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aleksanderscult · 4 months

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Analyzing "Demon in the Wood" (book) - Part 5

(Part 1, part 2, part 3 and part 4)

(TW: self-harm!, suicide!)

Did you think I had forgotten about this meta?

ABSOLUTELY NOT

I was just dealing with a small health issue and before that I didn't have the motivation.

But now my meta-analyzing-self has returned with the fifth and last part of the book.

This is the passage from the book that actually made me think "What if Aleksander himself started sleeping less and less as an adult?". He "adopted" so many things from Baghra. It's possible that he did this too. Sleeping very few hours at night and always ready to leap at the first sign of danger.

Also, not Eryk not wanting to get smacked from his mom if she catches him. 😭

“It’s not enough.” His voice made me jump. The Darkling emerged from the shadows onto the lamplit path.

He really can startle people with his silent movements.

And the fact that he has been trained by hunters!

So he has learned from hunters, seers, Kings, Saints. Through all these four hundred years he gained an enormous amount of knowledge. (I would honestly sit and listen to his experiences for free)

HE'S TOO CUTE I JUST--

He really preferred to get interrogated by his mother for his wet clothes than get naked in front of a girl. 😭🫶

We went from this "He felt too shy to remove everything."

To this "His hand slid down to my hip. I felt a little trill of panic as my skirt slid higher and his fingers closed on my bare thigh."

They grow up so fast. 🥹🥹

It's that beautiful realization that he acts like a kid that makes me happy. All giggling and smiling while playing and swimming. This is the life he was supposed to live and he knows it.

He's so happy and hopeful that he starts making plans! 😭

He just wants to stay somewhere.

The Darkling never hated the otkazat'sya. It wasn't hate he felt but (overtime) he just only came to know their nature.

Eryk really liked Sylvi and thought her a good company to have her around.

He was aware of the way men looked at his mother.

I'm sorry but I find this line kind of awkward. It may only be just me. But little Aleksander seeing men giving lustful looks to Baghra is a little awkward. Like, man, not in front of her son. 😭

It was one more weapon in her arsenal.

Actually an anon once sent me an ask saying that the Darkling was promiscuous on his earlier days out of his need for touch and to gain information.

At that time I said that I doubted it since he had other means to gain information (through his spies, his natural charisma etc.) but @stromuprisahat discussed this in the comments and now I agree with her that Aleksander would sleep with someone to gain information. And, in the end, it was this line that fully convinced me. Just like I've said previously, Aleksander mimics his mother in almost everything. He just copies her behavior and patterns. And that's one more pattern that he must have copied. If he didn't have any other choice and was desperate (also it would depend on the person he had in front of him) Aleksander would go in "flirt mode" to get what he wants. Seduction was one weapon out of the hundreds in his arsenal, ready to be used if necessary.

Well hello socially awkward Aleksander.

That might be my hot take for him I think. Aleksander Morozova was actually socially awkward in sensitive matters (this moment right here, revealing to Ulla that they're siblings, his first kiss with Alina).

He was never raised in a stable home, never had healthy friendships and was raised by his mother very strictly and to value power over love. So whatever compassion he had as a person, he had it out of his own character. He was born with it and not nurtured to feel it or have it.

He doesn't know if this question about her mother is appropriate because he normally doesn't have conversations with peers and hasn't learned to.

It's a very sad but true fact about his character.

Eryk: "Thanks mom for nothing I guess".

I don't think people realize how cut off Aleksander was from literally everyone. And it was Baghra that cut him off. Not one single word about his father like she created him by herself or something.

(Now I also remembered how Alina was the only other person Aleksander could bond and be with since she was immortal too but Baghra took that from him as well. That woman really said "You'll have no one but me")

now I'm angry

He really really tries.

I've analyzed this moment a bit here but basically Aleksander was very awkward with others showing a vulnerable side. He isn't used to being close with others since he constantly travels, so here he does his best to comfort Annika as she lays bare her thoughts and feelings. He wants to let her know that her father didn't fail but did his best to protect his remaining family.

Hell nah!! 😭😭

Not my boy being protective over his new friend 😭😭

He only knows her for a few hours and he feels already close to her.

This shatters my heart because he doesn't want to believe the truth. He doesn't want to face it in the beginning. He's like "Oh. Maybe we're playing". He doesn't want to know that his friend has turned against him.

*tears up*

Can you hear me crying in the background? 🙂

He was so ready to protect her against a boy taller and stronger than him. Because they're friends. Friends are supposed to stick together.

*I'm ready to cry*

He's still in denial. 😭

And seeing the difference between this young Aleksander to his older version. The young one being naive, innocent and weak because he lets his emotions get the better of him. While the older one never begged for anything (at least directly), shed that side of him and still died because he still wanted things.

THE STRATEGIC BABY GRISHA IS HERE!!

He cleared his head and started thinking of ways to get out. And what better way of escaping than making Annika and Lev fight each other?

I personally think he said that line for two reasons:

He wanted Lev to know what he is in order to make him come over, break the ice and even stop Annika so he could buy himself some time and escape.

It's very interesting that he said "you won't be able to push her or her sister around anymore". He could have said "When Annika wears my bone she'll be more powerful than you" but he brought up Annika's vulnerable position and that shows that he understands why Annika does this.

But still he won't sit and let her finish the job.

His determination is the one quality that admire in him the most.

Take this moment for example. Someone just hit his head with a rock and he focuses on staying awake and alive. He doesn't allow his own body to take him down.

And here the same thing happens:

He's ready to vomit and pass out but he just forces his body to do more, to escape and survive. He never lets anything deter him from what he wants. And apparently it was Baghra that made him this way too:

She nurtured his strong will and over the years he became a driven, focused and determined person. And it were these qualities that kept him alive all those centuries.

When Alina left him behind on the Fold he survived and kept going.

When Sturmhond left him with a broken ship, a wounded arm and in the middle of nowhere, he survived and kept going.

When Alina betrayed him and brought a building down on his face, he survived, took the throne and rose again.

When his mother committed suicide, he cleared his head and continued his war.

When he came back from the dead, he still continued the march towards his ambition.

