires and revelry often enough to guess. It is not unlike our own celebrations, even if the music is different.

Rhysand still doesn’t speak as we pass another group of sentries and head up a well worn path in the heart of the valley. The grass is lush here, would be up to his knees were it not for the cleared stretch lined by torches. It is quieter here, the music distant.

Overhead, the stars glitter like a million little diamonds, all the constellations I have memorized a stark contrast to the dark shadows of this hidden mountain world. We’re surrounded on all sides by mountains, shielded from view and harm by stone. It is so different to the rolling hills I am used to, it is nice to know that the stars, at least, have not changed.

The path leads to a secluded circle of larger tents, still black but stitched with stars not unlike the ones on the cloak I’m still wearing.

We pass yet another group of sentries as we approach, and only once we’re face to face with the largest tent in the circle does Rhysand finally stop.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I should have run. Should have thrown myself into the river. Should have risked a quick death trying to fight my way out of this than subjecting myself to this.

Rhysand grabs my waist again and lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing. Compared to his size, I’m sure I do. In the torchlight, this is the first time I’ve managed to glimpse his face. I’d been drastically wrong about his appearance. The monster that haunted my nightmares was not some old, scarred thing as I had pictured, I wasn’t sure he was even older than Tam. A young lord, his features sharp, but clean cut. Some of his raven black hair fell loose around his sun kissed face, framing a set of violet eyes so bright they practically glittered like stars in his head, the rest was braided with strands of blue and purple thread. By far the most beautiful male I’d ever seen in my life and I think I hate him a little more for it.

“You must be tired,” he says finally.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I just nod, which I think might be a mistake because now we’re heading inside the tent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears because I have made a terrible mistake!

By some magic trick, torches flair to life as we enter, the soft orange glow cast in eerie patterns against the sleek black leather walls. On one side of the tent is a bed large enough to accommodate someone with such massive wings, piled with furs and pelts of various animals. On the other end, a table with some chairs and various weapons and books and trinkets scattered about the top of it. There’s chests piled in the corner, locked and dusty like they haven’t been opened since they’d been moved in. The floor is covered in a dozen different rugs, all overlapping in an attempt to make the place feel cozier but the patterns and colors are all so different that it looks like a whacky patchwork quilt. Clearly a layout chosen by a male.

“I apologize for the mess,” he begins as he takes off the scarf tied around the lower half of his face and places it over the back of a chair. “I… was not expecting to come across anybody out there, let alone bringing anyone back.”

“What were you doing out there?” My voice shakes too much for my liking and I’m convinced I asked that far too quickly to not be totally obvious, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Scouting,” he says with no further explanation as he tosses his gloves onto a heap of more gloves on the edge of the table.

My muscles stiffen as I watch him warily. If he starts undressing I might really change my mind and try to run for it.

I am prepared to do what is necessary for my people, but that is a line I cannot cross yet. Not tonight.

He steps closer to where I stand dumbly in the center of the room, drowning in his cloak, and he nudges the hood off my face with his knuckles.

I have to remind myself to stop biting my lip as the fabric slides off my head. Even fully clothed, standing this close to him, with those violet eyes drinking me in like that, I feel very exposed and vulnerable.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly, his hand drifting down the side of my cheek.

I hate that I shiver under his touch. Hate that my eyes go to his full lips and how soft they look in this torchlight. I hate that I find him beautiful, hate that I do not pull away as he cups my cheek. I hate myself for putting myself in this position in the first place.

“I…” this is not an act, I really don’t know what to do or say here. My chest aches with the way he’s looking at me, like maybe there really is some strange, mystical thread linking us together and it’s coming awake the more he has his hands on me. Yet my mind balks and screams all the same and I cannot tell which of them is supposed to help me do this. “This is a lot.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he assures, his voice low and husky, a tone I think might be better suited to the bedroom. “You are safe with me.”

Safe.

As if he could ever make me feel safe.

His thumb rubs circles in my cheek, the calluses along his palm from years of sword play scratching pleasantly across my skin. Violet eyes rove over me, studying the plains of my face like he’s cataloging every detail. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

I let loose a breath as he heads back to the tent flap, where his horse is still waiting.

“For now, it would be best if you stay here. Don’t go anywhere without me. At least, not until you take my mark.”

And then he’s gone, finally leaving me alone for the first time in hours, but even if I wanted to do some snooping, I can’t. All I can do is stand there as my stomach rises in my throat.

His mark.

How the hell was I supposed to go home bearing Rhysand’s mark?

I rub my temples with my fingertips. I need to find something useful to take back to Tamlin and get out of here fast, because if I don’t, I may never be allowed to go home again.

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Tag List: @judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor

Let me know if you would also like to be added to the Tag List! I have a good couple of chapters planned :)

#Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #warlord!Rhys x reader #acotar x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #my writing #my fanfic #my series

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howlsofbloodhounds · 29 days

Note

headcanon that the thing that draws killer to color first is color's six souls situation. he wants to experiment on them so badly, but can never get to beat color so he goes plan b: pretend to befriend color then backstab him later. fortunately the plan backfires and the rest is history :)

also, i do wonder if killer has ever offered color to absorb his red soul. like, is killer's soul human enough? would color become a god after absorbing killer's soul? i think that would be a conversation color has to steer away, but killer can't stop his curiosity and self-destructive hypothesizing. color can become a god. color will be invincible. color can finally be safe like that. and like, maybe if color absorbs killer's soul, killer can finally communicate with the six souls and realize the horrors of raising six semi-children in your head as a single parent.

~ crowshipping anon

crow, how I’ve missed you. you and delta anon are the backbones of this blog btw.

And I absolutely adore the idea of how it started being that killer wanted to experiment on him lmao. Especially if its like “if this guys gonna keep lingering around, might as well make him useful,” and then he just keeps getting his ass beat over and over.

And then he decides to just go the friend route, play along and pretend he’s listening to the “bullshit” Color’s spewing, but color’s actually being genuinely nice. like, genuinely? hes not even trying to make killer stop or change, just firmly setting boundaries and redirecting killer’s curiosity on to something less destructive. and now, oh no, he likes him. hes fascinating.

and i think killer proposing the idea of color absorbing his soul even once is interesting, even if indirectly and possibly during one of his more self destructive or paranoid moments. perhaps if something happens that threatened colors life or somehow caused him to be hurt, or if something is just making killer think about them being separated. perhaps stage 1’s insecurity or just nightmares.

probably proposed it something like, “what if we became one” and color makes a light joke like “that would be awful, this heads already so full, dont you dislike children?” and then killer keeps going on with his line of thought. how color would be a god basically, how they’d be together, how maybe killers soul could help be a source of further power for color.

how hed be safe. killers soul is strong enough to rewrite entire timelines. color wouldn’t even have to worry about death.

of course killer may phrase it as something along the lines of how itd make color more powerful whenever he voices it, but color doesn’t care for more power and they both know that and color knows that he knows. color can read between the lines and killer knows that, too.

maybe this is even just killers way of expressing or wondering about how much closer they could get it, how much more there is to understand.

maybe killer less wants to know about colors souls now and more that he wants to know the souls because he wants to know color. maybe he wants to know everything he can learn about him; learn everything he can.

idk just the idea of killer being so intensely fascinated with and curious about color tickles me—something about it becomes less like scientific curiosity and more now that extremely rare desire to connect with someone. because color makes him feel understood and for the first time he feels safe being understood.

and perhaps if/when he becomes more aware of that, the intensity, is enough to cause killer to withdraw emotionally from color for a bit; even if he can’t stop mulling it over in his mind. maybe he even thinks if color absorbs his soul, then he’ll never lose access to that hope and happiness again. theres no threat of it. perhaps becoming a little lost in his fantasy for a bit.

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randombush3 · 1 year

Text

roadside romance

leila ouahabi x reader

summary: when leila’s car breaks down, you come to the rescue

words: 2037

notes: this is an ode to british weather and hot mechanics. i know nothing about cars but i learnt something while writing this!!!!

this was requested btw 🫡

It’s just fucking inconvenient. A closure on the motorway means that they have to take a detour down winding, country roads. And Leila has a sneaking suspicion that her car is going to stop functioning at any given minute now that the blinking, red light has become a permanent fixture on her dashboard.

Leila had looked at her friends apprehensively the minute the light had appeared, but Ona didn’t care and Laia was too wrapped up in posting their day trip to Blackpool on her Instagram to offer any worthwhile advice.

So, lacking expertise and a good enough grasp of English geography to find a nearby mechanic, Leila had carried on with their journey. It was only another hour to Manchester after all.

Which leads them to now, stranded on the side of the road. Laia and Leila stood outside of the car, while Ona spreads out as she naps in the backseat, none the wiser to the situation they have landed themselves in.

“Can’t you just fix it?” Laia asks her friend as they stare at the bonnet helplessly. “You seem like you know how to fix cars.”

Leila places an uncertain hand on the shiny metal, wondering if she even knows how to get the bonnet open. “That’s Mapi, not me. I have no idea what to do.”

They try to call someone, but there is no service and no pavement to walk down the road to see if elsewhere has a few more bars.

Frankly, it’s so unlucky that this has happened that Laia and Leila both have to hold in their laughter, not wanting the other to think they don’t understand how bad the situation actually is. Because, being stuck in a foreign country with no service and no knowledge about the inner-workings of a car is quite comical. It would be a great scene of a movie.

It’s Ona, when she returns to the land of the living, who comes up with a solution.

The defender gets out of the car, joining her friends as they sit on the grass verge adjacent to the road. “We’ve just got to wait here and look like three damsels in distress until someone drives past and helps us.” Though Leila knows she could probably think of something better if she really put her mind to it, she agrees to Ona’s plan, too lazy to do anything other than wallow in her misery. Now she’s going to have to take her car to the mechanic, and she hates doing things like that here because she has to drag Hempo with her to translate strong Mancunian accents into normal, more understandable English.

…

“Yeah, I’m coming. The motorway’s just chock-a-block and so I’ve taken a back route,” you tell your impatient sister, who is annoyed that you are late to her daughter’s birthday party. “Don’t be angry with me, be angry with the M6.” She chides you for your tardiness anyway, and you internally curse her for moving to Blackpool. It’s not like she’s a ballroom dancing fan or anything.

The countryside looks miserable when it’s just your car zipping down the empty roads, and it doesn’t help that the grey sky above makes you think it’s going to rain. While you have lived in Manchester your whole life and strive to not get bummed out by the weather, it makes you a little annoyed that the country can’t get its act together. You wish you had the power to teleport to Spain or something.

You pity anyone who is stuck outside as it begins to drizzle.

…

“Can we get in the car now?” Ona whines, completely going back on her plan after feeling the droplets of rain hit the top of her head. “I don’t want to get wet.”

“Please, Leila,” Laia adds. She hopes to sway her friend's adamance to stay where they can be seen, in case a helicopter flies over and lands in a nearby field to offer their aid (which seems more likely than someone driving past at this point).

“No, it’s only a bit of rain,” she tells her friends. A low rumble of thunder echoes in the fields. Ona and Laia raise their eyebrows. “Fine. You two be pathetic. I’ll stay here, doing the saving.”

“Our hero,” Laia replies sarcastically, chasing after Ona as she sprints to the car. “Have fun getting wet!”

It begins to chuck it down.

When a black Ford pulls up, a bit further up the road, coming from the direction they were heading in, and you get out, Leila finds that getting soaked has become worth it.

“Are you alright?” you shout to her, crossing the road and walking along the grass verge to get a better look at what is happening.

“My car is not working!” Leila shouts back.

You frown, approaching the brunette with concern. She has had to sit in the rain so that someone notices her. You’re a sympathetic person.

“Hi,” Leila says shyly as you help her up, wiping the water from her eyes so that she can see you properly.

“Hi.” You give her a once-over (solely for the purpose of checking she’s okay), and then turn to her car. “What’s wrong with it?” She squints at the sound of your strong accent, and you flush red, embarrassed. “What is wrong with your car?” you repeat with more clarity.

“I don’t know.”

“Was there a red light on the dash?” Leila’s vindication comes out in a muttered Spanish swear, before she nods and follows you down the verge to the road. “Can you pop the bonnet? I’ll give it a look.”

And, while you are doing that, Leila is giving you a look. Along with Ona and Laia.

“Es guapa,” an enviably dry Ona comments to her friends as Leila settles in the driver’s seat. You have instructed her to stay put for a moment while you puzzle at the state of her engine, wanting to know what is wrong before you explain it to the pretty woman you have found on the side of the road.

“Y lesbiana,” Laia points out as you tie your sopping hair up into a bun. Your t-shirt is so soaked that it is no longer of any use, so you pull it up over your head, getting to work in just your bra after wringing out enough water to fill a swimming pool. On your wrist is a bracelet from a Pride event you were dragged to by your friend the other day. You are secretly hoping Leila notices it. “Lei, dile tu nombre. Coquetea con ella.”

“Sí, pregúntale cuál es el problema.”

Leila scoffs, unimpressed with herself at how easily they have picked up on her attraction to you.

“Va. Es de Manchester, también.”

“Guapa, local, y lesbiana. Es perfecta.”

“No sé…” Leila starts, undecided as to whether she should let them convince her she has a chance or not.

Just when Laia and Ona are about to list more of your enticing physical qualities, you appear by the door, knocking on the window to tell her to open it.

“Good to see you’ve dried off a bit,” you joke, feeling as though you are so drenched that you will never be dry again. Leila blushes, but you are unsure whether it's because your joke is terrible or because her friends in the backseat have squashed together in the middle so that they can see what’s happening. You clear your throat. “So it’s a coolant leak. Took me a minute to realise half the water on the ground was actually your coolant and not the rain, but I figured it out eventually! The radiator’s hose clamps were damaged and, obviously, they’ve failed…”

But Leila isn’t listening to you telling her what is wrong with her car, because her friends are whispering in Spanish about how good you look topless. And she is inclined to agree with them.

It is only when you stop talking and the white noise of your ramble is no longer present that she realises what has happened, and she snaps out of staring at you. “Perdón, please could you repeat that?” It’s a phrase she has become very accustomed to, after all.

You laugh, and Leila likes the sound of it very much. “There was a leak, but I can fix it for you. If you’d like?”

“Yes!” Ona answers for her, making Leila practically jump out of her skin.

At Leila’s apparent hesitance, you remember you never introduced yourself to the three women in need of a car mechanic. It’s handy that that is exactly what you do for a living. “Fuck, sorry. I’m Y/n.” You hold out your hand for her to shake, and ignore the tingles where your skin meets hers. “I’ll need, like, an hour to do it, but I can. I’m a mechanic.”

“Es tan perfecta,” Laia giggles, poking Leila to remind her to tell you her name too.

“My name is Leila. I am not a mechanic, but can you… teach me?”

It’s an excuse to watch you fix her car.