Literally nothing could stop him. Even "when he wasn't so sure he wanted to go on" he put his one foot in front of the other and set his eyes towards his dream. Whether that was to provide the Grisha a safe home, or the Ravkans a safe country or himself a companion to have. Or all of it together.

It was enough to make him less a boy than a prize.

A sad existence to live. Especially in your childhood. Your own people seeing you as a trophy to have, to wear and use than a human with a life of his own.

He revealed his gift to Annika when he showed kindness to her and now he pays the price.

His relationship with his mother is one of the most (if not the most) pivotal aspects of his character. Her words and teachings have been implanted deep inside him and can hear her often in his mind (just like he did in RoW).

Did he also hear her voice whenever he was close to dying in his adulthood?

He lashed out of fury, desperation and sadness for everything that happened that day. Just when he thought he had it all, fate came and took them out of his hands along with his hope.

Let me make a mark on this world before I leave it.

He succeeded in that. The Little Palace is the greatest proof and people talked about him long after he was gone (and they'll continue to do so).

As a child he saw how Grisha came and went from this world without "touching" anything. He didn't want the same thing to happen to him. He wanted to make something.

(Also the fact that he dropped that iconic, serious line at the age of thirteen. The Darkling at thirteen "I want to make something grand before I die". Me at thirteen: *watching Shakira clips and failing school like nobody's business* 😭😭)

I don't think most of us understand that Aleksander literally self-harmed himself to survive and save his mother's life as well. Used his own power against him to make sure that they won't be burned alive for what he did.

For the Ulle to be so sure that nothing would happen at their camp makes me think that they were being established successfully there for a long time. But that surety and protection faded because of his own people who are so desperate to gain power in order to survive. It's not a matter of selfishness. I don't see it that way. But it's a matter of survival especially since the Grisha are a group of persecuted people that are hunted down for their powers, feared and shunned.

Whether you believe it or not, I've seen people say that Aleksander didn't regret the fact that he was responsible for the burning of that village.

*screaming in frustration*

So. I'll repeat that it wasn't an act of selfishness but a matter of survival. It's not a black and white situation. If Aleksander had said the truth he would be executed alongside his mother for what he did. And the other Grisha wouldn't hesitate to do it since they already feared Baghra. And what people fear, they destroy.

Aleksander opted to cut his leg deep with his own powers, lose unconsciousness and tell a fake story to save his mother and leave from that settlement in one piece. But he didn't take pleasure from it. He wasn't glad when Lev and Annika died and felt sorry for their parents and their reaction. And now he feels sorry for the burning of the village. He knew they were innocent and he supposed they were going to interrogate them or something. But kill all of them? That he neither expected or wanted.

Look. I think Baghra loved her son. But let's be honest. If he wasn't so powerful, if he wasn't immortal he would cast him away the same way she did with his siblings. Sooo....yeah. It's a toxic kind of love. She loves him for what he can offer her (companionship mostly) so it's not an unconditional love. She mostly wanted to keep him safe because, if he died, she would be left with no one.

Bardugo in a podcast called her "a horrible, horrible mother" and she is. But I still find her a fascinating character that I can't get enough of for some reason. I don't like her but I find her interesting.

Honestly, me neither. Annika was not my favorite character in this story but I don't hate her for trying to kill him. She wanted to protect her family and their position in the camp. It's a bleak world for the Grisha and they have to "eat" each other to survive.

Aleksander really said: "I will make my people matter. I'll make them touch this world and make themselves known. We will be seen".

All the Grisha characters that were trained in the Little Palace owe their reputation to the Darkling. Alina would never know who she was and, even if she did, she would waste because she would be unable to use her powers without someone to guide her. Zoya would never achieve that reputation.

Grisha would just continue to live in caves and hidden establishments. Afraid to go out and show their powers to strangers.

By S&B the Grisha were still despised but there was a minority that held them in awe. But that did nothing to change the situation. Now they are seen but used by the Crown. It was the only place they could have in the kingdom.

It rose from the trees surrounding it like something carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of dark wood walls and golden domes. As we drew closer, I saw that every inch of it was covered in intricate carvings of birds and flowers, twisting vines, and magical beasts.

“Welcome to the Little Palace,” said the Darkling.

He did it. The crazy son of a bitch did it. 🥹🥹

He managed to create a safe home for them. Made sure for them to be surrounded by other people like them, sitting in front of a warm hearth, in unity not in conflict with each other. Somewhere to rest their heads under the gorgeous carvings of vines and birds. A place to practice their powers freely and eat luxuriously. Somewhere to come back to, like all of us do when we want to go home. Somewhere to belong and somewhere to stay.

(fuck you Tolya for what you said in that duology. Fuck you and everyone who talks shit about Aleksander's greatest accomplishment)

That was the end of the book and I absolutely loved that story. I need 20 more novellas like this from the perspective of the Darkling from his earlier adventures. I'll analyze the Graphic Novel next.

#I've missed analyzing SO MUCH #anyway hope you enjoyed this part #the darkling #pro darkling #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #demon in the wood #demon in the wood meta #meta #shadow and bone #grishaverse #baghra morozova #annika

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scary-grace · 7 months

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 10) -- 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)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 10

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As summer ends and the neighborhood kids go back to school, it begins to feel like there’s something wrong with the neighborhood, too. Keigo and the others haven’t found Dabi’s conjurer yet, and with school back in session and two of the former ghosts in the neighborhood going to and from the same place five days a week, the likelihood that the conjurer will find the neighborhood before he’s found and killed feels higher than it should be. You’re worried about that, distantly. If Garaki comes here, it won’t be you he’s after.

You and Aizawa are monitoring any mention or recurrence of any of the aliases Tomura’s conjurer has gone by, but there’s no sign of him. It also seems to have been a long time since he summoned and bound a ghost. You got sick of running messages back and forth between Aizawa and Mr. Yagi, so you finally introduced them, and through a mix of Aizawa’s contacts, Mr. Yagi’s contacts, and former and current ghosts Hizashi knows, you were able to determine that nobody’s created a new haunt in at least a decade. “I don’t understand,” you said. “Did it go out of style or something?”

“It became too dangerous, most likely.” Aizawa turned to his copy of the map and began marking through former haunts, until the entire map was marked in red. “All of these were destroyed by Mr. Yagi and his master. Any conjurer summoning a ghost in this country over the past hundred years was taking a significant risk. Why would they do that when they could just leave?”