You both know it.

“Yeah, sure. I have an umbrella in my car, and I’ll need to get my toolkit and stuff. I’ll bring it over, and then you won’t get wet.”

“I already am.”

You blush, though you know it’s probably not what she meant. All three of them speak with strong Spanish accents, reminding you of your grandmother.

…

It takes slightly longer than expected to sort out the clamps, but you don’t mind having an excuse to not go to a little kid’s birthday party. You love your niece, but the thought of thirty hyper five-year-olds running around and begging you to play with them makes you gulp. You’d rather arrive when the guests have left and your niece has crashed from her inevitable sugar-high.

Leila stands beside you as you work, holding the umbrella above both of your heads. You are too focused on your task to see her check you out every so often, but she has left the car door open so you can hear the eager encouragement from her friends. Ona even takes a picture because the scene is so hilarious.

“What does this do?” Leila quizzes as you finish up, pointing at the engine and enjoying the way you answer so effortlessly. “And this? And that?”

You wipe the sweat (and rain) from your brow, sighing as you step back to observe your work. For an impromptu fix-up on the side of the road, it’s not bad. She may need to bring her car into the garage to get it properly sorted once she gets to her destination.

“Could I borrow your phone?” you ask after catching her staring. It gives you a surge of confidence.

Confused, Leila nods, handing it over to you.

“Mi madre es de España.” All three Spanish women feel their mouths open in shock. And horror. And the realisation that you definitely heard everything they have been saying about you.

Leila feels like jogging to the nearest motorway and diving in front of a truck.

“I’ll give you my number and you can update me on the car? You’ll need to get someone to look over it more thoroughly.”

“Sí,” Leila breathes, hoping that you are signing yourself up for that job.

“I’m based in Manchester, so if that’s convenient, you could always bring it into my garage.”

“We live in Manchester too,” Laia helpfully shouts from inside the car. “And she will do that!”

“And… I could also text you a restaurant where you can ask me even more questions about car engines over dinner?” You grin at her, and she grins back.

“Sí, por favor.”

“It was nice to meet you, Leila,” you say slowly, pleased with yourself but dignified to hold in your cheering until your return to your own car.

“Igualmente,” Leila replies, handing you your t-shirt that you had previously discarded onto the floor. She’s still embarrassed that you understood what her friends said about you, but at least that means she now has a date.

Or two.

Or three.

It depends on how many more problems she can find with her car.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader

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batw1nggg · 11 months

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hi. im here to kamukoma ramble. ok so i reeaaly hate how all kamumeshi Fan Content (which is basically all kamukoma content) waters down izuru to being the dominant one and servant to being his cute little dog like i feel like its so much more complex then that.

izuru was created to be subservient, to be smart enough to see through manipulation tactics and yet not care enough about himself to do anything to stop them, always doing something to serve someone else’s interests - and even when he does do one thing in his own interest (the killing game), it was largely because of his obsession with junko, so we see her still pulling the strings on him from beyond the grave (emphasized by his convo with her in his udg cameo). he doesn’t have power and he’s been designed not to want it. he’s been robbed of his humanity over and over again and been taught to accept it. he even explicitly states all of this in talent dev plan with taka

komaeda, on the other hand, is always framed with such heavy control over the narrative - he heavily influences dr2’s ending and takes that same puppeteering role in udg too. although he has that inferiority complex, he still holds so much power over everyone else, manipulating them like chess pieces. he is just as dangerous as izuru is, considering he has not only the intelligence but the motivation to act out like this, something izuru lacks.

and so this creates a really cool complexity where servant believes he’s meant to be subservient to izuru but this may not be wholly reflected in the way he acts, and izuru most definitely does not care for/about controlling servant. and, if izuru does take a domineering role, it’s because that’s what servant wants (especially after junko’s death, when he has no one left to place himself beneath), and so izuru’s still letting himself go with whoever the people surrounding him want him to be. he’s not with servant for the power trip, that goes completely against everything he’s ever been - because, in reality, IZURU is the one who exists to serve. to serve his creators, and then junko afterwards, even after her death. his purpose has always been assigned to him, not created by him.

both characters are fucked up and morally grey. both characters are the man, both characters are the god.

this is what i wish people would focus more on when writing their general character development and the development of their relationship. because they barely get any screen time you get lots of creative freedom and you can take this concept in either a “they are going to heal and get better together” route or a “they are doomed to always hurt each other in their codependency” route or some weird thing in between; again, personal preference, and if you want to keep izuru and hajime separate postgame this opens a whole new plethora of dynamics and development to write about after komaeda becomes himself again. the flexibility of their dynamic is whats so intriguing to me - kamukoma is a very complex and fluid idea that i wish more people would mess around with like this join me and we can play with them like putty

#servant was willing to rig that entire death trap in udg. do u really think he is truly subservient in nature. do u really think hes not #possessive and weird about izuru. keep in mind he was despaired #also if u want me to add a read more somewhere let me know . she got beefy #anyways PLEASE feel free to add your thoughts i need to talk about them be4 i explode badly #ko’s danganronpa ramblings #long post #kamukoma #nagito komaeda #izuru kamukura #servant nagito #servant komaeda #kamumeshi #danganronpa spoilers

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calcifiedunderland · 11 months

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Pride and Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

The Schemer of the Scalding Sands: J. Viper

Introduction, or pick another route!

Jamil x GN Reader

Warnings: Najma and Kalim are wingmen, Jamil insults you Darcy-style (he doesn’t mean it <3 ), P&P-level angst, descriptions of being extremely high in the air (magic carpet ride <3 )

Notes: ngl i became a jamil stan while writing this fic

———

Kalim was being quiet, Jamil thought as he glanced at the clock. Too quiet.

It was late evening, and usually around this time Kalim would be knocking on Jamil’s dorm room asking for him to cook something. Or for homework help. Or to plan a party. Or all three, plus something else. Usually, Jamil couldn’t go more than half an hour without Kalim coming around, but this evening had been oddly peaceful, so something had to be afoot.

He pushed away from his desk and headed down the hall to the dorm leader’s room, pressing an ear against his door. Good, he’s in the room. Judging by Kalim’s voice, he wasn’t in immediate danger. Good, good. Still, he should just make sure. He rapped his knuckles against the door and walked in without waiting, “Kalim, I came to check-“

He stopped in shock, eyes widening and a frown forming. Kalim was on his stomach on his bed video chatting with someone on his phone, legs kicking in the air cheerfully. That was all fine, except-

“Najma?!” Jamil screeched, diving to Kalim to get a better look. “Why are you calling Kalim?!”

“Dude, calm down,” Najma deadpanned. Kalim grinned, “yeah, it’s all fine Jamil! We were just talking about you actually-“

“What?!” Jamil wrenched the phone from Kalim, and dodged his hands. “Najma! You should be doing your homework not talking to Kalim-“

“Jamil can you relax?” Najma drawled, leaning back on her bed. “I just called Kalim to see if you were actually doing your job.” Not really, it was to make sure Jamil wasn’t overstressing himself. Clearly he was. She suddenly smirked, and changed the topic. “Kalim said you were close to that (name) person you brought to the Yasamina Silk festival. They seemed cool, but now they seem great.”

Jamil was indignant. “Don’t listen to him Najma. And Kalim! You-!” Jamil turned to glare at him, then immediately calmed his voice and face. “You should eat something, it’s getting late.” Kalim’s eyes widened and he looked at the time, “you’re right! We should see if the rest of the dorm is hungry too! We could all have dinner together!” He dashed out of the room without waiting for Jamil, who sighed and turned back to Kalim’s phone. “I’d better go after him, take care of yourself, Najma.” “Okay, bye~”

Najma sighed and slumped against her bed. Jamil seems to really like this (name), and they seemed pretty nice when we met. Not to mention, Jamil seemed happy they were there… it’d be nice for him to loosen up too. In the very few times he’d spoken about you to her, he seemed… almost cheerful. Very unlike the high-strung, perfectionist brother she knew. Even though Jamil was still her older brother, she still worried about him a little bit. It’d be nice if he had someone to loosen him up, who he genuinely liked.

She thought back to the festival, where you and Jamil shared a melon with one another. Sure, you may have not known that one Scalding Sands legend, where if you shared that melon with someone, your friendship (or romance!) would last forever. Or maybe you did know.

Either way, she knew her brother well enough that he wouldn’t slip up with splitting the melon like that. He may not believe in superstition, but a Scalding Sands legend was still a legend.

She thought for a bit, and then smirked and picked up her phone. Oh yeah. It’s all coming together. She just needed to get Kalim on board now.

———

Jamil was staring at you again.

It was out of the corner of his eye, and he kept looking away, but you just knew. Because he’d been doing it for the past few months, ever since the Scalding Sands event you’d crashed with Grim.

Granted, you were surprised he even let you go with him and Kalim, given how annoyed he looked at the extra guests (between you two, Trey, Cater, and Malleus, it was an unforgettable trip indeed). And you and Jamil sort of reached a… truce, of sorts, after his overblot.

You didn’t know how you felt ever since he’d basically imprisoned you and Grim in Scarabia, and all the things he’d said about you. Sure, after all of that went down, you were pissed and a little hurt. You’d thought that you’d made a friend in a new dorm, (two, counting Kalim, who really was your friend) but instead he was just using you. And now, the two of you were in a strange stalemate, and surprisingly, saw each other somewhat often.

While running odd errands for Crowley, sometimes you passed by the gym. You’d see Ace and Floyd, and also Jamil playing basketball, and invariably Jamil would become distracted. Floyd even loudly complained about that when a stray shot from Jamil hit him in the head. Then, at some point he’d offered to tutor you in Alchemy, saying that Kalim needed help too, so he’d just be getting two birds with one stone. And then Kalim would throw parties practically every fortnight and sic Jamil on your tail, begging you to come.

You supposed Kalim felt extremely grateful for helping him understand Jamil, but frankly you wanted to be left in peace. Still, when you did accept Kalim’s invitation, you sort of… enjoyed the small talk you made with Jamil, commenting on his cooking and sometimes helping him in the kitchen to get away from the crowds. At some point, the two of you even began meeting up to just… vibe.

Sometimes you’d meet with him in the kitchens, watching him cook while you did your homework, and occasionally cook with him. At some point, you’d take over from him and cook in his place, just to give the poor guy a break. This wasn’t something you took lightly, given how overprotective Jamil was over Kalim - the two of you reached a nice… whatever it was.

Still, you felt like he was uneasy around you. Why else would he keep staring at you, hovering over you, and ask you pointed questions? One moment he’d be more lax around you, chatting and bantering, and the next he’d be… venomous. It wasn’t like you could tell anyone about his overblot. You technically didn’t exist in this universe, anyway, so his secret was safe with you.

You heard a knock coming from the Ramshackle front door, and went to open it. In front of you stood Kalim and Jamil. Wait, no… sat.

They were both seated on Kalim’s flying carpet, the Housewarden beaming at you while Jamil looked tired and a bit peeved. “Hey, (name)!” The carpet waved its tassels at you. “Hey guys, I’m fine, but… why are you here?” Kalim grinned sunnily at you, “we wanted to see you! You should take a break and walk with us!” You glanced at Jamil, who was a little quiet, looking at you intently.

“I can’t, I’m…” you failed to think of an excuse, kicking yourself mentally, “…alright, sure.” Ugh, why did you agree?

Kalim cheered, and the three of you went along the path outside of Ramshackle. Kalim insisted that Jamil stayed on the carpet, even after he suggested he walk with you. “(Name), you should sit with us!” He smiled at you, something mischievous in his eyes. That’s a little… odd? Although it was Kalim after all. He did have some impulsive tendencies.

You gently took Jamil’s hand, surprised he’d even offered to help you up, and sat carefully on the carpet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jamil flex the hand he held yours with. You scoffed, “dude, I don’t have rabies or anything. You’re not infected with my hand.” Jamil frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Kalim jumped off the carpet. “Now, remember what we talked about! Go, carpet!”

Immediately, the carpet lurched forward. “Kalim, what did you do?!” Jamil gasped as the carpet began rising higher and faster. Your eyes widened and you instinctively grabbed the front of the carpet, “KALIM! Jamil stop the-!” You were cut off as the carpet zoomed up into the sky, leaving no trace except your shrieks and Jamil’s shouts. Nonetheless, Kalim smiled proudly at his handiwork, now Jamil and the Prefect can have some quality time together! Pleased, he pulled out his phone.

Kalim: its done! Jamil and (name) are in a whole new world of love now!!!!!!! \^o^/

On the other end of the chat, Najma grinned, and texted back:

Najma: YESSSSSSSS all according to plan >:)

———

You had been through a lot when you first arrived to NRC. Between living in Ramshackle, fighting overblots, dodging Floyds and Rooks, and shouldering Crowley’s responsibilities, you’ve dealt with your fair share of wildness.

But this? This was new.

You screamed as the carpet seemed to lurch higher and higher into the air, gripping the front of it for dear life. Your stomach flip-flopped wildly, and you tried to not projectile vomit in mid-air. The air rushed past your ears, cold and practically ripping through your skin. You could barely hear anything over the sound of wind, let alone Jamil yelling beside you.

At last, the carpet settled, and you felt extremely lightheaded. Your brain was static at this point, and you moved to lean on both hands when Jamil grabbed your wrist. “Do not look down.”

Well damn, you can’t tell me what to do, Jamil. That made you immediately look over the edge, and you regretted it instantly. The school was barely larger than a postage stamp, and you could practically see the borders of Sage’s Island with how high up you were. It was chilly too - you both were surrounded by clouds, and it was darker than you’d thought. It was probably about to rain - not that you’d know, being above the damn rainclouds.

Beside you, Jamil was beyond exasperated. If he seemed tense before, now he was just pissed. His hand on your wrist tightened, and he leaned closer to you. “Don’t. Look down.” His eyes flashed angrily at you, and you withered under his gaze, gripping the carpet tighter. He turned his eyes to your hands, gently putting his hands over yours.

“Look, I’ll steer the carpet downward, but you need to follow my lead.” He made you look at him. His dark eyes held your gaze, and for a moment you really did feel like you were in the clouds. That the world was just you and Jamil, high above everything on this terrifying carpet ride.

“Do you trust me?” You saw his lips move, but it sounded far away, like he was speaking through water. Maybe it was the altitude messing with your head, but Jamil looked so focused on you. You’d never seen him look at anything like this, so gently.

“Do you trust me?” Jamil tightened his hands over yours, and you were brought back to reality. You nodded, and he sighed. “Good. We’re going to go forward.” Carefully, he tipped the carpet, and you took in a sharp breath when you went forward. The two of you inched downwards, and the school became larger and larger until finally you both touched down in Scarabia.