“Would they just leave?” You looked to Mr. Yagi.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Yagi allowed. “My master and I did our job well. Even if we missed one.”

“There was nothing to miss. In spite of his overall unpleasantness, Tomura has yet to truly harm anyone,” Aizawa said. Mr. Yagi glanced meaningfully at you. “That doesn’t count.”

You weren’t pleased with the characterization, but it wasn’t worth disputing. Regardless of what anyone in the neighborhood thinks about your relationship with Tomura, they’re at least pleased that it makes him easier to deal with and marginally more interested in helping the neighborhood defend itself. Tomura, meanwhile, notices less and less of what’s going on outside the property line. Most of his focus – all of his focus, really – is on you.

As far as you can tell, he stays incorporeal most of the day, conserving energy so he can materialize fully once you’re home. What happens when you’re home varies. Sometimes he follows you, marking your every move, asking questions about everything nothing, questions that lead and questions whose answers you can’t imagine he cares about. Sometimes he tries to help you with whatever you’re doing, because the sooner you’re done with it, the sooner you can focus all your attention on him. And sometimes he’s not interested in waiting for anything at all. Sometimes he follows you up to your room and pounces on you before you’re even finished changing out of your work clothes.

Today is one of those days, and Tomura’s gotten strategic. You wore a dress to work, with tights underneath because you’re paranoid about clothing malfunctions, and he doesn’t grab you until after you’ve taken them off. Then he pulls you away from your closet, pushes you down on the bed, and pushes your legs apart. This, or things like this, have happened enough that you can sort of keep your wits about you. “Tomura, the door –”

It shuts, keeping Phantom out. The two of you learned that lesson the hard way. Tomura pushed you down in the middle of the bed, but now he pulls you to the end of it, until your legs are dangling over the edge. They’re unsupported for only a second before he props them on his shoulders. It’s embarrassing that you’re so slow on the uptake, but when you figure it out, you sit partway up in shock, staring as Tomura grins up at you from between your legs. “What are you doing?” you ask weakly.

“What does it look like?” Tomura looks way too pleased with himself in the split second before his head disappears under your dress.

He’ll stop if you tell him to. Sometimes you do, and he always complains, but he never refuses. Your head is spinning, and you make one last effort to slow things down. “I can’t reach you from up here.”

His voice is muffled. “Wait your turn,” he says, and a moment later you feel an almost-experimental lap of his tongue against your clit. “I had to wait all day.”

The idea of a human man waiting all day for you to come home so he can throw you on the bed and eat you out is absolutely ridiculous. But Tomura’s a ghost, not a human. You’re not even sure where he got the idea of eating somebody out in the first place. “Have you –” you stutter as he licks again, slower and with more pressure than before. “Have you been watching porn?”

“What’s porn?” Tomura sounds thoroughly uninterested, which is a good thing for you. You don’t want to explain – well, at the moment you’re not good for explaining much of anything. Tomura’s hair tickles against the insides of your thighs, and his hands press eagerly into your hips. Your stomach lurches. “Stop moving. Why are you trying to –”

“The marks.” Your heart is hammering, your body torn between the impulse to lie back and spread your legs wider and the impulse to get up and run. “People will see them. They’ll see them and they’ll know –”

“I don’t care if people know.”

“I do. My friends – my boss –” It gets worse the longer you think about it. “I don’t want them to know what we do.”

Part of you wonders if you’re being ridiculous. You’re an adult, and if you were with a human boyfriend, everyone would assume you were having sex with him. Then again, if you were having sex with a human, you wouldn’t wind up with ghost handprints on your hips that your boss is going to see through your clothes. And Tomura’s not your boyfriend. “I only leave marks when I want to,” Tomura says. He emerges from under your dress, his hair messy and his mouth wet. “You have enough already. Nobody’s going to get confused.”

“So you won’t leave them here?” you ask, and Tomura shakes his head. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

He disappears under your dress again, and you lie back on the bed. The impulse to spread your legs wider is still there, and when Tomura runs his tongue over the length of your entrance before closing his lips around your clit, you give in without a fight. The house is alive around you, humming with electricity and creaking slightly in the early-autumn wind. It’s quiet in your room other than your own harsh, unsteady breathing and the increasingly obscene sounds emanating from under your skirt.

Tomura’s never done this before, so he doesn’t have any bad habits, and based on the direction his explorations take, he’s well on his way to developing good ones. Your entire body feels like it’s being tied in knots, knots that get tighter with every swipe of his tongue. You’re trying not to move, to arch your back or buck your hips. You’re worried that if he has to try too hard to hold you down, he’ll forget about his promise not to leave marks. But in your efforts to stay still, you completely forget about staying quiet.

At first it’s just quiet, desperate sounds leaving your mouth – little gasps, split up here and there with moans when he sucks on your clit or gives your entrance a long, slow lick that makes you wish for something, anything inside you. You could ask Tomura to finger you, and the thought sits fully formed on the tip of your tongue, only to disintegrate when he pushes your legs a little further apart and licks inside of you. The rush of heat that sweeps through you is almost overwhelming. “Tomura –”

“What?” He stops, which was absolutely not what you wanted to happen. You unclench one hand from the blankets on the bed to hit yourself in the forehead. “Am I doing it wrong or something?”

“N-no,” you stammer. You’ve gone from having to convince Tomura that his technique could use some work to having him ask on his own, which is really great for any time except now. “I just, um – no. You’re good. Really good. That’s why I said your name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, wondering why his voice sounds like that. “I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please don’t –”

You break off in a gasp. Tomura was never the most methodical about this, but he’s thrown himself back into it with an absurd amount of enthusiasm. You feel like you might pass out. It’s hard to think, but you don’t want him to stop again, so you talk, struggling to breathe. “You’re so good at this,” you manage to say. “You’re doing so well. I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please – ah –”

His grip on your hips tightens. You think you hear him whine. But his lips close around your clit again, teasing you with his tongue, and you lose the ability to focus on anything else. Unclenching your hands from the sheets feels impossible, so you bite your lip instead, managing to restrict the sounds you make as you come to a few desperate moans. In the past you’ve had to tell Tomura to stop or push him away to avoid getting overstimulated, but this time he lets you go in a hurry, emerging from under your dress and scrambling up onto the bed. His mouth and chin are wet and there’s an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Tomura,” you say, puzzled and breathless. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me again.” Tomura’s mouth presses against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips. He speaks without pulling away. “I did it right. Tell me –”

Now you get it. “You were perfect,” you say, and Tomura presses himself against you, grinding against your thigh. “You did such a good job. You made me feel so good, Tomura. Nobody’s ever made me feel like you do.”

It’s not empty flattery, as much as you might wish it was. You sit up, rolling Tomura from his side to his back and undoing his pants. His cock springs free, and like always, you’re surprised at how big he is – but the few seconds you take to stare is too long for Tomura to wait. His hips thrust uselessly upwards, seeking your hands, and you oblige in a hurry, stroking idly while you look him over. His face is red, the color extending down his neck and beneath his shirt, and his blue-grey hair is glued to his neck and forehead with sweat. He has longer eyelashes than you thought he did. His eyes are dilated to the point where you’re shocked he can see. You’re sure you look like a mess right now. There’s no way you look anything close to this.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. Tomura’s mouth falls open and a moan escapes him. His hips jerk frantically against your hands as you continue to stroke his cock, as you slide one hand between his legs to fondle him. “You’re so pretty, Tomura. And you make such pretty sounds, too. Listening to you the first time you touched yourself turned me on so bad. I kept imagining what you must have looked like – all sweaty and desperate and so, so pretty –”

Dirty talk never used to be your thing, and this barely counts, but the effect it has on Tomura is mesmerizing. He’s squirming on the bed, worse than you were by a long shot, his hands grasping the sheets or yanking at his shirt. You see his hand rise to scratch at his neck and you stop fondling him to pull it away. “You look even better than I imagined,” you say, holding his hand even as his grip tightens almost to the point of pain. “You look so pretty like this. And the way you sound – there’s nobody in the world who sounds as pretty as you do. You did so well for me just now. Are you close?”

The sound he makes in response is somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and you think, like you always do, that the two of you need to work out how to come at the same time. Touching him invariably winds you up again, and he’s too impatient to let you touch him first. “You’re so good, Tomura,” you say. You can feel the tension in his body increasing, the movements of his hips growing sharp and uneven, and you drag his hand to your mouth, speaking through his fingers. “You’re perfect.”

You usually try to contain the mess he makes with your mouth, but you’re slow this time, too busy watching him fight to hold onto his physical form in the face of an orgasm. Most of his cum winds up on your dress, although some of it ends up on your face. You can live with that, so long as you don’t have to change the sheets on the bed,

You wipe your face with your sleeve and lick your lips, working off a vague sense that it would be rude to wipe your mouth. Guys who want you to swallow get offended by stuff like that. “What does it taste like?” Tomura asks in that raspy, breathless voice that always winds you up.

“It doesn’t taste like anything.” You’re almost eternally grateful for that.

“What do you taste like?”

You cringe a little bit. “Not everything tastes like something else.”

There’s a pattern to things now. Tomura usually dematerializes for a while after the two of you are done, and you do whatever you need to do – showering, to start with – until he comes back. Then you negotiate about the rest of the night, Tomura wanting more, you reminding him that there aren’t unlimited supplies of life-force and doing more today imperils his chances for tomorrow. Most of the time you win. If the pattern is followed, he should be dematerializing right around now. You get up.

Or try to. Tomura grabs you and pulls you back. “Where are you going?”

“The same place I always go.” You try to peel yourself out of his arms, but it doesn’t work. “What? You’re not going to let me go?”

“No. You won’t let me go with you.”

“You don’t need to clean up,” you remind him. “You’ll be fine as soon as you dematerialize and come back.”

“I don’t want to.” One of Tomura’s legs hooks over your hip to hold you in place, another one of those weird things he does that reminds you he’s got no idea how straight guys are supposed to behave. “Don’t leave.”

You don’t want to deal with this right now. You need time alone after you and Tomura hook up to get your head screwed on straight, to remind yourself that this is insane and not normal, to keep it all in perspective. But your track record for getting away from Tomura when he wants to hold onto you is not good, and he’s never acted like this before. You let him pull you back onto the bed. At first he curls himself around you, almost like the two of you are spooning, but then he changes his mind, pushing and pulling at you until you realize that he’s after a complete switch in positions. “If you wanted to be the little spoon, you could just ask.”

“What’s the little spoon?”

“The person in the position you are right now.” You adjust your arm around his waist and press against him from behind. “This is called spooning.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks the way spoons look if you line them up properly in the drawer instead of just throwing them in.” You’re guilty of the latter, but in your defense, you’re usually in a hurry. Tomura makes a skeptical sound. “I’ll show you later.”

He’s cold, but you’re still overheated, and holding him like this helps you cool down. It would help you settle your mind if you weren’t still confused about why this is happening. You could ask Tomura, but when it comes to talking about how he feels, he’s a typical guy. It’s about the only thing about him that’s typical. Tomura doesn’t know what he’s supposed to want, and you have a feeling that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He wants the things he wants, and while he’s not great at communicating them, you usually figure out where he’s going with it eventually.

It’s quiet for a while, and Tomura’s the one to break the silence. “Did you mean what you said?”

You don’t pretend you don’t understand what he means. “I meant it,” you say. You’re not an expert in praise kinks, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t work if the praise is false. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Something odd happens to Tomura then – he shivers, or his embodied form fails for a moment, and you instinctively tighten your grip on him. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re pretty, too,” Tomura says instead of answering. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You need to shower, but you can shower later. You adjust your arms around Tomura again and close your eyes.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but you were up late last night and early this morning, and this afternoon’s hookup wore you out more than expected. You don’t sleep for long, but Tomura’s gone when you wake up. You’re curled up around the space where he used to be. You wonder how long it was before he left, and why it’s okay for him to leave you when you’re not supposed to leave him. You hate how lonely it makes you feel.