Jamil clasped your hand in his and lead you off the carpet, silent. He had a deep frown on his face, and his dark eyes were even stormier than the skies. He didn’t get off the carpet with you, but clenched his hands after he helped you off. This was the second time it’s happened, he doesn’t think you have cooties or something right?

“Thanks, Jamil…” You looked at him, hoping he’d maybe lighten up a bit now that you were on the ground, but he refused to look at you, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Just… stay here. I’m going to put the carpet away, just…I don’t need any more trouble.” As he walked away, you felt his words settle heavily in your gut. I’m just trouble for him? It’s not like I caused the carpet to go sky-high…

Still, you sat on the luxurious couch in the Scarabia common room, and tried to relax. Surprisingly, it was quiet - it seemed that everyone had gone to bed. It was a nice change from Ramshackle, at least. You shut your eyes, beginning to feel tired. After a while, you groggily awoke to a mop of white hair and red eyes exclaiming at you.

“(Name)! What are you doing here?! What about Jamil?! I thought you were up in the sky on your magic carpet ride!” Kalim blabbered while you tried to get your bearings back. He seemed… worried? He put his hand to his chin, thinking. “Well, maybe I could find an empty room and put you both in it-“

“Kalim.” The Housewarden immediately fell silent, spinning to Jamil with wide eyes, smiling at him. “Jamil! Don’t worry, we can still fix this!” Jamil’s frown deepened in confusion, “Kalim, what are you-“ “And the Prefect is still here!” Kalim pointed at you, and you went on alert as Jamil zeroed in on you, seemingly forgetting you were still here.

Kalim continued cheerfully, eyes steeling in happy-go-lucky determination. “And there’s still time! You can get back out on the carpet, there’s still stars out!” Jamil wrenched his eyes back to Kalim, mouth curling into a snarl and arms tensing. “Kalim, what are you talking about?”

“To confess!”

The silence was stifling. You stared wide-eyed at Jamil, who stared incredulously at Kalim, who still smiled innocently. Finally, Jamil seemed to temper himself and said through gritted teeth, “Kalim, go back to your room.”

Kalim placed his hands on his hips, “no way! We still have to-“ “Kalim.” Even though you didn’t know either of them as long as they knew each other, something in Jamil’s voice sapped Kalim of his energy. Kalim’s eyes widened, and after a moment, he left the room. You opened your mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

You watched as Jamil sighed irritably, running a hand through his long bangs. You slouched on the Scarabia couch, watching him pace and huff to himself. What had you done to earn his annoyance? He’s the one who basically kidnapped you on a flying rug. Surely he couldn’t dislike you that much.

“Kalim doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said at last, and you frowned deeply. “What? Kalim isn’t stupid, Jamil,” you said sharply, losing your patience, “and what in Seven’s name is up with you?

“Look, you’re-“ Jamil stopped, clearing his throat. He smoothed over his expression, face becoming the usual calm-and-composed Vice Housewarden that he always showed to the world, but not you. “Nothing is wrong.” You finally snapped, exhausted and utterly spent, “what is going on? You’ve been acting weird with me ever since winter break!” Jamil grit his teeth, but you continued. “What is your deal, Jamil?! I thought we were friends! What have I done to make you hate me this much?!”

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since you’ve come here!” Jamil yelled, stopping pacing in front of you. His chest heaved, and he had that angry-crazed look on his face he always got when exasperated. “You’re too clever for your own good! And ever since my…” he swallowed, starting to lose his momentum as he realized what he was saying, “last winter, you’ve shown yourself to be someone…interesting.” Finally, he seemed marginally calmer. “And… I don’t think I could’ve dealt with all of this without you, even though you’re the last person who I thought could help.”

Your frown deepened. You opened your mouth to say something, but Jamil hurriedly continued, shutting his eyes. “Look, I know that I inconvenienced you, but… you’re always on my mind, when I should be thinking about attending Kalim. You’re-“

“Alright, that’s it.” You stood up from the couch, and walked off without sparing a glance. Jamil stopped, sputtering, and cried out “you’re just going to leave?!” You spun on your heel, glaring at him. “Yes! I’m leaving so I don’t cause a bigger mess!” Jamil shut up immediately, and you stalked to him, poking his chest hard. “You have done nothing but insult me. What happened today, with the carpet, was not my fault. If anything, you made me into a thorn in your side.” He flinched, but you blazed on. He didn’t get to hurt and belittle you.

“You hurt the entire dorm with your overblot,” you seethed, “and you didn't inconvenience me. You imprisoned me and Grim in your little scheme. And I have tried to be nice to you since then, and I thought we were becoming friends, but you just seem to hate me every time you see me. So fine,” you backed off, throwing your hands up as you left, “I’m leaving, Jamil. I’m leaving.”

Jamil didn’t know how long he stood there after you’d left. The Scarabia common room seemed to get chillier as the night passed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to go back to his dorm. At some point, he found himself on the couch drifting in and out of sleep, wondering why things were the way they were, and why he just couldn’t be lucky. Before he closed his eyes, utterly defeated, his last thought was, I deserved that. But not them.

———

The next few weeks passed without a hitch, although you were still brimming with dulled hurt every time you saw Jamil and Kalim.

Even though you had nothing against Kalim, Jamil always slunk behind him like a shadow, making you uncomfortable every time the sunny housewarden bounded up to you. Somehow, it felt like Kalim came up to you even more often than before. You’d supposed that maybe Kalim was trying to mend things between you and Jamil, but while he had the best intentions, it was really up to Jamil. Still, you thought, you weren’t exactly kind when you last… spoke to him.

Every time you spoke to Kalim, you tried to gently but firmly turn his invitations down. This time, he seemed adamant that you come to tonight’s party, basically begging you to attend.

“Please, Prefect!” He grabbed your hand pleadingly, “it’ll be fun! The Pop Music club will be playing, and Jamil’s cooking all your favorites-“

“Kalim, let’s go.” You were jarred to hear Jamil speak up, and Kalim actually listen to him rather than brushing it off. Kalim looked at Jamil, who continued, “We need to head back to the dorm and prepare. And…” Jamil avoided your eyes, “please, don’t trouble the Prefect.”

As the two of them left, you felt their absence weigh on you. It had been a while since you’d hung out with Jamil - so you took to cooking alone in Ramshackle or Heartslabyul, and tried studying by yourself. On nights when Scarabia was having a party, you tried to not think about when you and Jamil would hang out in the kitchen, or when you and Kalim would drag him out to the dance floor to loosen up. Still, your Friday nights were getting drearier by the week, even when you tried reading Prejudice and Pride to take your mind off it.

In the gym, the basketball club was in full swing, and Ace and Jamil chatted while passing the ball to each other. “Yeah, sure, I can try to get them to come tonight,” Ace began dribbling the ball, then smirked at Jamil. “Didn’t know you missed them so much though!” Jamil frowned, flushing. “I just… Najma wanted to see them again. That’s all.”

Ace shrugged and passed the ball, “alright, guess I’ll see you later.” Later that day, you frowned at the text you got from Ace, wondering how you should respond. At this point, you’d attempted to avoid Scarabia at all costs, but it had been a while. Even then, you still wanted to see Kalim and Jamil one last time - and at least you’d be with your friends.

Ace: hey theres a party at scarabia tonight, Jamil wants you to go

Ace: so u wanna go or what

You: sure, I’ll be there. Meet u at the mirror in ten

———

You, Grim, Ace, Deuce, and Cater stepped into Scarabia. Immediately Cater ran off to find Lilia and Kalim, and you got separated from Ace and Deuce while trying to cross the dance floor. At some point Grim perked up as he smelled food wafting in the air, and made a beeline for the kitchen. You ran after him, dodging the partygoers (and at some point almost crashing into Lilia, Kalim, and the drum set) until you found yourself standing in the Scarabia kitchen.

Grim bounded over to Jamil, who was standing over the stove stirring a large pot. “Jamil! What’s cookin’?” Grim’s eyes were shining, and he strained to look up. You heard laughter from behind you, and a voice saying “hey, it’s the Prefect!” Jamil’s head snapped back to where you stood. You looked behind you, jaw dropping, “Najma?! What are you doing here?” She grinned at you, and you followed her to Jamil.

“I just wanted to see Jamil! And Kalim said he was having a party today,” she hugged you tightly. “I haven’t seen you since the festival! Jamil keeps talking about you too!” You made eye contact with Jamil over Najma’s shoulder. He looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Najma, let the Prefect go,” Jamil recovered quickly, and she let go reluctantly, pouting. You turned your attention to the pot, “hey, are you making curry? I thought Kalim hated that.”

Grim stood at attention, “whatever it is, I want some!” Jamil sighed, “I already made the food for the party, this is for Najma.” And you, if you showed up. Najma scrunched her nose, “I don’t want that, it’s too… plain.” Plain? You glanced into the very fragrant pot, swirling with spices and oil.

“You’re going to eat. You didn’t have lunch, baba will be mad if he finds out I didn’t feed you,” Jamil spooned some curry onto a plate and Najma crossed her arms. “It’s fine, but you still make your food look too plain. Like, garnish it or something. I know (name) can probably make it better!” She handed the plate to Grim, and as you picked Grim up to place him on a chair to eat, you frowned.

“My cooking isn’t that great, Najma. Jamil taught me some stuff, but still.” Najma looked confusedly at her brother, “but he says you cook so well!” Jamil gaped at her, while your eyes widened. Najma gave her brother a look, and continued, “he loves your cooking! And he said he loves cooking with you! And-”

“Jamil!” Finally you cut her off, as Jamil looked one second away from smothering her, “I didn’t know you liked my cooking?” You felt your nervousness from the party melt, and smiled hesitantly at him. He seemed to soften a little, “Yeah… it’s nice to have the company,” he cleared his throat. Why did it feel so hot in the kitchen?

Najma watched the both of you stare at each other, then clapped her hands together, making you both flinch. “Alright! This is enough. You need to get out.” As she strode out of the kitchen, you both watched her confused. “Najma, where are you going?,” Jamil called, but she didn’t answer. Grim shrugged, finishing off the curry, “Wow! Jamil, the food tasted so good!” You and Jamil stood in silence, before you both opened your mouths to speak.

“Jamil, I’m sorry for yelling-”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you (name)-”

Your eyes widened, and you both fell into an awkwardness. You were about to open your mouth, but then Najma kicked in the door. “Both of you! Out!~” Trailing behind her was… “Why’s the carpet here?!” Jamil yelled, “Najma that’s a precious heirloom of the al-Asim family! You can’t just-!” The carpet wrapped around both of you and Jamil and began pushing you out of the dorm to the outside, being lead by Najma, who cackled gleefully.

“Okay carpet! Two times is the charm! Go!” The carpet seemed to nod? and then unfurled itself from around you two. It swept underneath your and Jamils’ feet, and began rising gently in the air, unlike last time. Jamil was shouting at Najma, looking down but you weren’t focused on him. Rather, you were looking up.

“Jamil,” you nudged him softly. “Not now, Prefect,” he grumbled. “Jamil, look.” He finally sat down on the carpet, and his mouth hung open in shock. The two of you were in the sky again, but not as high this time. All around you, the stars twinkled brightly in the night, and nebulae swirled across the sky. There were barely any clouds. It was slightly chilly, but Jamil’s warmth next to you was enough to keep you fine. Rather, the goosebumps on your arms were from other things.

“It’s beautiful up here,” you breathed, and Jamil glanced at you. “Yeah, it is.” Jamil could feel his stresses slowly dissipate, and while you both were up in the sky, it felt like the world was only you and him, and the twinkling of the stars above you both. His mind wandered to the old Scalding Sands legend. Was this how the princess and her lover felt when they were courting?

You looked over at Jamil, gently grabbing his hand. In the calm of the night, Jamil seemed a little… less put-upon. Like he could finally speak freely. He cleared his throat, lost in thought. “I… got ahead of myself before,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on the carpet.

“I never got to tell you, but I’m sorry,” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry for trapping you and Grim in Scarabia. You’re not a thorn in my side, what I meant was… you were always there. And at first, I hated it. I didn’t trust you. You were like a thorn in my side, because you were always there. But…” You waited for him to continue, all the anger and hurt leaving you in the cool night air.

“I began to like your presence. Like I could relax when you were there, because you could help with Kalim, or keep me company while cooking, or just-” Jamil seemed a little choked up now, is he ok? “Be there. I never felt like that… just…-”

“Supported,” you finished, and he nodded, swallowing thickly. You both stayed quiet, until you spoke. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just… You always seemed to either like me or hate me?” You felt jittery just saying it out loud, “sometimes we’d be fine, but sometimes you’d just… avoid me. And it hurt.”

Jamil squeezed your hand softly, and you sighed, “And I never know what you’re thinking. I really don’t know if you just kept me around for Kalim, or if we were actually…” friends. Jamil moved closer to you. “...I do like being with you. I… I do.”

Jamil turned your chin so you’d face him. He took a deep breath, “Kalim wanted me to… confess,” the word sounded like a hiss. “I thought he was getting ahead of himself as usual but then I…” he hesitated, “I realized he was right. And Najma was right. I did… I have feelings for you, and somewhere along the way I started… loving you.” His voice became quiet, and he averted his eyes from yours, as if expecting you to be angry. To his surprise, you weren’t.

You cut him off, gently pressing your lips against his cheek. His eyes widened, barely believing it. Him? Of all people, him?

“I really wanted you to not hate me,” you confessed, face feeling warm despite the chill. “I… really do like you, Jamil. I like what you can do, and I like you. And I think somewhere along the way…”

You squeezed his hand tightly, making him look at you with a smile on your face, “I started loving you too.” You softly closed the distance between you, finally ending the weeks of inner turmoil.

Jamil softly cupped your face, looking into your eyes, then kissed you gently, as if he couldn’t believe that this was real. You wrapped your hand around the hand on your face, squeezing it softly. You were here. You moved to clasp him tighter, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you tighter.

Quietly in the chilled night, if anyone cared to look up into the starry sky, they would have seen two newfound lovers finally together, exchanging stolen kisses and chuckling amongst themselves. Lucky for them, the only witnesses to them were the stars above, and two teenagers standing outside Scarabia.

Hands on her hips, Najma proudly stared up into the sky, squinting at the shadowed figures on the carpet. Wordlessly, she held up her hand, and Kalim high-fived her, grinning.

“Mission accomplished!~”

~END

———

Notes: this got so long bc of the introduction with Najma but I just had to include her and Kalim conspiring together! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the Jamil chapter, thank you so much for reading!!!!!!

Taglist: @cerisescherries, @eclecticprincecollector, @ars-tral, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps, @casperandcats, @ttokkisbee, @mitsuriswaifu, @parad-ice-lostandfound

@sad-sie, @moyo5653,

(If your username is in bold, it means I wasn’t able to tag you properly 😅)

#twst Pride and Prejudice au #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil viper #twst jamil #disney twst #twst yuu #scarabia #najma viper #twst najma #kalim al asim #twst kalim #calcified writing

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 6 months

Text

2 am, who do you love?

Summary: You feel guilty for pushing Wanda away and want to apologise, but when Vision is always there, will you be able to? And what even is their relationship?

Word Count: 2218 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: Vision Part 5 of 'Half of My Hometown' series masterlist <- previous part | next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

Your path is familiar, the setting is familiar, the time is familiar…but when you walk your route the next night, everything feels inexplicably different. Nothing has changed outwardly, but the air feels more stagnant, the building feels quieter, and your heart pounds faster in your chest.

You consider that there might be an intruder you have yet to spot, but quickly shake that thought away. You know the real reason:

Wanda.

Of course.

The uncertainty of where you stand with her messes with you more than you care to admit; you know you shouldn’t be this affected when it’s still been less than a week since you reunited. If she hates you now and never wants to meet you again, then it’s just a return to your normal shifts anyway, right?

Your stomach turns at the thought.

You don’t want to go back to the silence; in just two days, the nightly meetings had become something for you to look forward to – a beacon pulling you through your shift – but now you’re left to wonder if last night was the last.

The hurt that flashed across Wanda’s face has been haunting your every waking moment since you pushed her away – and that isn’t even fully accurate because it implies that the thoughts stop in your sleep. They don’t. You tossed and turned all night because of it.

It replays once again: her furrowed eyebrows, the wide eyes… then she’d wiped the expression away within a millisecond as if to hide her true feelings from you. That’s what causes you the most guilt – that’s not how things are supposed to work between friends, you’re supposed to be the one she shares her emotions with, not the one causing her to bottle them up. Even a day later, every new thought still leads you down the same path: no matter what you think of or which approach you take, it always returns to her, and whether you’ll see her again. You’ve planned a hundred apologies in your head, but you don’t even know that there’ll be anyone there to apologise to.

As the clock ticks once again towards 2am, dread bubbles up in your chest.

You round the corner that has become oh so important in recent days. This is the moment of truth.

She's there.

But he is too.

Wanda’s eyes lock onto yours immediately, as if she’d been waiting for you to round the corner, before she breaks into a smile and calls you over with a wave. It’s too late to turn around, so you head over to the pair of Avengers, trying to think of what to say: Wanda doesn’t seem angry, but you know very well that it may be a facade hiding her hurt, just like her smile the previous night. Then the man at her side is putting on no facade at all; he stands blank-faced without a word of greeting – somewhat unnerving when you know what the synthetic Avenger is capable of.

“Hi Wanda,” is what you come up with, smiling softly at her. “Vision.”

He only nods, then the three of you linger awkwardly, nobody knowing quite what to say until Wanda finally braves a conversation.

“So, I, uh, we didn't get to talk much last night.”

You head ducks quickly, expecting a beratement. You want to apologise, to say how much you would have preferred her company to the silent walks and how much you look forward to seeing her every day. But you can’t. Not in front of Vision.

“I was the one who said I’d see you tomorrow and then,” she continues, and her eyes flick quickly to Vision, “...did something else.” Vision smiles, which causes you to look again between the two of them – are they dating?

With the way Wanda smiles back at him, her wording suddenly starts to sound like an inside joke between the two of them – a code which they know you won’t understand. You hide the grimace that threatens to reveal your thoughts. After what feels like minutes of watching them, but was more likely only a second, Wanda turns back to you and you force your attention back to her, pushing thoughts of her and Vision to the back of your mind. Why is it upsetting you so much?

“So, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for that-”

Wait, why was she apologising? Didn't you come here to apologise? There are more questions than you can keep up with, flooding your head and delaying your responses. An apology from you to Wanda would solve a lot of them, but one look towards Vision and you know you can’t do it in the way that you’d like to. His unwavering straight line of a mouth silently reminds you of your responsibility, and Wanda’s too. Her place is with Vision now – with the Avengers – and he doesn’t seem keen to let you distract her from that. Even suggesting that she might want to come with you in your apology, had you not pushed her to go to the gym, could cause problems not only for you and your career, but more importantly, Wanda and hers. You can’t risk instilling the notion that she might not prioritise her training every night.

What you can do though, is stop Wanda apologising, and that’s exactly what you do, with a string of “no, no, no, it’s okay.”

“You’ve got to train, and I'm sure I should be focused on work anyway. I don't mean to disturb you two by always being here when you come to use the gym.”

“Speaking of which…” Vision finally says, cutting off whatever Wanda had opened her mouth to reply with.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you say, taking the hint, “you guys can get back to it. I'll… I'm…” You point over your shoulder, to the corridor you're supposed to keep walking down. Vision takes that as his sign to turn and open the gym door, but he’s forced to wait because Wanda hasn’t moved; she’s still lingering in place, looking at you.

“Um… hope the rest of your shift goes okay.” She speaks softly and – mixed with how she avoids eye contact – you’re reminded of the child who used to make you or Pietro speak on her behalf. “I'll go in with Vision now, but maybe another night, we could…”

She hesitates when she glances up and meets your eye, so you smile as encouragingly as you can, hoping she’ll say what you’ve been too afraid to.

“We could just talk again, like the other night. I enjoyed that.”

“I did too,” you answer honestly, “I'd like that.”

“See you around then,”

“See you around, Wanda.”

With a brief smile over her shoulder, she hurries back to Vision’s side, allowing them to walk together into the gym. You watch her go, seeing how she plays with the ring you gave her while looking up at Vision – you can’t help but wonder if she remembers how it used to be yours. Maybe Vision will give her a ring one day – a perfect new one, fitted for her, rather than a young child’s second-hand find – and you’ll watch silently as she chooses that one instead.

You have to physically shake your head in an attempt to clear those thoughts; where were they coming from? What caused this sudden disdain of Vision for keeping her from you? Wanda is her own person, a person you had once been close to, sure, but also a person you’ve hardly seen in 13 years; of course she’ll have other friends, a boyfriend, a life beyond childhood memories. And besides, you and her are friends, nothing else, having a boyfriend doesn’t replace that, so why do you feel this way towards Vision? You should be happy for her. You want to be happy for her. But instead you trudge slowly away from the gym, simmering in your own thoughts.

»»————-　★　————-««

And so it went, night after night, meeting after meeting. Wanda is always there to greet you and Vision is always by her side. You'll talk for a couple of minutes about nothing much, then break apart when you have to go back to your route and Wanda to her gym training.

Each and every night though, you and Wanda pull away slowly, like magnets resisting their attraction, lingering with words unspoken, and words which would remain unspoken so long as Vision is nearby. As much as you wish that you could ask her to accompany you instead of Vision, and spend the days pondering if this will be the night you finally gather the courage to do so, when the time comes, you always hesitate. It never happens.

After so many instances of this, Vision’s now familiar voice reaches your ears once again, causing you to frown. Your expression isn't solely from hearing the obstacle to yours and Wanda's conversations, but also due to the time and location of hearing him. This isn't where you usually meet him and nor is it 2am; it's early in your shift.

In the first few hours that you work, the Compound is yet to be completely vacant, so voices aren't unusual, but it is rare to see anyone other than the handful of agents finishing up their own shifts. Now there's an Avenger present and, if your hearing is to be believed, he's talking to another Avenger: your employer, world-saver, and leading star of your childhood nightmares… Tony Stark.

Now, eavesdropping isn't your original goal, but you're curious! Aside from the gym, there's very little reason for the two Avengers to be in this area of the Compound, so of course you're inclined to investigate what they're up to. You sneak closer and closer until the muffled voices turn into coherent speech, then pause when you work out the topic of conversation. They're talking about Wanda.

At this point, you accept that you'll be standing there for as long as you can without getting caught. You sink closer and fiddle loosely with the pockets of your belt, giving yourself an excuse for loitering if anyone were to walk past.

“-I always accompany her to ensure she is not alone, and I have seen her make good progress in our nightly sessions.”

“Why is it that you always go in the middle of the night? Are the two of you engaged in some other late night activities I need to know about?” Tony asks teasingly. You try to ignore the insinuation.

Vision seems to do the same. “Miss Maximoff prefers the gym to be quiet. However, I find her waiting outside for me every night, so I do believe she enjoys the company. Training with the whole team may simply be overwhelming for her still, but I am happy to work with her until she is ready for that stage.

“‘Atta boy! At least someone here is doing what I asked. Having something to look out for her will be good for her, ya know? I mentioned it to Nat too, but you and Wanda already seem… close.”

All of Tony's words seem to confirm the notion you've been avoiding and your stomach twists at the knowledge that you haven't been imagining things. When it’s just you, it's easy to kid yourself into writing your intuition off as just late-night delusions, but if Tony also sees that Wanda and Vision may be something other than just friends, then, well…it's suddenly a bit harder to deny.

“We have gotten close,” Vision replies. With him, it's near impossible to tell whether he means that as confirmation of their relationship or if he's simply not picked up on the billionaire's insinuation.

“Yeah, you could say that. Can you even blush Vision? or does that ‘permanent sunburn’ shade hide it? Either way, I don't need to see you blushing to know when you've got a crush-

Tony doesn't even see them at night like you do, which means they act the same during the day too – together at almost all hours of the day. Do they make more of a show of it in the daytime, you wonder? Tony seems so confident in their relationship, so there must be more than you see in your 5 minutes together at 2am. You try to clear the thoughts from your mind – not that it works – before you quickly walk away, unable to bear the conversation any longer.

Why does it bother you so much? That's the question you keep coming back to. Why should you care if Wanda is in a relationship? A relationship with Vision? He seems like a decent person, and you're sure Wanda knows him better than your brief perception anyway. They should enjoy their relationship, and maybe you're just upset at being the third wheel is all, that's a reason for feeling disappointment like this, right?

You don't want to dwell on it further, knowing your current mind is a tangle of questions ready to trap you if you dare pull on a single thread. But you've already pulled. As much as you try to focus on the rest of your shift, all you can think about is that you'll have to greet Wanda and Vision again later in the night.

And you'll have to pretend it's not killing you to see.

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

Series Taglist: @holiday-house-of-m @emiliaisdead @wonderingnerd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @chasethemoon @alexawynters

A/N: I'm not really a fan of the banner either lol, but it's easier than finding gifs. Sorry for the delay again, the past week has just been insanely busy for reasons I don't even know, but I hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated as usual if you do :)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel #mcu #ikan writes #ikan homh

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outlaw-apologist · 2 years

Text

Valentine’s Day with the Gang (RDR2)

Your favorite member brings you out on a special Valentine’s day date! Characters: Arthur, Charles, Josiah, John, Hosea, Dutch Warnings: NSFW themes AO3 Link Arthur - Arthur says he doesn’t believe in cheesy holidays like Valentine’s day - Leading up to the holiday he acts completely uninterested and won’t talk about it unless you bring it up - “Well… If you really wanna do somethin’ I guess we can,” He says reluctantly - However, Arthur is a secret hopeless romantic. Even though he acts this way he’s planning a special Valentine’s day for you the whole entire time!