But you shake it off, like you do any time you start feeling that way about a ghost that can’t understand human feelings, and proceed with the rest of the night. And the rest of the night goes exactly like it usually does. You shower, start the laundry, start making dinner – and Tomura shadows you, angling for a second hookup. He’s getting strategic about that, too.

“You like it when I use my mouth,” he says. “Better than my fingers.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You focus on the food you’re trying to cook, reminding yourself firmly that you’re hungry, not horny. You turn the question around on him. “Which do you prefer? Handjobs or blowjobs?”

“Handjobs,” Tomura says without hesitating. You blink. “You still use your mouth a little bit. And you can talk.”

“The talking really does it for you,” you muse, even though winding Tomura up is the last thing you should be doing if you want to eat dinner any time soon. “Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting. I like your voice.”

That’s not what you expected him to say. You set down your knife so you won’t amputate your fingers and focus on him. He’s looking away, scowling. “You talked to me. I couldn’t figure out how to talk back at first, so I listened. I like your voice.”

“I like yours, too,” you say. Then you think about drowning yourself in the sink and ask a question before Tomura can get too smug about it. “How soon did you talk to me after you figured it out?”

“As soon as I figured it out.” Tomura won’t look at you. “I messed it up the first time and you ran away.”

“You got angry. I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you. Or Phantom.” Phantom’s been poking around by Tomura’s feet, pretending she’s not hoping he’ll drop some food. Sure enough, he steals a piece of the carrot you just sliced and drops it on the floor for her. “I helped you before. You knew that.”

“I didn’t know what you’d do when you got angry.” You don’t want to have this conversation again. “I still don’t know.”

“But you’re not scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” You startle as Tomura’s arms loop around your waist, as his chin notches over your shoulder. “You figured out how to talk just so you could talk to me?”

“I needed to learn anyway,” Tomura says. There’s a pause. “Yeah, I did. So what?”

“Nothing,” you say. Tomura thinks you’re pretty. Tomura taught himself how to materialize and talk so he could talk to you. It’s a good thing he can’t see your face right now. You’re finding it hard not to smile.

Your phone rings from the living room, and you go to investigate it. It’s Aizawa, so you pick up. “What?”

“One of the unbound ghosts has gone missing,” Aizawa says. “When was the last time you ran the search for Garaki?”

“Last week,” you say. You run the search every week. “Do you want me to run it again tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” Aizawa says. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” you protest. “I can’t go in after hours. Mr. Yagi –”

“Call him and ask.” Aizawa hangs up the phone.

“Asshole,” you mutter, and you go ahead and call Mr. Yagi. He picks up on the second ring. “Sir, Aizawa’s worried about something and he wants me to check the database again tonight.”

“Of course,” Mr. Yagi says at once. You grit your teeth. “Update me on what you find, if you find anything. Izuku’s working on generating a map for all the conjurers on the list.”

“And Aizawa wants to come with me,” you add. “That’s not policy, is it?”

“Technically, the database is public record,” Mr. Yagi reminds you. “Just make sure no one spots you.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. You hope he can’t tell that you were hoping he’d say no.

Tomura follows you as you change into your street clothes, clearly unhappy. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the office. I won’t be long.” You stick your head out the front door and realize that it’s gotten colder since the sun went down. You find a hoodie and pull it on. “Aizawa’s just being paranoid.”

“He’s outside,” Tomura says. You don’t question how he knows that. “You didn’t eat yet.”

“I’ll eat when I get back,” you say. You lift your bracelets out of the bowl where you keep your keys and slide them on, then tuck your keys into your pocket before turning to Tomura. He’s either pouting or sulking. “Don’t do that. I’ll be home soon.”

Tomura’s frown deepens and he dematerializes, which annoys you. It’s not like you wanted this to happen. “I was going to give you a kiss goodbye, but since you’re going to be like this –”

“I’m not.” Tomura materializes again, right in front of you, and pushes you back against the wall for a kiss. You feel an odd tingling where his hands touch you and get the sneaking suspicion that he’s marking you again, but it’s only on your shoulders, and it’s not like Aizawa will be able to see it. Tomura draws away. “Go.”

You leave, your head spinning a little bit, and find Aizawa standing just outside the fence. There’s a suspicious-looking bag slung over his shoulder. “We’re not breaking in,” you say.

Aizawa ignores you. He gets into the passenger seat of your car as soon as you unlock it, and the two of you drive out of your neighborhood in complete silence. You’re not pleased with this, and the bad vibes Aizawa’s giving off prove that Tomura’s moods aren’t the only ones that can affect other people. You don’t speak until you’re halfway there. “So what’s up with this ghost who went missing?”

“They haunted an apartment building that came down fifteen years ago. They’ve stayed in the vicinity of their old haunt,” Aizawa says. “We sent Keigo and the others to speak to them, to see if they’d seen or heard anything. There was no sign of them anywhere in the city.”

“Which means – what?” you ask. Aizawa doesn’t answer, and it pisses you off. “They could have just left.”

“A ghost like that doesn’t just leave.”

“Maybe they decided to,” you argue. “Or they could have embodied themselves. There are a lot of things that could have happened that aren’t ‘they got snatched by a conjurer’. Can ghosts even be killed?”

Mr. Yagi said they could, but he also didn’t tell you how. “They can,” Aizawa says shortly. “If they clash with a being of greater power – another ghost, or a conjurer – their spirit can be blasted apart and scattered. Each shred retains some small piece of consciousness, but there are so many that there’s no way to piece them back together.”

“Conjurers can do that?”

“They threaten it when binding unwilling ghosts,” Aizawa says. “Eri and Magne both report receiving that threat, although it’s doubtful that Chisaki could have carried it out, given how easily Hizashi defeated him.”

You never appreciate a reminder of how strong Hizashi is. It makes it harder not to be scared of him. “The worst a conjurer can do to a human is kill them,” Aizawa continues. “The worst that can be done to a ghost condemns them to eternal torment. Most ghosts are hesitant to confront a conjurer, and the fear remains even once they’re embodied permanently. We were surprised that Tomura was able to convince Atsuhiro.”

You were surprised, too. But you’ve got something else on your mind. “So it’s just a power game. They clash and the strongest one wins,” you clarify, and Aizawa nods. “What if they’re equally powerful?”