- A nice gift he TOTALLY DIDN’T STEAL! Usually jewelry, a clothing item, or a little trinket that he thinks you would like. - Arthur also loves giving you fancy hairpins, he thinks they look cute on you - Alcohol in a unique/beautiful bottle. Think strawberry wine in a heart shaped bottle. Something like this. - Finger sandwiches… He LOVES an excuse to buy finger sandwiches. They are so tiny and he likes to 🤏 BUT he needs an excuse to buy them. A big outlaw like him can’t just go and buy little tea sandwiches for no reason. Well… Valentine’s day is the reason. - Once everything is prepared Arthur takes you to a place he found while riding around on missions. He’ll never tell you, but for 3 months he took note of every beautiful spot he could find that he thought you might like, slowly narrowing it down to a special place - He makes sure it’s in a place that’s pretty warm this time of year and spreads out a nice big blanket then plates everything neatly. - A romantic picnic! - Well…. He hopes you find it romantic. Because he sure does… - Arthur is kind of afraid that you might think his gifts are shallow or not considerate so he draws pictures for you - I mean /really/ draws. He spends HOURS trying to draw something perfect. If your horse is very special to you he will draw breathtaking pictures of your horse. If you have pets he’ll draw those pets stunningly. Or if there is a specific kind of landscape you love, like the mountains or the ocean, that will be captured wonderfully on paper. - He draws it on nice expensive paper too so you can frame it and use it as decor if you wish - Arthur is always very VERY shy when handing you this drawing even if he does this every Valentine’s day. He’s worried you won’t like it. - After you two eat and drink your wine he cuddles with you until it starts to get dark. Then he invites you on a romantic ride as the sun sets… to the hotel of course - Because after those little sandwiches Arthur feels frisky, and he LOVES having you as dessert - Believe me when I say this man will probably keep making you cum until you beg him to stop. ---- Charles - I genuinely don’t think Charles knows what to do on Valentine’s day - He’s never had a Valentine’s day before so this is all new for him - He hears about other couples exchanging chocolate or going out on nice dinners but he doesn’t feel as if that suits you two as a couple. If he brought you to dinner in Saint Denis that would probably be very weird. - Charles also doesn’t believe in frivolous gifts. If he gives you something it needs to be very personal and from the heart. - Because of this he decides to give you something handmade. Charles spends several months perfecting his wittling skills. - The end result is better than expected! He carves out a careful representation of your absolute favorite animal. He hopes you carry it with you everywhere you go to remember him by. It’s like a good luck charm - He asks Arthur and John what they’re doing for Valentine’s day while trying to make plans. He still doesn’t really know what to do. - Eventually he does choose to go the dinner route. Deciding to cook for you he searches/hunts for fresh ingredients and buys everything else he couldn’t find, storing them safely in his satchel before. riding back to camp to pick you up for your date - But first, the day starts lazy when you two wake up. He snuggles you, kisses you good morning and brings you coffee and breakfast in bed before he announces he’s ‘going to run some errands’ (this is when he goes to get the ingredients) - Late noon he returns and takes you out on a nice ride to an area full of active wildlife. -The day is filled with a wonderful nature walk. You each pick flowers to put into each other’s hair and talk or tell stories. - Charles sets up a nice camp for you both. He made sure to bring his favorite pelts for you to lounge on in front of the fire as he makes you dinner. - I think it’s important to include that he went and purchased your favorite baked goods for you to have as dessert. Charles didn’t think he could make a better dessert on his own and didn’t want to disappoint you. He only buys enough for you and none for himself, though he’s not opposed to sharing if you suggest it. - The night is spent with a great meal, wonderful company, and passionate love making. It ends with you laying on his chest as he draws circles on your skin. You both look up at the stars and tell stories or talk about the future, dreaming of all you could have. ----- Trelawny - Oh he’s soooo traditional! He’ll drop a nice dress or suit off for you to change into before returning with a stage coach, a large bouquet of roses, and of course chocolate. - “You look stunning mon amour…. That’s French by the way.” He purrs, kissing your hand as he helps you into the stage. - Fine dining has been arranged for you on this evening. Taking place on a high terrace overlooking the best view in all of Saint Denis. - He lets you order whatever you want. Steak? Lobster? Dessert? All yours! Eat your heart out!!! - Of course he orders caviar for the table and the most expensive wine they offer. - During dinner there’s live music and even a firework show! You watch the colors explode in the sky, shining over the ocean waves. It’s very very romantic~ - “I know I’ve been gone for a long time, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of you. Here- I picked this up for you in a far away place called Blackwater.” He says, sliding a satin box across the table. Inside is a stunning necklace. Gold with a set sapphire. - After dinner he takes you for a walk. Telling you grand stories about his adventures. At one point he starts serenading you, dancing with you in the street. Oh it’s wonderful~ He twirls you around lampposts and picks a flower from the gardens to stick in your hair. - Once the night comes to an end he books a luxury room at the finest hotel in the city where you two get a little frisky before turning in for the night ------ John - His ass FORGETS it’s Valentines day - “Why’re you all dolled up?” After you glare at him and he realizes he’s forgetting something important he starts sweating. “Is it your birthday today or our anniversary?” - Once he figures out what day it is he’ll run out and get you flowers. - Then he’ll let you pick a local restaurant. But nothing too fancy, he didn’t make any reservations so he doubted either of you could get in a nice restaurant. - I’m gonna be honest, your Valentines Day with him isn’t great. He makes it up to you for the next two weeks. He’ll bring you chocolate and flowers almost every day, practically begging for you to forgive him. He even books a nice dinner and actually takes a bath for once. - Then of course he holds you in bed at night asking with those puppy eyes of his “Are you still mad at me, my sweet?” - The best thing about it is you can keep bringing up Valentine’s day during any arguments and he’ll immediately drop everything to take you on an apology date, even if this is your 50th apology date. - He does feel really bad about it. But he continues to forget important days. It just doesn’t cross his little squirrel brain half the time ---- Hosea - Oh he’s been planning this night for weeks! - Hosea has a new spiffy outfit he’s excited to wear just for you~ - Upon picking you up you notice right away not only does he look like a hundred bucks, but he bathed and applied expensive cologne. - “You look more ethereal than any god/goddess known to mankind, my love.” He compliments you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before helping you up onto a wagon - The evening starts off with you two getting ice cream and walking around town, talking while watching the sunset. - He then brings you to the theater to watch a show. He bought advanced tickets and reserved your favorite seats - The whole show, Hosea has his arm over your shoulders or is holding you. When something funny happens he laughs and looks to see what your reaction is. He’s just trying to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. - Once the show is over he takes you behind a nice restaurant, picking up food he had requested to-go. “I’m sorry if you rather eat inside, my dove. I thought it would be nice to do something a little different.” He explains, bringing you to a beautiful garden with a picnic table already covered with a table cloth and candles. - “What’s a romantic dinner without champagne and chocolate covered strawberries for my sweetheart?” He pulls a picnic basket out from the bushes after you two settled in to eat. He must’ve spent a lot of time setting this up for you in advance! - After a very sweet dinner where you two laughed about the past and discussed how you hope your relationship grows in the future, he finally slides forth a beautifully decorated present. “Open it.” He smiled wide, seeming giddy with excitement. - As you unwrap it you realize it’s your favorite book. You might be confused at first, but once you open the cover you realize it was signed by the author. This was a very rare copy, extremely hard to get and not to mention expensive. “I know it’s not much. I thought jewelry might be too cheesy for you, I didn’t want you to think all of my gifts are obtained by immoral means.” Hosea gives you a knowing wink. “Yet I still wanted to gift you a token of my love.” -------- Dutch - You will be woken up by a hearty “Good morning my darling.” A cup of tea or coffee pushed into your hands and your face peppered with kisses. - The day starts off with a nice breakfast in bed, then a bit of sex followed by an afternoon nap. - Once Dutch is nice and rested after your nefarious activities, he washes up and puts on a nice outfit. Similar to Hosea, this is when Dutch wears his nice cologne. - “We’re going dancin’!” He exclaims, making sure you wear the right shoes with your outfit. - He lets you ride in front of him on The Count and once you both arrive in the city he’ll wave down a stage coach to take you rest of the way - The place he bought tickets for you to dance is beautiful! A huge building that looks very European and fairy-tale like on the inside. Many rich people are in attendance since it’s a Valentine’s day ball. - Dutch immediately hands you a glass of champagne before sauntering off to speak with the wealthy for half the night, leaving you alone. - “Oh, come on now. You know we need money.” He whispers to you upon return, gently pulling you against him, arms around your waist. - After this you two finally dance, and honestly it’s a lot of fun! Dutch is very attentive and isn’t shy about kissing you or getting a bit handsy with you in public. - Once you two are danced-out he takes you to a nice restaurant. It turns out he doesn’t have a reservation so he had you pretend to use the powder room so you can sneak a peek at the guest list. You give him the name ‘Dylan Freeman’ and Dutch approaches the waitstaff posing as that man. - You two have a very lovely dinner, on Dylan Freeman’s tab of course! Dutch orders you both the most expensive things off the menu. - After two hours you both are a little drunk off of $100 imported wine when Dylan Freeman shows up. Dutch notices the waitstaff point your way and he grabs your hand. “My sweet, I’m afraid it’s time for us to run.” You both make a mad dash through the busy kitchen and out the back door, running down the alley while giggling. - “A romantic getaway to end a romantic night!” Dutch muses with satisfaction while you two sit by the dock, staring up at the moon and stars. This is when he pulls out a small box. “Go on.” There’s a glimmer in his eye as you look at what's inside. It’s a queen chess piece. “This is who you are to me. To the gang. We couldn’t do this without you.” He leans down, giving you a deep kiss.

#Arthur Morgan x Reader #Charles Smith x reader #john marston x reader #Dutch van der linde x reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #Josiah Trelawny x Reader #Arthur Morgan #Charles Smith #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #josiah trelawny #RDR2 #RDR2 Headcanons #rdr2 valentines day #valentines day #writing #my writing

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yuikomorii · 10 months

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Heya! In which of the boys route do you think Yui was broken/hurt the most?

I always wanted to know which would be the worst scenario (route) for like.. an avarage girl irl . I know most girls would not survive there😅 but just wanted to know your opinion which of those 6 doors you would never open. Or 13 if we count all the characters.

// Since it's an otome game, it goes without saying that there will be a lot of plot armor and that the love interests can't really harm the heroine seriously throughout the route, regardless of what she does, because the plot would go nowhere like that. Most characters are jerks but not really that hard to handle, since they were known for scaring Yui rather than letting her get genuinely hurt. However there were certain Diaboys who were very scary, as it felt like they had no feelings of remorse or empathy.

Laito:

Can’t say that his HDB route is the worst thing Rejet has ever written (because it’s definitely not) but it baffled me how he was so okay with Yui breaking like that to the point where she lost all her will to live and only wanted to be set free from him. I mean, she literally tried to commit and he was just there not even intending to stop her bleeding veins despite being the one who cut them?? It’s true that in the Vampire Ending she doesn’t turn out that bad but after all, this is just because it’s fiction.

Kanato:

He was easier to understand than Laito because at least you were able to know that he had a soft spot for sweets and Teddy. Nevertheless, it was a bit too much how he kept stabbing Yui with the fork and a few chapters later, I’m pretty sure he stabbed Yui with a knife in more places as well. Still, it’s surprising how she turned out worse in his route, considering the fact that in the afterstory she kills innocent people—

Kou:

I love Kou but he was a literal demon in MB. I really hated how he made his fans bully Yui JUST FOR FUN. It wasn’t even any sort of punishment, he merely wanted to make her suffer. Another thing I couldn’t stand was how he kept putting Yui’s life in danger, only to make her prove her love. I understand wanting to test someone but it would have been way better if he actually saved Yui after seeing her do something dangerous. That way it would have proved that he cared for her yet he continued to watch her get hurt for him over and over again, without feeling any empathy. He was sorta redeemed at the end but yeah, most of his route was big yikes, especially since you wouldn’t have expected a cheerful and friendly idol like him to be such a wicked person.

Carla:

I like the Tsukinami family's desire to preserve their lineage but sorry, I must say that I find it repulsive that a 17-year-old would be forced to become pregnant out of the blue with strangers. I understand that Yui was partially to blame for Carla's anger and subsequent dungeon scene but that moment grossed me out sooo bad. She lost her will to live but Carla literally jumped on a depressed girl and was on the verge of rap€ing her, if his Endzeit didn’t kick in. He gets gradually better throughout his route but this scene left a sore taste in my mouth.

Kino:

Look, Kino is a great villain and a lot of fun, but his LE route was trash. Kino killed a child, mistreated Yui, abducted both Yui and Ayato, planned to sell Ayato to the church for execution, manipulated Yui and tortured Ayato. The pain he caused them both was immense and although I appreciated Yui calling him out, it's so sad that she was brainwashed. While it's true that Kino can be quite cute when he wants to, their romance was so rushed and forced because they didn't give us any reason why Yui would fall for him other than manipulation when Ayato, who was seen to care more about her than for himself, was right there. I wish they developed Kino’s feelings better, given that he straight up blackmailed Yui to become his, otherwise Ayato would had been killed, therefore Yui had no other choice but accept the situation. That’s why his CL route is way better.

I only mentioned 5 instead of 6 but that’s mostly because no other character came closer to them in terms of bad scenario. The rest of them felt decent in their routes for a game called Diabolik Lovers, lol.

#admin

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delusionalwings · 1 year

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Hello! I saw your reqs open and was so excited, cuz I adore your writing!! So I'd like to make a rq! Headcanons, pls!

How would Beel, Barb, and either Mammon or Raphael react to their MC just accepting everything. Like they kidnapped them and forced them to love them and their different scenarios of being Yandere, but they just accept it and love them anyway!

― synopsis -> when you accept his yandere tendencies after he kidnaps you

― characters -> beelzebub, barbatos

― gender neutral reader

― headcanons

― warnings -> yandere content, kidnapping, toxic and problematic behavior, stockholm syndrome

― a/n -> i am happy that you enjoy my content ♡ i hope this is to your liking!

mammon version

BEELZEBUB

The kidnapping was the most amusing business. He approached you like it was any other day and offered to escort you back home. There was no reason to be suspicious since that was second nature to Beel. Even when he told you to take a different route because he had something to buy, you did not bat an eyelash. You thought that some new restaurant must have opened in the vicinity and he wanted to try the food there. When he stopped in front of a small cottage, you did not question him and went inside. The sound of the lock didn't bother you either. You were with your protector, the one who would save you from every harm, not someone who you could consider as a possible danger.

“Do you like this place, [Name]?” he asks after turning towards you, pocketing the key quickly.

That is the first time you look around, really look around with the intent to answer him.

“I think it's neat. I wouldn't mind living here with you,” you chuckle and tease playfully.

His stoic face softens, and a blush graces his cheeks.

His voice is laced with relief, “Hehe that's wonderful news because that's how it would be like from now on! I told Belphie that you would understand. I knew you would! I told Belphie that I wouldn't need to force you. I am so happy that I was right.”

“Understand what exactly?” you ask, blinking.

“That we will live here from now on. Belphie will come visit from time to time too,” he finishes a little uneasily. Was that doubt that he heard in your voice? But he thought you understand. You always understand what his family needs.

You need to understand that he kidnapped you for your own good. With all the attention and popularity, you could have fallen victim to some demon's ill will. Trust him. He knows demons better than you do.

He looks at you pleadingly.

You frown.

“Okay... I didn't know that it was in the plan. I thought we were going home.”

“Exactly. This is home. Our home. Nobody can come between us now. I can feed you, take care of you, carry you around and get your attention whenever I want. So this is home for me.”

You look at him and your chest feels warm. The idea that he just put in your mind doesn't seem too terrible. In fact, you would like Beel to take care of your needs.

You smile and put a hand on his arm, “Yes... I think you are right. This might be home.”

Beel smiles, “I knew you will understand. I am so glad that you understand! Now we must get this place ready to spend the night. I will treat you to some good food for dinner today hehe. This is what it will be like from now on.”

He sounds so dreamy that you kiss him on the cheek.

BARBATOS

He would have liked to proceed slowly. Even though he is greedy for you, he wanted to keep his darkness hidden longer. Maybe put a little distance between the you who thinks of him as a friend and the you who will come to hate him someday. That is how he expects it to turn out. Not that you should complain when he is going to give you a life where you won't have to lift a finger. All you should be concerned about is making him happy and you will be taken care of.

He truthfully doesn’t know exactly how you will react and he doesn’t want to find out using his powers either.

The situation keeps growing grim as your popularity increases in the Devildom. With his usual expressionless mask, he notices how lower demons muster up the courage to greet you, to hog up all your attention and time. Seeing others greedily enjoy your light and company when he can’t do so himself only makes him more firm to get you sooner rather than later.

There are very few things in his life that he has wanted as ardently as he desires you. So he acts.

His plan is carried out perfectly. Nobody in any of the realms knows where you are. Nobody expect Barbatos.

His absences during the period of your disappearance might be noticed so he doesn’t dare leave the Devildom to go meet you and suffices to spy on you from his room. It’s only when suspicions have shifted enough that he finally goes to visit you in person. By now, after watching you almost religiously daily, he has realised that you knew all there was to know.

“Do you know what this means, [Name]?” he asks after showing his face, approaching you slowly.

“Barbatos... Yes I was expecting you... We are going to always be together from now on,” you answer calmly. You register a little surprise but that’s all and by the looks of it, the emotion is triggered by his appearance rather than the entire... unpleasant affair of the kidnapping.

“Very good,” he says.

His face gives nothing away but his voice has a cautious undertone in it. The human he has set his heart on seems to be full of surprises. No wonder everyone was losing their minds over you, himself included.

He speaks again, “You know that I am a busy demon so if we are to be together all the time, you must be available for me whenever I get free time. You must always be ready to receive me. So how do you feel about it?”

You take a step closer to him, “I do not mind. I wish to know you better and be closer than we are now.”

“Is that so? Do you understand the gravity of the situation as you speak so innocently?” he moves towards you.

“I made my decision after thinking about it. I love you enough to want to be with you. I think my reason is innocent enough,” you smile and take another step towards him.

“If that is what you want. Remember that I do not take kindly when someone goes against their words,” he says darkly but lets you reach out to him.

#obey me #yandere #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #obey me yandere #forbidden path #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #obey me beelzebub #obey me barbatos #yandere beelzebub #yandere barbatos #x mc #x reader #x you

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scary-grace · 11 months

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 9) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 9

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and lately it feels like the thing that’s wrong with your house is you. You’re constantly uneasy, at work and at home, to the point where Phantom glues herself to your side and cries when you try to leave. Tomura hovers. You can tell he wants things from you – more touches, more kissing, more sex – but with half the neighborhood out hunting conjurers, the insect deliveries have mostly dried up. Most of the time, mustering up a voice and a set of hands is the most he can do.