“Then it comes down to a test of will,” Aizawa says. “The stronger-willed of the two will win, and in ghost-conjurer conflicts, the conjurer is the stronger one.”

“Why?”

“They’re human,” Aizawa says simply. “Humans don’t want to die.”

It’s quiet again in the car. You make the turn into the courthouse parking lot and choose a spot that’s hard to see on the security cameras. Aizawa speaks again as you’re turning off the engine. “If you’re worried about Tomura, don’t. There’s no conjurer on the planet stupid enough to cross your property line.”

“I’m not worried about Tomura,” you say. You’re lying. “What’s in the bag?”

Aizawa unzips it, revealing – “A gun?” you squeak. “There are metal detectors. You can’t bring that in!”

“The metal detectors are on the way into the courthouse, not the public defenders’ office.” Aizawa zips up the bag again. “Conjurers are still human. It takes a lot of ghostly power to stop a bullet.”

You were already unhappy about this whole thing. Now it’s worse. You pull up your hood and get out of the car. “Just keep it hidden. Mr. Yagi told us not to be seen.”

The two of you sneak across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows. If anybody spots you, you look suspicious as hell. You unlock the door to the office, lock it again behind Aizawa and yourself, and sneak through the halls until you reach your cubicle. “I’m just running the Garaki search again,” you warn. “Then I’m out.”

“Fine.” Aizawa leans against the wall behind you, scanning the office.

He’s acting like he thinks someone’s in here, hunting the two of you. It’s making you uneasy. You ignore it as best you can and focus on the search, cross-referencing both identities and coming up with the same points of connection as always. Then, because you got dragged out here and you might as well be thorough, you focus on the city Aizawa’s worried about and run a library search for public records-adjacent documents – the kind of things that are publicly available, but aren’t considered national government property. When you run the wider search, something pops up that didn’t before; a business license, for a clinic in the same city. You draw Aizawa’s attention to it and he pulls out his phone to search. Meanwhile, you keep looking. You find a record of property taxes on the location of the clinic, paid by check. There’s a scan of the checks attached, with the same name over and over again – Garaki Kyudai.

Aizawa swears. “He’s not listed as one of the staff – he’s listed as the clinic’s founder. It’s been there for decades. Long enough to have summoned that ghost.”

“Why would he kill his own ghost? I thought they avoided killing conduits.” There’s a newspaper article, a recent one. You try to open it, hit a paywall, and start looking for a way around it. “Have you heard from Keigo and the others since they said they couldn’t find the ghost?”

“No.” When you glance back at Aizawa, he’s got his phone to his ear.

You get around the paywall and start reading. The article’s about the sale of historic old house in the city, one that’s been in the same family – the Ujiko family, fuck – for over a hundred years. It went on the market last week, by order of the last descendent of the Ujiko family, and – “Aizawa, I’ve got a picture of him!”

“Print it,” Aizawa orders. You do, in color, and meanwhile, whoever Aizawa’s trying to call picks up the phone. “Keigo, where are you?”

You can hear Keigo loud and clear, even though he’s not on speaker. “We’re on our way home. Can you give us a ride back from the station? It was supposed to be Jin’s mom’s turn, but it got kind of late.”

Aizawa glances at you. “Sure, but somebody has to sit in the back,” you say. You hop up to retrieve the article from the printer and come back. “Ask him if there was any sign of ghostly power in the city. Specifically in the neighborhoods. Um –”

You scan the article, pass the name to Aizawa, and wait. “No,” Atsuhiro says into the phone. “We found nothing, not even traces. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll meet you at the train station.” Aizawa hangs up the phone and turns to you. “Garaki was there, now he isn’t, and a ghost is gone. We need to figure out where he went.”

“I’ll see if there’s a forwarding address.” You find the name of the realtor involved with selling the house, pick up your work phone, and make a call. It’s after hours, but a realtor selling a house this fancy might pick up.

Aizawa is tapping his foot, clearly impatient, while the phone rings twice, then picks up. You leap into the conversation first. “Hello, this is –” you check the article for the reporter’s name and borrow it as an alias. “I made an error in the article I wrote about the house and misquoted the doctor. Would you happen to know where I could get ahold of him to correct it?”

Realtors are a lot more gullible than you thought they were. You find a pen but not a piece of paper and end up scribbling the address on the back of your hand. It doesn’t look familiar, which is a good thing. “It’s not here.”

“We need to keep it that way. He’ll have to be lured even further away.” Aizawa slides the printed-out article into his bag. “For now, we need to retrieve the others.”

The two of you sneak back out to your car. You drive to the train station, sticking to the speed limit like your life depends on it, while Aizawa peruses the newspaper article for more details. “Garaki is older than we thought. At least old enough to have summoned Tomura – but he would have summoned Tomura before Dabi. It doesn’t make sense unless he lost a significant amount of power in the interim, which wouldn’t have happened if he was using Tomura as a conduit.”

“I don’t think it was him,” you say.

“The evidence is more compelling the other way,” Aizawa agrees, “but we can’t rule anything out.”

“If we can’t rule anything out, then we need to think about whether he’s Hizashi’s conjurer,” you say. You see Aizawa’s shoulders stiffen. “If he’s two hundred and fifty years old, he’s old enough to have summoned Hizashi, too – and since Hizashi wanted to escape the world between, he wouldn’t have had to try too hard.”

“Hizashi said no.”

“Hizashi said he doesn’t remember,” you correct. “If Garaki was his conjurer, too –”

“It’s immaterial.” Aizawa cuts you off. “If Garaki finds us, we’re all in danger. We’re almost to the train station, and we don’t have any solid conclusions. We shouldn’t tell the others until we’re sure.”

You don’t like this secret-keeping thing. “But you’re going to tell Hizashi.”

“And you plan to tell Tomura,” Aizawa retorts. You would if Tomura cared about this at all. “What happens in our respective households stays there. But there’s no reason to throw the entire neighborhood into a panic with news that Dabi’s conjurer is on the move.”

“Fine,” you say. “But we can’t sit on this for long. Two days and we’ll tell everyone what we know. Whatever we know.”