The conjurer hunt is on. Keigo’s taking time off from work, and whatever Spinner and Jin usually do during the day, they’ve put it on hold. Every morning, you or Aizawa or Jin’s mom gives the three of them and Atsuhiro a ride to the train station, where they get on separate trains, each taking a different route to the same destination. They’re checking cities and towns off the list, one by one, starting close to home and working their way outwards. They get back later and later every day.

Jin’s mom doesn’t like it. Magne doesn’t like it. Dabi especially doesn’t like it, given the clouds of smoke that are constantly billowing from Keigo’s house, and eventually you and Hizashi are dispatched to deal with it. Hizashi’s there for the intimidation factor. You’re not sure why you’re involved. “You’re close with Keigo,” Hizashi says with a shrug, when you ask him. “Hard to tell, but Dabi’s not thrilled with how things have been going there lately. Knowing you and Keigo might talk about him might make him behave a little better.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the theory, anyway,” Hizashi says. He bangs on the door with a closed fist. “Open up, Toasty. We need to talk.”

“Fuck off.”

“No can do. You’re about to get the fire department called on you,” Hizashi says. “How are you going to explain that one to your human when he gets home?”

“Like I’d know. He’s never here.” Dabi’s face appears in the front window, and a moment later the door cracks open. “He saw his first chance to get away from me and bolted.”

You can’t stop the incredulous laugh that sneaks out of your mouth. “He’s out there hunting your conjurer. What about that says he’s trying to get away?”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“No, he volunteered.” Hizashi leans hard against the door and shoves it open. “You’re acting even dumber than the guy across the street, and that’s really saying something.”

“Hey,” you say listlessly. “Don’t talk shit about my ghost. He came up with the plan.”

“The plan that might get my human killed,” Dabi says.

“The plan that might save your ass,” Hizashi corrects, flicking Dabi in the forehead and ignoring the smoke that starts to leak into the air. “Enough with this little fit you’re throwing. Things are this way with your human because you made them this way. Your human treats you different than she treats her ghost because of you. If you want any of that to change, you need to get it together.”

“I’m not embodying,” Dabi says. “You can’t make me.”

“You can do better even if you don’t embody yourself,” you say. Dabi makes a disparaging noise. “Not lighting the house on fire would be a good start.”

“Why do you do that, anyway?” Hizashi is fully inside Keigo’s house now, and even though you know it’s going to drive Tomura up the wall, you follow him in. “Oof, this place smells. Have you ever heard of air freshener?”

You survey the front room of Keigo’s house. It’s messy. There’s a basket of laundry sitting on the couch, unfolded but clean as evidenced by the used dryer sheet sticking out of a sock on top. While Hizashi continues to hold forth on the odor of the house, you investigate further, checking out the kitchen. It’s also messy. There are clean dishes in the dishwasher and dirty dishes in the sink, and based on the state of the stove, Keigo’s been living on instant noodles, frozen vegetables, and not much else. You think of the time you were sick, of Tomura’s clumsy but well-intentioned efforts to help, and feel an unexpected wave of sadness.

It crystallizes into resolve a moment later. You head back to the front room and target Dabi directly. “Get in here. You’re going to learn how to do the dishes.”

“What?”

Dabi sounds baffled, and Hizashi is hooting with laughter. You raise your voice to be heard over him. “You want things to be better with Keigo, you have to do stuff,” you say. “Just not burning down the house isn’t enough. You have to help out. Don’t just say you want things to change. Make them change.”

“Like a man,” Hizashi says, still cackling. “This is what real men do.”

Dabi looks skeptical. You weigh the risk of the statement you’re considering, then decide to hell with it. “Tomura knows how to do all this stuff already.”

It’s quiet for a second. “If your useless virgin of a ghost can do it, so can I,” Dabi states, which sets Hizashi off again. “Teach me how.”

You’re tempted to tell him that Tomura figured it out on his own, but you also don’t want Keigo to have to deal with some of the mistakes Tomura made. “Let’s start with the dishwasher.”

After the dishwasher, you go through proper dishwashing technique, stressing the importance of cleaning up whatever mess gets made in the process. “It’s not helping if there’s still a mess afterward,” Hizashi advices from the kitchen table, where he’s going through Keigo’s record collection. “Shou and me went through that with cleaning the litterbox. It was bad.”

Dabi bitches his way through the dishes, but you think he’s grasped the basics. After that, you move onto laundry – or rather, Hizashi moves on to laundry, because you get a brief flash of what Tomura will do when he finds out you’ve been touching Keigo’s and possibly Dabi’s underwear and decide you don’t want to deal with that. While they’re working on it, you head back across the street to retrieve a spare air freshener from your house. Tomura pounces on you the instant you step through the gate. “What are you doing over there?”

“Trying to teach Dabi some life skills so Keigo doesn’t have to live in a dungeon,” you say. Tomura’s more materialized than he’s been in a while, just slightly more than insubstantial as he tangles himself around you. “I should be done soon.”

“You’re not going back.”

“I’m going back,” you say.”

“No, you’re not!”

“I am, and here’s why. Keigo is my friend. He’s trying to help everybody. You don’t care about everybody, but I do, and I don’t think my friend should have to live in a house like that with a ghost that treats him that badly.” You dig up an air freshener, plus a scented candle, ignoring Tomura’s attempts to reel you back in. “The only reason Dabi’s going along with it is because I told him that you know how to do this stuff already.”

It’s quiet for a second. “He’s not better than me,” Tomura says.

“You’re better than him. Keigo and Hizashi didn’t have to come over here and teach you how to do the laundry.” You head for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Tomura entangles you again, because Tomura’s an asshole, but he lets you go before you reach the gate. When you get back to Keigo’s house, Dabi and Hizashi are there, with a pile of folded laundry between them and identical weird looks on their faces. “What did you say to him?” Dabi demands. “He’s so full of himself –”

“Yeah, I haven’t experienced this level of concentrated smugness in a while,” Hizashi notes. He gives his head a shake, then shrugs it off. “You got the goods?”

You hand off the air freshener and the candle. “Light this up and start praying. I’m not sure how much of a dent it will make, but it’s better than nothing.”

You’re not really sure how well your lessons and Hizashi’s have stuck, and you’re not sure how Keigo’s going to feel about the fact that you were both in his house, bullying his ghost. You don’t even have a chance to warn him, since you’re not the one picking he and the others up from the train station tonight, and you find yourself watching anxiously from your front window as Keigo trudges up the stairs and into his house. “What are you worried about?” Tomura asks. “You did him a favor. He should thank you.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten into their relationship like that.” The idea of someone trying something similar on you and Tomura makes you almost as uncomfortable as the idea of raising the topic of you and Tomura in a formal relationship. “He might be mad. I’d understand if he was mad.”

“He should be grateful,” Tomura says. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. “I’ll make him thank you if he doesn’t.”

It’s Keigo’s number. You gulp, unlock your phone, and start reading the texts.

Keigo: so uh

Keigo: hypothetically

Keigo: did you go to my house while I was gone and replace Dabi with Hizashi in disguise

Keigo: because like

Keigo: the laundry got folded

Keigo: the kitchen is clean

Keigo: when I got inside he stole all my clothes so he could put them in the washing machine

Keigo: nothing is on fire except a SCENTED CANDLE

Keigo: what did you DO

Tomura is reading over your shoulder, and as he reaches the end of the text string, he bursts out into raspy laughter. Something twists in your chest hard and painful enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You don’t think you’ve ever heard Tomura laugh before, and you’re almost angry with yourself for how much you like how it sounds. “What’s funny?”

“He stole his human’s clothes.” Tomura snickers. “If I tried that on you you’d leave and never come back.”

You’re temporarily frozen with horror at the thought, but you break out of it by force to text Keigo back. Sorry. Me and Hizashi went over there because the house was a little too on fire, and when we saw what a mess it was we decided to try to help out.

So you did it, Keigo texts back. He’s saying he did it.

We told him what to do, but he did most of it, you explain. Sorry.

Don’t be sorry. Just like – how? He never does this shit. I have to beg him not to cut my brake lines and burn down the house.

You’ve got theories, but nothing definitive, you glance at Tomura, wondering if he knows, but either he doesn’t or he’s not telling. I’m not sure, you text. He really stole your clothes?

Two seconds after I got inside. I barely shut the door in time. Keigo texts again while you’re trying not to have a thing over Tomura’s renewed laughter. I would have texted you about it sooner except I was naked and it would have been weird.

Now you’re laughing, but Tomura isn’t. “He owes you now. You should make him do something.”

“I’d say we’re even.” You laugh-react to Keigo’s text and put your phone away. “He and everybody else here helped me a lot when it came to you. I want to help them out, too.”

“Him telling you things isn’t the same as you dealing with his bastard scar wraith all day,” Tomura says. “You did more. He owes you.”

“That’s not how it works,” you say. “People help each other for a lot of reasons. It’s not usually just so the other person will owe them. Is that why you help me sometimes?”

You regret the question the instant you ask it – enough that you take it back, out loud. “Sorry. Don’t answer that.”

“I –”

“Don’t.” You know you’re not handling this well. You just don’t know what else to do.

Realizing that you’ve got feelings for Tomura has been a disaster on every possible level. You thought admitting it to yourself might make things easier, but instead it’s unlocked a whole new circle of hell – one where you want things from him that you’ve got no business wanting, things you know he can’t give you, things he wouldn’t give you in a million years. Not being able to touch him at all makes it worse. You’ve never thought of yourself as being touch-starved, but there’s not really another word for it. You miss the cold. You miss him. And it’s pathetic, so you do everything you can to not think about it. The last thing you want is for someone to ask.

But apparently you’re not hiding it as well as you think you are, because Mr. Yagi takes one look at you the next morning and motions you into his office. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you say, but it comes out watery and awful. “I’m fine, sir. It’s just, uh –”

What should you say? That it’s the time of the month? If you say that, Mr. Yagi will run for the hills, and you shouldn’t lie to him. “It’s ghost stuff,” you say, and Mr. Yagi nods sagely. “Things in the neighborhood are – hard right now.”

“I have something that might help,” Mr. Yagi says encouragingly. “Izuku’s completed his review of the files you’ve collected, and he’s hoping to present his findings to you in person.”

“Oh,” you say. “Um, okay. I don’t know if the neighborhood –”

“You’ll come to our neighborhood,” Mr. Yagi says. You blink. “This evening, for dinner. Izuku will present his findings to you and you can eat a meal in a place that isn’t so obviously haunted. Inko tells me that constant observation wears on a person.”

You’re so used to it by this point that you barely notice. It’s the explanations that start to wear on you. Lately Tomura’s been interested in what you’re eating, and you’ve been stuck trying to describe taste to someone who can really only grasp texture. It would be nice to go one night without having to explain that lettuce tastes like green but salmon doesn’t taste like pink. Mr. Yagi raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Thank you, sir,” you say. “I’d like that.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Yagi beams at you. “You have my address from the office party two years ago, yes? We haven’t moved.”

“Um – you might need to send it again.” You have a bad habit of deleting your old texts.

Mr. Yagi sends you his address and you add it to his contact in your phone. And while you’re in your contacts, you realize that there’s a contact you’re missing – and a ghost who’s going to have questions when you don’t show up after work. You still haven’t gotten around to getting Tomura a phone, which means you’re going to need someone to go talk to him. Somebody he’s not going to try to kill. You’d send Spinner or Keigo, but they’re both on the mission, and introducing Hizashi into the equation is a recipe for disaster. If you ask Shinsou for help, Hizashi and Aizawa will murder you. That just leaves –

Wondering what in the hell you’re doing, you text Magne for the first time ever. Hi. Would you be okay letting Tomura borrow your phone for a second?

You’re not entirely sure what Magne does during the day. Whatever her job is, it’s remote work – but it must be a slow period, because she texts you back right away. What does he need it for?

I won’t be back until late and I need to let him know.

Magne sends you a truly bizarre collection of emojis. That’s so cute! What time should I bring it over?

Noon, you say. Thanks, Magne. I owe you one.

A little bird name Himiko tells me you have a Sephora credit card. I’ll be expecting a top-tier birthday gift.

The ghosts don’t have real birthdays, so they celebrate either the day they were summoned or the day they were embodied. You’re not sure which one Magne picked, but Spinner definitely knows. You’ll ask him. You got it.

Your lunch break starts at noon, and your phone rings from Magne’s number at approximately 12:02. “You’re on speaker,” Magne shouts at you. Then: “I’ve got your human on the phone! She wants to talk to you. Let me in the yard!”

“Just throw it,” Tomura shouts back.

“This is an iPhone! I’m not throwing it anywhere!”

“I don’t care what kind of phone it is. You’re not coming in my yard.”

“Tomura,” you call out, trying to simultaneously be loud and keep any of your coworkers from overhearing this nightmare, “go up to the fence and borrow the phone from Magne. And don’t run away with it. Otherwise I’m going to have to buy her the entire Sephora franchise for her birthday.”

Magne cackles at that, but when she speaks, she’s not talking to you. “There you are! It’s a shame you’ve been hiding in that house all this time. You’re much cuter when you’re – you know, all there.”

“I’m not cute,” Tomura says. You’re smiling to yourself for about three seconds before he speaks up again. “My human said I’m pretty.”

Based on the cacophony on the other end of the line, Magne’s phone mission picked up an audience. Or maybe she gave it an audience. You can hear Hizashi cackling like a goblin, Shinsou snorting with laughter, and some squeaky little Eri giggles, which would all be really funny if it was happening to anybody else. Tomura’s on the same page as you are about it. “Why are you laughing?”

“She’s not wrong,” Himiko says from somewhere in the offing. The whole neighborhood is there, apparently. “You’re really pretty, Tomura! It’s only funny because boys usually say that to girls, not the other way around.”

“Honestly, we should use it the other way around more often,” Hizashi says. He projects his voice at a volume that makes your ears start ringing through the phone. “I for one could stand to be called pretty at least four times a day.”

He’s speaking so loudly that Aizawa can probably hear him from their house at the top of the street. “Dad, that’s gross,” Shinsou complains.

“I think it’s nice,” Eri chimes in. “I like being pretty. My hair and my eyes look like Tomura’s, so Tomura must be pretty, too!”

“Okay,” you say loudly, trying to regain control of the situation, “my lunch break’s not forever, and I really do need to talk to Tomura, so –”

“Of course! Shoo, shoo!” Magne hopes into action. You’d better start saving for Magne’s birthday gift yesterday. “Here. The phone. I’ll be in my house. Just shout when you’re ready to give it back!”