“Fine,” Aizawa says. He’s silent for the rest of the drive, until you pull into the train station parking lot and he sandbags you with this: “Keigo and I would be grateful if you encouraged Tomura to keep a lid on his – feelings. Dabi has next to no self-control, and Hizashi’s self-control, while impressive, is not up to this task. Some restraint on his part, or yours, would be appreciated.”

It takes you a second to interpret that one, and once you do, your face goes up in flames. Tomura’s apparently so horny that he’s making the two other non-asexual ghosts horny enough that their partners are asking you for help. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I, um – I’ll see what I can do.”

Aizawa leans his seat back and closes his eyes. “Good.”

The silence in the car after that is extremely awkward, and you’re grateful when Jin, Keigo, Spinner, and Atsuhiro all pile into the car. Rather than one person sitting in the back, all four of them squeeze into the backseat, with Keigo sprawled out across the other three’s laps. Spinner wants to tell you about the day’s events, Atsuhiro wants to sleep, and Jin wants to go to McDonald’s. Jin is the loudest one. You pull into the drive-through.

As much as you’re tempted by the fast food, you have food at home, and you’ve sort of lost your appetite. Fear over the threat of the conjurers, discomfort at the idea of withholding information from the rest of the neighborhood, and the sheer cringe of being told to make your ghost less horny will do that to you. It’s a relief to drop everyone off at their respective houses, Aizawa in particular, and pull into your own driveway.

The first thing you notice when you open the front door is the smell. It smells like food cooking, and it doesn’t smell burnt. Did Tomura let somebody else in the house to cook something? He must have, and the evidence gets stronger when you hear footsteps through house towards you. But when you look up, there’s no one there except Tomura, and Phantom trotting at his side. “Take your bracelets off. You’re supposed to take them off when you get to the neighborhood.”

You know that. You just forgot, because you were busy trying to convince Jin to let you stop the car before he got out. You slide them off your wrists and drop them into the bowl with your keys. “Did you let someone in the house?”

“Why would I let somebody in the house?” Tomura looks annoyed that you’d even consider it. “You had to leave before you were done cooking, so I finished it.”

“You – what?” You’ve heard terrible things about ghost cooking from everybody whose ghost gave it a shot. Even the embodied ones aren’t very good at it. “How?”

“I’ve seen you make it. I did what you do.” Tomura catches your wrist, fingers closing around the same spot where the bracelet was and pulling you along. “Come on.”

You were making soup before you left. It’s kind of hard to mess up soup, but then again, you’ve heard stories from Shinsou about Hizashi managing to mess up instant noodles. The kitchen looks sort of like a bomb went off in it, but none of the ingredients scattered around look wrong for the soup you usually make. When you peer into the pot on the stove, nothing strikes you as immediately wrong. “Are you going to try it?” Tomura asks impatiently. You pick up a spoon and dip it in. “Well?”

Your ghost can cook. Somehow you got the only ghost in the neighborhood that can cook – or at least the only ghost who can copy what their human did exactly enough that there’s little difference in taste. You retrieve a bowl and a ladle and fill it up, then switch off the burner and put a lid on the pot to trap the heat in. Tomura follows you as you head for the kitchen table. “I did it right,” he says. You nod. Your mouth is too full to talk. “I know how to make other things, too.”

You’re not sure you trust him with anything more complicated yet, or maybe at all. “Maybe we can work on it together. It’s probably boring for you to just stand there and watch me.”

“Watching you isn’t boring.”

That’s not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh.”

It’s quiet for a little while. Phantom comes to nap at your feet and you keep eating your soup, thanking your lucky stars that you skipped the fast food tonight. “I wish I could taste things,” Tomura says out of nowhere. You eat another spoonful of soup, burning your tongue in favor of displaying your shock. “I’d be better at it if I could.”

“Not necessarily. I can taste things and the things I cook still aren’t very good sometimes.” You’ve heard Aizawa theorize that the fact that former ghosts have tastebuds is what gets them into trouble with cooking – they judge taste by the strength of the flavor, and they can’t distinguish between flavors that are good and flavors that are bad. You focus on Tomura. “This is really good, though. Thank you.”

Tomura looks pleased with himself. “I know.”

You eat a second helping of the soup and put the rest away for lunch tomorrow, and then, even though it’s later than usual, you decide you want to watch something before you go to bed. It’s less that you want to watch something and more that you want to hang out with Tomura a little longer, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. The two of you settle onto your usual couch cushions, and Phantom hops up into her spot on the middle one, getting comfortable. You pass the remote off to Tomura. “I don’t care what we see. You pick.”

Tomura gives you a skeptical look. “You hate what I pick.”

You hated it when you thought it was giving him ideas. There’s no point now that it turns out he can get ideas all on his own. “Not tonight I don’t.”

Tomura’s always a bit like a kid in a candy store when he gets ahold of the remote. You watch the light flicker across his face as he scrolls through show after show and finally settles on the last thing you were expecting him to choose. “You don’t want to watch that,” you say.

“It says it’s a disaster movie. I like those.”

He does. One time you made the mistake of watching Twister and then had to spend the rest of the night explaining how tornadoes work – and then showing him videos on YouTube when he realized you didn’t know what you were talking about. “This isn’t that kind of disaster movie.”

“The ship sinks, doesn’t it?” Tomura doesn’t wait for your answer before he presses play on Titanic.

The two of you get through the opening of the movie in the usual fashion. Tomura keeps asking you questions, missing part of the movie while you answer, and then asking more questions about what he missed. It takes him a little bit to grasp the framing device. Ghosts don’t have the same sense of time as people do, and you have to explain why the same character is being played by two different actors a few times before he gets it. And then he’s confused, confused to the point where he makes you pause the movie. “Why is this happening? When is the ship going to sink?”

“We can fast-forward to that part,” you say, probably a little too eagerly. “Do you want to do that?”

“I want to know why this is happening.” Tomura gestures at the screen. “Do you know? Or is this like the tornadoes again?”

He’s never going to let you forget about that. You sigh. “All this stuff is happening because the filmmakers want the people watching the movie to care about the characters. To understand what they want and want it, too.”

“Why?”

“So it matters to you when the ship sinks with all these people on it.”

“How many people are on it?”

“Uh – around two thousand.”

“Two thousand?” Tomura looks floored, probably because he’s never seen a group of people larger than forty or fifty. “How many of them die?”