“I’ll just throw it. That’s faster.”

“He won’t throw it,” you say. Magne makes some kind of agreeing sound and leaves. Tomura must have the phone now, but he’s not saying anything. “Are you there?”

“Am I supposed to say you’re pretty?”

You facepalm with the hand that’s not holding the phone. “No,” you say. “Not unless you think so. I said you were pretty because that’s what I think. And that’s not why I called you.”

“Why did you call me?”

You brace yourself. “I won’t be back until later tonight. Later than usual. I wanted to let you know.”

“Why?”

“I’m meeting someone who has information. About the second conjurer.”

“Who?” Tomura’s voice darkens so abruptly that a chill goes down your spine. “I don’t need you to tell me. I’ll find them. I’ll –”

“It’s my boss’s son. He’s fifteen. He’s been looking at the same documents I have, except he actually has time to read them.”

It’s quiet for a second. “You could have said it was a kid,” Tomura says reproachfully, and you almost laugh. “Your boss the ghost has a kid?”

“I don’t really know how that worked.” You don’t want to know, either, and you really don’t want Tomura asking questions about it, so you change the subject fast. “I’m going over there after work and I’ll be back when I can. Are you okay to feed Phantom, or should I ask someone to –”

“I’ll do it. She’s our dog.” Tomura cuts you off. “Don’t be stupid. And be careful.”

You’re tempted to point out that being careful is most likely rolled in with not being stupid, but you keep your mouth shut. A moment later Tomura speaks up again. “Come back fast. I miss you when you’re not here.”

“I will,” you say, trying not to implode. “I, um – I miss you too. Please don’t throw Magne’s phone.”

“Fine.” Tomura hangs up. You need to get Tomura a phone. You also need to teach Tomura phone etiquette, like not hanging up without saying goodbye. Except he said he missed you, which – what was that? Was it a guilt trip? Tomura’s never tried to guilt-trip you before, and he’s not subtle in general. If that’s what he was doing, you’d see it coming a mile away, which means that this wasn’t a guilt-trip. In fact, he took the news that you won’t be back until later fairly well. The weird feeling you’re getting is because it was a normal conversation. The kind of conversation you’d have with a boyfriend who wasn’t crazy. Most of your boyfriends have been crazy.

Tomura isn’t your boyfriend. You’re being weird. You text thank-you to Magne again, drop a line to Spinner to ask when Magne’s birthday is, and head back inside to grab your lunch. It’s a nice day. It might be nice to eat outside.

At least that’s what you think, until Nakayama drops down on the bench next to you. “Who was that on the phone?”

“None of your business.” You grit your teeth as Nakayama pops open a salad in an excruciatingly loud plastic clamshell package. “You were eavesdropping?”

“Nobody used to call you,” Nakayama says matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you seemed like the type who’d bang your boss.”

You almost choke on your sandwich. “But now Mr. Yagi seems kind of like your dad. Not in a daddy way, just a literal dad,” Nakayama continues. “So who was on the phone? Why do you miss them?”

“No one. Go away.”

“Is it your boyfriend?” Nakayama asks. “I’d say that to my boyfriend if he was clingy. Is your boyfriend clingy?”

“It’s not my boyfriend,” you say. You’re pretty sure your face is on fire. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be? I thought – uh, I thought you and Woods from the DA’s office were a thing.”

“We are. But he was being judgy about one of my cases, so I ditched him for today.” Nakayama crunches down on a bite of salad. “I’m surprised you knew that! You don’t usually care about office gossip.”

You don’t. But you’re desperate to get out of this conversation without having to think or talk any more about Tomura. “I pay attention, but I’m sort of behind, I think. Can you catch me up?”

Nakayama grins at you around a mouthful of lettuce. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Asking about gossip is going to be your new go-to for avoiding talking about your personal life with your coworkers. Nakayama talks straight through lunch, and afterwards you throw yourself into your work, doing everything you can to avoid thinking about Tomura and what Tomura said and what the actual hell is happening there. You end the day a half-day ahead of your inbox, and you duck out early, swinging by the store to pick up some flowers to bring as a gift for your hosts. And then you sneak into another store, to pick up something for someone else.

You’ve been to Mr. Yagi’s house before, but it was a while ago. The neighborhood you’re driving through feels mostly unfamiliar. The houses are medium-sized, but on big lots, and you know from your homebuying exploits that this much space costs a ridiculous amount of money. The land one of these houses is built on probably costs as much as your property and your house put together. The last time you were here, you remember thinking somewhat uncharitably that Mr. Yagi must have family money. You’re even more confused now that you know he’s a ghost.

Mr. Yagi’s house is yellow with green trim, bright and pretty. It feels friendly when you walk up the front steps, and the doorbell’s ring somehow sounds cheerful. Mr. Yagi opens the door, smiling. “Come in! What are these –”

“For you,” you say. Your parents might not have been very affectionate, but they made sure you had manners. Mr. Yagi accepts the flowers. “Thank you for hosting me.”

You take off your shoes and make your way into the house after Mr. Yagi. The rest of the house feels just as friendly as it looks. Whatever’s being cooked smells really good, and Mr. Yagi’s wife smiles at you though a cloud of steam when you approach to ask if you can help. “I have it under control. And I have my assistant,” she says, elbowing Mr. Yagi lightly. “Go out to the backyard, if you’d like. Izuku’s waiting.”

You make your way through the house and onto the back porch, which overlooks a garden about ten times as pretty as yours. You can’t help feeling a surge of envy, which is only partially helped by reminding yourself that this garden’s had a lot more time to grow than yours has, and that this family doesn’t have to worry about buying delicate or expensive plants for fear that a ghost will get impatient and kill them in order to materialize fully. The only shadow in the garden comes from a large, lush shrub with purple-green leaves that’s resisting every effort made by Mr. Yagi’s son to extract it from the ground.

You come closer. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Izuku says, out of breath. “I don’t want to chop it down, but it has to go. It’s invasive.”

“Oh,” you say. “Did you know that when you planted it?”

“We think it was mislabeled,” Izuku says. “Or I read the label wrong, or something. I don’t want to kill it, and I think I can get it out alive, but we can’t plant it anywhere else.”

Something occurs to you. “If I help you get it out alive, can I have it?”

“Dad said you have a garden, but why would you want – oh!” Izuku breaks off suddenly, grinning. “Based on the size of this bush and its relative age compared to the lifespan of similar plants, it contains about ten years of life energy! Ghosts usually burn through energy between forty-eight and fifty-five times faster than living things, depending on their power level, and Dad said your ghost is extremely strong, so if we assume a consumption rate of seventy times faster than a living thing and if you take this tree and he uses it, that should give him roughly two weeks of complete embodiment. Longer if he stays incorporeal sometimes.”

You can only stare at him. He keeps talking. “When Dad was still a ghost, he went through life-force really fast. Mom says he kept wanting to do things for her – like hold the door open, or pull out her chair so she could sit down, or carry her groceries. One time her car got stuck in the snow and he picked it up and carried it for her. Oh, I guess that’s another thing! If a ghost is exceeding the physical abilities of their embodied form, the consumption rate doubles. What kind of things does your ghost like to do?”

“I have a dog and they like to play together,” you say. There’s no way you’re bringing up the rest of it with a fifteen-year-old. “How did you find out about all this stuff? Is there an equation or something?”

“Sort of! I can show you if you want. Of course, it’ll be approximate, since there’s not a great way to measure power levels and you kind of just have to vibe it, but it should tell you about how much complete materialization time you’ll get. What kind of things does your ghost usually drain?”

“Small plants. Weeds or mushrooms, and sometimes blackberry bushes,” you say. “And the people in the neighborhood bring us bugs for him to use.”

“He must be conserving power really well if he can get complete materialization from insects,” Izuku says excitedly. “Do you think there’s any way I could meet him? I haven’t met a real ghost in ages, and one that powerful –”

“Izuku,” Mr. Yagi says warningly from the porch. “That ghost isn’t safe for most people to interact with. And his reaction to you would be difficult to predict.”

“He’d know I’m not a threat. He could read it off my aura,” Izuku says. He looks at you and explains before you can ask. “I’m half-ghost. Mom got pregnant with me before Dad embodied himself full-time.”

Your first thought, as incredibly stupid as it is, is that you might need your box of condoms after all. Your second thought is that you really didn’t need to know that much about your boss’s sex life. Then you remember that Mr. Yagi can see Tomura’s marks on you and decide that it’s even. “Um, what does that mean? Being half-ghost.”

“Like being an embodied ghost, but I didn’t have to drain anybody,” Izuku says. “I can see other ghosts, and feel what they feel. I need to blink, but my eyes still do the thing Dad’s eyes do, so I have to wear contacts. And sometimes when I dream I can see into the world between.”

You sit there with that for a moment. Izuku looks to Mr. Yagi. “Once I get the butterfly bush out, she’s going to take it home so her ghost can use it. Did you know he’s only been using bugs?”

“I didn’t,” Mr. Yagi says. He glances at you, and you will your face not to flush. “We’ll all work together to dig up the bush after dinner. It’s time to wash up.”

You follow Mr. Yagi and Izuku into the house, feeling like you handled things well. It’s not until you’re washing your hands that it occurs to you that Izuku, who’s half ghost, can almost certainly see Tomura’s goddamn handprints all over you. It takes you way too long to muster up the courage to do anything but bolt directly out the door and drive until you run out of gas. But you make it out to the table and sit down, avoiding everyone’s eyes. You’re sitting with two ghosts. They can see the handprints. They know. You’re screwed. There’s no way they’ll let you have the butterfly bush now.

Mr. Yagi’s wife reaches across the table and pats your arm. “It’s all right,” she says, and you look up to find her smiling. “I’ve got them, too.”

You can’t see handprints on her, but she must have them, if she was involved with Mr. Yagi before he was embodied. You’ve never met anybody other than Keigo who was involved with their ghost when it was still a ghost, and you feel yourself relax a bit, just like you do when you and Keigo hang out. You manage a smile in response, then pick up your utensils and start eating. The food tastes really good. And it’s nice to know that you’re not going to have to spend twenty minutes explaining why cheese comes in different shapes, colors, and sizes without becoming something other than cheese.

You have to explain other stuff, though. Izuku has questions. “How many ghosts are in your neighborhood? Are they all adults or are some of them kids? Was your house built before the rest of the neighborhood or is it just the only house with a ghost in it?” He uses the pause provided by your answers to inhale half the food on his plate, then jumps back into the breach with even more questions. “Dad said there was a scar wraith. Have you met him? Scar wraiths are technically half-embodied ghosts, right? How many of his powers does he still have? Which of the former ghosts on your street is the most powerful? Do you think my dad could beat Magne or Atsuhiro or Hizashi in a fight?”

Mr. Yagi chokes on a sip of water. “I won’t be fighting any ghosts in that neighborhood. My ghost-fighting days are long over.”

“You used to fight ghosts?” you ask.

“Yes,” Mr. Yagi says. “That’s what I was summoned for.”

You want to ask. You really, really want to ask, but you don’t want to pry. Mr. Yagi’s wife finally elbows him. “Just tell her, Toshi.”

Mr. Yagi sighs. “When we first spoke of this, I mentioned that some conjurers don’t bind ghosts. Rather, they form mutually beneficial alliances – sometime simply to extend their lives, sometimes in an effort to do good. The conjurer who summoned me was named Shimura Nana. She hoped to do good, and I wanted to help her. Together we pursued evil conjurers and unquiet ghosts, ending their reigns of terror wherever we could.”

He glances guiltily at you. “I believe we once crossed paths with Hizashi, from your neighborhood. My master judged there to be greater threats than him.”

Hizashi wouldn’t like hearing that. Maybe you’ll tell him the next time he tries to scare you for kicks. But there’s a different question you’re considering. “How do you kill a ghost?”

“We’ll get to that,” Mr. Yagi says. “In any case, as the years passed, my master and I came into contact with the same conjurer over and over again. He was interested not in short-term havoc, but in long-term destruction, and he chose his ghosts accordingly. Many of the worst ghosts my master and I faced had been captured by him – taken as children, isolated for decades, their power growing unchecked until it outgrew the haunt containing it.”

Unease twists in the pit of your stomach. You’ve heard a story like that before. The one you were told was about Eri, but when you consider the details – the length of time, the complete isolation – it sounds like someone else, too. “These ghosts had no chance to make a bargain with their conjurer,” Mr. Yagi continues. “It was likely never explained to them why they had been imprisoned in this world. Many ghosts are curious about the human world, initially, and form opinions once they’ve been allowed to explore and interact with it. By the time this conjurer’s ghosts are allowed to interact with the world, they’ve grown to despise it as a prison. They destroy everything in their path, until they’re stopped.”

“Dad stopped a lot of them,” Izuku says.

“His master called it merciful,” Mr. Yagi’s wife – she’s told you to call her Inko – says. She looks troubled. “I don’t know about that.”

“There aren’t any left in the country. My master and I made sure.” Mr. Yagi folds and unfolds his napkin. “Ghosts may not approach the world with the same view of mortality as humans do, but it still takes time to create such a violent, hateful ghost. We were certain we’d found them all. And then –”

Suddenly you’re certain you know what he’s going to say. “You found my house.”

“It has every hallmark of our enemy’s work,” Mr. Yagi says. “An immensely powerful ghost, firmly entrenched in a house that can barely contain it. How long has he inhabited that house?”

“A hundred and ten years.”

“That fits!” Izuku says excitedly. He gets up from the table and bolts down the hallway, coming back a moment later pushing a wheeled whiteboard that you’re pretty sure disappeared from the conference room at work. “So! Thanks to the map Mr. Aizawa made, and the list of identities you found, I’ve been able to track where this conjurer’s been over the last two hundred years. A lot of the haunts have been destroyed, but nothing gets built there again, so they’re easy to find. The conjurer starts out way to the north, two hundred years ago. He binds a ghost to an old temple, and sixty years later, the ghost breaks out. Did you get that one, Dad? Do you remember?”

Mr Yagi nods. “Okay,” Izuku says. “Seven years later, he’s right here. Just a little ways south. This time the ghost is in an abandoned palace. That one only lasts twenty years before the haunt gets destroyed, and Dad gets that one, too. Seven years after that, the conjurer goes big and summons a ghost to haunt this entire mountain range by binding different parts of it into different caves and cabins –”

It would take an idiot not to see the pattern that’s emerging. The conjurer moves steadily south, spending seven years in each location – no more, and no less. In each location he leaves behind a haunted house with a lonely ghost, a ticking time bomb that won’t go off until long after everyone’s forgotten it was there. When he reaches the border, he turns around and heads north again, still spending seven years in each location. “Why seven years?” you ask. “If he’s worried about being caught, shouldn’t he switch it up?”

“Summoning and binding ghosts take time,” Inko says. “If it’s not done well, the ghosts can get out. And this conjurer doesn’t want his ghosts to get out.”

Yeah, no kidding – if they can get out, they won’t go crazy like he wants them to. Izuku keeps going over the map, seven years and a few miles at a time. Then he stops. “Here there’s a big gap,” he says. “In distance and in time. He doesn’t show up again until fourteen years later, and he’s way too far north. Plus, his name is wrong. You were right about how he steals names from people he knew in his previous identity to build the new one, but his name in the new town isn’t related at all to the last one.”

“It’s an insult to my master,” Mr. Yagi says. The scowl on his face is way too scary for your liking. “Shimura Tenko.”

You remember that name from the files. “So what happened? Did he just take a break?”

“After ninety years of doing the same thing? No way,” Izuku says. He opens his mouth, closes it, and turns to Inko. “Mom spotted it. Mom should say.”

Inko smiles at him, then turns to face you. “Look at the space that’s missing,” she says quietly. “There should be a haunt somewhere here.”

You look at the spot she’s circling on the map and your heart sinks. “We’re not the only city around here,” you say hopelessly. “It could be any of those –”

“We checked. There isn’t.” Izuku is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “The guy my dad fought is the same guy who summoned your ghost. And it took him a while. Either your ghost really fought or really tried to escape, because the conjurer never spent more than seven years anywhere else. He spent fourteen years here.”

Your heart is racing. You look to Mr. Yagi. “How did you and your master not find him?”

“There was nothing to find,” Mr. Yagi says. “Every other haunt became a place of violence and terror, the instant the ghosts began to attain their full power. There were incidents, accidents, mysterious deaths – things that signal the presence of a ghost. There was no such thing in your house.”

No, there wasn’t. You checked. If there had been any sign of trouble, you wouldn’t have bought it. “What I don’t understand,” Inko says, “is why your ghost didn’t turn out like the others. From what Toshinori says, your ghost radiates malevolence to such a degree that no one’s stayed long inside the house. The isolation is what’s supposed to drive them crazy, and that would make him more isolated, not less.”

“That’s a weird move for a ghost with a lot of power,” Izuku agrees. “Especially given what all the other ones did. Obviously ghosts have different temperaments, like people do, but if all the others destroyed their haunts and he didn’t –”

He trails off, and Inko doesn’t try to fill the gap. They’re both looking at Mr. Yagi, so you look at him, too. It’s a while before he speaks, and when he does, he’s avoiding your eyes. “Initially, Tomura wouldn’t have had sufficient power to harm anyone. Once he did, it seems he made a conscious decision to use his powers to deepen his own isolation rather than wield them against others. He’s undeniably malevolent, but not particularly hostile. As far as any of us can tell, he’s never attempted to break out of his haunt, much less wreak the kind of destruction one might expect from a ghost in his position. In the eyes of his conjurer, he represents a failure.”

Even though failing at this is exactly what you should want for Tomura, you still don’t like hearing people talk about him that way. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Tomura’s conjurer is likely to return at some point,” Mr. Yagi says, “and attempt to turn Tomura into the symbol of terror he was meant to be. My understanding of Tomura is limited, but based on the available evidence –”

He gestures awkwardly at you. “The fastest way for his conjurer to do that would be to remove you from the picture.”

“Wouldn’t Tomura just kill him?” Izuku asks. “I mean – if someone hurt me or Mom, that’s what you’d do, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Yagi says, “but this conjurer is too cunning to make it easy. He’d likely kill her far from the neighborhood, which would force Tomura to destroy his haunt to pursue him. Tomura would likely leave immense destruction in his wake as he chased the conjurer. Which is what the conjurer wanted him to do all along.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You imagine the house blowing apart from the inside, just like the fence did; or worse, you imagine it crumbling, falling apart in a wave of dust that billows out, consuming everything in its path. He already looks down on the neighborhood. If he found any way to blame them for your death, he’d wipe them off the map. And then he’d move on to everything else.

No. Tomura wouldn’t do something that crazy just for you. You’re out of your mind. “I’m not that important to him,” you say. “I’m not – he’d kill the conjurer to punish him, maybe. He wouldn’t go on a rampage. Why would you say that?”

Mr. Yagi doesn’t answer. He looks uncomfortable. “Even if he succeeded in killing the conjurer, it wouldn’t bring you back,” Inko says softly. “He’d still be loose in the world, still angry, still destructive, with no one to aim his anger towards. Haven’t you ever been so angry that you didn’t care who you hurt?”

You have. You don’t want to admit it, but you have. “So have I,” Inko says, which is hard to imagine. “But you and I are human, with societal expectations that make it unlikely that we’ll act on those feelings. Ghosts don’t have that. They follow their feelings. They don’t see consequences until it’s too late.”

“You’re wrong,” you say. Your jaw is clenched, your hands curled into fists out of sight. “I believe you about all of this – who his conjurer is, and why it happened, and all of that. But you’re wrong about what will happen if his conjurer kills me. He doesn’t care enough about me for the rest of it.”

You see Mr. Yagi and Inko trade a glance. Izuku is staring, too, waiting to be let in on the secret. “Perhaps we’re wrong,” Mr. Yagi says. “Even so, no one wants you to be hurt. With that in mind, we have a gift for you.”

“Toshinori’s master made these for me, back when Toshi was still a ghost,” Inko says. She pulls back her sleeves, revealing narrow bracelets on each wrist. “They hide the traces of ghostly power. When Toshi and I met, he and his master were still battling the conjurer. Wearing these kept me from being noticed and used against him.”

You hadn’t known that. Now you understand why Mr. Yagi is so certain about what Tomura will do if you’re killed – it’s what he would have done, or wanted to do, if he’d lost Inko. “My power’s faded enough that it’s almost undetectable,” Mr. Yagi says. “My master would be pleased if the bracelets went to someone who needed them.”

You argue. Of course you argue. A lot, in no small part because going to Mr. Yagi’s house for dinner and coming back with his wife’s jewelry on is going to convince everybody at the office that you’re sleeping with him. Once you lose that part of the argument, you switch tactics to arguing that something that fits Inko’s wrists is going to be too small for yours, only for Inko to tell you, completely straightfaced, that the bracelets are magic and can grow or shrink to fit whoever needs to wear them. You sit there with that for a moment, chagrined, before she bursts out laughing and tells you to try them on first. You do. They fit perfectly. Maybe they’re magic after all.

You help Inko with the dishes while Izuku piles up paper after paper after paper on the counter for you to take home and review, including a list of six possible names Tomura’s conjurer could be going by at this very moment. Then all of you head to the backyard to extract the butterfly bush. It’s a four-person job for sure. You have no idea how Izuku thought he was going to do it himself.

Inko insists you go home with leftovers, then sends you home with more food than you can carry. You thank her and Mr. Yagi and Izuku with a little more emotion than you usually display – for the food, and for their help. “I’ll bring this back to the neighborhood,” you say. “It’ll clear things up. Now we have a better idea of what to watch out for.”

“If you need assistance at any point, let me know,” Mr. Yagi says. “I do have some experience in this regard.”

“I will,” you say. “I’ll see you at work, sir.”

You’re still feeling too many things as you drive home, the still-living butterfly bush taking up the entire backseat of your car and enough food for two nights of dinners in the passenger seat. It takes you a while to name the feeling as hurt – hurt for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with the absurd kindness Mr. Yagi and his family showed to you. It’s an old hurt, one you’ve lived with for a long time; the feeling of observing a happy family and realizing all over again how empty your childhood was. But now there’s a new kind of hurt added to the pile. Not the hurt of wanting something you didn’t have, but wanting something you won’t get.

Inko was you, once upon a time. Human, in love with a ghost, in the line of fire. But it worked out for her. She’s happy. She has a son and a husband who loves her and a garden whose biggest problem is an invasive plant her son accidentally planted in it. That’s never going to be you.

Even if you wanted that, and you’re not at all sure you do, knowing you can’t have it makes you sad. You drive the rest of the way home with a weird lump in your throat, trying to clear it before you get home. You can’t explain this to Tomura. He won’t understand.

The mood sticks with you all the way home, but when you pull into your neighborhood, you feel it inexplicably lift. It’s just past sundown. Hizashi and Shinsou are in their garden, laughing about a misshapen eggplant they’ve been growing. Himiko is on the front porch of her house, painting Jin’s nails, while their siblings scribble profanity they probably learned from Spinner onto the sidewalk in chalk. Spinner and Keigo are hanging out in front of Spinner’s house, talking something over with Magne. And your front lawn might be dead as a doornail, but all the lights are on inside your house.

You park in the driveway and start ferrying things up to the house. The door swings open before you can even think of unlocking it, and Phantom races to greet you, barking and whining until you set the leftovers on the porch swing and crouch down to greet her. She licks your face, slurping the way she does when you’ve been sweating or crying. This time it was the latter.

When you turn to retrieve the leftovers, they’re gone. Inside the house, you hear the refrigerator open and shut. “I can carry that stuff,” you say to Tomura. “Don’t burn through too much energy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Tomura’s down to a pair of hands as he drifts onto the porch, hands that seize your wrists and refuse to let go. “What are these?”

“I’ll explain,” you say. “I still have stuff to bring in.”

You bring in your purchase from the other store, knowing Tomura won’t look inside it unless you give him a reason to be suspicious, then devote your attention to wrestling the butterfly bush out of the backseat. Tomura eyes it suspiciously. “Where are you going to put that?”

You stop just before you remove it. You know from experience that once something leaves the car in the driveway, it’s fair game. “My boss and his family gave it to me,” you say. Tomura’s suspicious expression cranks up a notch. “It’s for you.”

Tomura blinks. “I’m going to bring it in. Don’t touch it yet,” you say. “I need to talk to you first.”

Tomura waits as you drag the butterfly bush in its pot into the yard, then up onto the porch, then through the door. He keeps quiet until after you’ve shut the door. “Can I have it now?”

“No,” you say. You’ve got a not-insignificant suspicion that Tomura is going to jump you the instant he’s fully materialized, and you don’t want to try to have this conversation while he’s trying to make out with you. But now he’s waiting, clearly impatient, and all at once you forget what you were planning to say. “Um –”

“Did they give you that tree just because they had it?”

“No,” you say, startled. “I asked if I could have it. I wanted to see you. My boss’s son, he said you could probably get two weeks of full materialization out of it, but I think there’s a good chance he underestimated your power level, and –”

The butterfly bush crumbles to ash so quickly it’s hard to imagine it was there in the first place. Tomura’s feet hit the floor, and a moment later, he jumps you. Literally jumps you – he’s taller than you are, but he tangles himself around you until both his feet are off the ground. He’s solid, and heavy, and you’re not at all prepared to take the weight of a fully embodied ghost. You collapse backwards, barely managing to tuck your chin and avoid smacking the back of your skull against the floor. Tomura takes the change from vertical to horizontal completely in stride. Whatever he’s planning, it’s not impeded by the fact that Phantom is racing in excited circles around the two of you.

You’re worried he’s going to kiss you, or go after your clothes the way Dabi’s apparently made a habit of doing to Keigo. Instead Tomura stretches out on top of you, apparently unconcerned with where his elbows and knees are going, and buries his head in your shoulder. Or your neck. He can’t seem to decide which one he prefers.

You put up with a few seconds of ghost cuddling before you ask. “Tomura, what are you doing?”

“Saw it in a movie.” A puff of cold air hits the side of your neck. “Wanted to try.”

“In this movie you saw, were they on the floor?” you ask, exasperated. “If we’re going to keep this up, we’re moving it to the couch.”

“I don’t want to move.”

“Tough luck. I don’t want to cuddle with you on the floor.” You roll him off of you, get to your feet, and book it to the living room, flopping down on the couch a split second before Tomura flops down on you. “Here’s fine, though.”

Tomura gets comfortable again, complaining under his breath, but once he’s settled, he goes quiet and still. “You’re like a weighted blanket,” you say nonsensically. “I didn’t think this was going to be the first thing you did.”

“I want that later. I want this now.” Tomura goes quiet again for a few moments. “Those things your boss gave you are strong. I didn’t see you until you were here. Why do you have them?”

It occurs to you why Tomura might be concerned. “They’re for hiding me when I’m out there. From other ghosts. Or conjurers.”

“You went there to find out about conjurers,” Tomura says. You’re surprised he remembered that. Or surprised he asked about it. Or both. “Did you?”

“About one of them,” you say. “The last name on Aizawa’s list. My boss thinks, um – he thinks that one might be yours.”

“Mine,” Tomura repeats. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say. You don’t want to get into the rest of it – the conjurer’s MO, whatever made Tomura different, what Mr. Yagi’s afraid will happen if – when – you die. Not when it’s calm like this. Not when you feel like you’re breathing for the first time in weeks, in spite of the fact that you’re currently being flattened by a ghost. “But my boss and his wife met when he was still a ghost. Someone made the bracelets so other ghosts and conjurers couldn’t find her.��

“Why would they care about someone else’s human?” Tomura sounds like the concept’s never occurred to him. “Just get your own.”

You knew you were right about this. You tell yourself that being right is a relief. “My boss loves his wife. He loved her even when he was a ghost. The best way for somebody to hurt him was to hurt her, and somebody really wanted to hurt him. So she wore these. To be safe. And now his powers have faded, so she gave them to me.”

It’s quiet again. “I don’t like that I can’t see you,” Tomura says.

“I’ll take them off once I’m in the neighborhood,” you say. “So you’ll know I’m there.”

Tomura makes an indistinct sound you can probably read as agreement and makes himself comfortable again. When it becomes clear that he’s not moving any time soon, you wrap your arms loosely around him. Tomura makes another indistinct sound. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” you say. “People do that.”

“Weird.” Tomura doesn’t stir. After a few minutes of lying there, one of your hands resting between his shoulder blades and one on the small of his back, you cautiously sneak one hand up to fiddle with the ends of his hair.

It’s tangled. There’s only so much you can do one-handed, but you get to work anyway, strangely comforted by the texture of it between your fingers. Tomura lifts his head slightly when you tug at one of the tougher knots. “Why are you doing that? It’s just going to get tangled again the next time I dematerialize.”

“I can fix it next time, too.” Maybe with a brush. “Do you care?”

“No.” Tomura answers fast. “It’s – nice. A lot of it is nice.”

You wonder what ‘it’ is in this case. Being corporeal? Being in physical contact with you? The physical contact you’re initiating? It doesn’t really matter. It’s all physical sensation to him, some good and some bad, and you’re the person who provides it. Tomura doesn’t care about you beyond that. It makes sense that he wouldn’t worry about you the way Mr. Yagi worries about Inko. The way any other ghost in the neighborhood worries about their human.

You’re not upset about it. You’ll take what you can get. And if what you can get is a few minutes cuddling on the couch before your ghost decides he’d rather make out, that’s still more than you expected when you came home tonight.

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