You probably know a little too much about this shipwreck for comfort. You were kind of a weird kid. “About fifteen hundred of them. Give or take a few.”

“How do they die?”

You should have known Tomura was going to fixate on the body count. “Let’s just fast-forward to that part.”

You’ve been fast-forwarding for about two seconds when Tomura stops you. “Go back.”

“Why?” you ask. Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You hate that look. “Why do you want to watch all the boring stuff?”

“To see if they can make me care about it.” Tomura settles back onto his couch cushion, looking smug. “I bet they can’t.”

Now you get it. He’s decided it’s a game and he wants to win. You rewind back, resigning yourself to a whole lot of explaining over the next hour and a half.

But you don’t have to explain quite as much as you thought you were going to. Some of the things you thought Tomura would fixate on are nonevents, because he was summoned and bound to the house in the same era as Titanic sank. He’s not confused by the lack of phones or the weirdly elaborate clothes – when you look at the clothes he materializes in, the shirt and pants are similar in style to what some of the characters wear in the movie. After extracting some assurances from you that the movie’s going to go into lots of detail about how the ship sinks, Tomura starts asking other questions, usually about the characters. And sometimes he doesn’t have questions. He has opinions.

“That one is stupid. I don’t like him,” he says of one character. You ask him why. “She’s scared of him. I can tell. He gets in her space when she doesn’t want him to and he grabs her and pulls her around. You had to tell me that stuff, but he’s a human. He should know already.”

“He does know,” you say. “He wants her to be scared of him.”

Tomura looks like the thought’s never crossed his mind, which is ridiculous, given that he’s a ghost who was summoned specifically to haunt and terrorize people. “Aren’t they supposed to get married?”

“Yeah.” You unpause the movie and up the volume. The last thing you want is for Tomura to start asking questions about marriage.

You were worried Tomura was going to have a bunch of questions about the love story, but he keeps mostly quiet on that front, which is a relief for you. He also doesn’t spend a bunch of time talking about how stupid it is, which is less of a relief. Most of his annoyance is focused on the characters for caring about the diamond necklace that keeps getting passed around, because it’s a rock and it’s stupid that humans care about rocks that much. The only question he asks about the love story serves as yet another reminder that ghosts don’t understand humans very well. “Why do they treat that one that way?”

“Because he’s poor and they’re not,” you say. “They think you should marry your own kind.”

“They’re both humans. That’s the same kind,” Tomura says. “Humans are humans. It’s stupid.”

“Humans divide ourselves up by all kinds of stupid things,” you say. When you think about it, it’s a really long, really pointless list. “We kill each other over a lot of that stuff, too. Or we have in the past. People say this stuff is old-fashioned, but a lot of them still feel this way. They don’t say it like that, though. They’d say those two don’t have enough in common. Their life experiences are too different. That kind of thing.”

“Humans are stupid,” Tomura says. He looks weirdly unnerved. “The ship had better sink soon.”

The scene changes and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Yep. Right now.”

The disaster portion of the movie clearly lives up to Tomura’s expectations. He shuts up for the most part, focused on the screen. You have to admit that the movie does a good job of laying things out: Ship sinking, ship sinking fast, not enough lifeboats, water too cold, et cetera. You don’t have to explain anything at all. You’ve seen this one enough times that you don’t feel guilty zoning out, but you don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until Tomura starts shaking your shoulder. “Why are they staying behind?”

You squint at the screen. “Women and children first.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know,” you say. The rationale behind that was never clear to you, and if you can’t figure it out, there’s no way you’re going to try to explain it to Tomura. You don’t want a repeat of the tornado thing. “This is basically the only shipwreck in history where they did that, though. On most wrecks men took all the boats and the women and children drowned.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Yep.” You remember imagining how you’d escape from Titanic as a kid, then running the same thought experiment as an adult and realizing that you probably wouldn’t. “Anyway, I don’t know why they did it like that instead of the other way.”

“It’s stupid,” Tomura says. You flop over the arm of the couch and decide to forget about it.

You must be really tired, because you fall back asleep in spite of the noise from the movie. The next thing you wake up to is Phantom crawling onto your lap – or Phantom, still mostly asleep, being dropped onto your lap by Tomura. At first you’re confused, but then you feel the cushions shift as Tomura settles into the spot Phantom was in before. He’s moving quietly, trying not to wake you up, but you wake up anyway. “What –”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

You roll your eyes, and catch a glimpse of the screen in the process. The ship’s vanished. “The good part’s done. Want me to turn it off?”

“No,” Tomura says. Phantom makes herself comfortable in your lap. “Go back to sleep.”

He’s acting strangely. You pretend to go back to sleep, keeping your breathing even and your eyes mostly shut, alternating between watching the screen and watching Tomura on the cushion next to you. He’s still focused in spite of the fact that the ship’s already sunk. He usually gets focused at some point when he’s watching a movie, but this time, his expression’s different than the usual interest. He looks unhappy, but if he’s unhappy, why wouldn’t he let you turn it off? Why is he studying the screen like his existence depends on the outcome of this barely-a-disaster move? You let him think you’re asleep through most of the wrap-up, and take your time waking up when he starts shaking your shoulder again. “What does this mean?”

It’s the last scene. “Her ditching the necklace?”

“No. This stuff. Why is she on the boat again? It sank. And she’s not old anymore either. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Suddenly you understand why he’s confused. “I guess it wouldn’t make sense to you. Ghosts don’t die.”

Aizawa told you they do, but he also called it eternal torment, not death, so you’re going to go ahead and assume that dead for ghosts and dead for humans are two separate concepts. Tomura looks pissed. “She’s dead?”

“She’s a hundred and one. Humans aren’t supposed to live that long.” You were faking sleep too convincingly, and now you’re actually tired. You smother a yawn. “This part – she’s dead. She died in her sleep. This is her meeting everybody again in the afterlife.”

“Is that what happens?”

You’re way too tired for this. “We don’t know. People don’t,” you say. You have a feeling ghosts might, but if Tomura knew, he wouldn’t be asking this question. “Some people think it’s like falling asleep. You’re just gone, forever. Other people think it’s like in the movie – when you die, you see everybody you love who died before you, and you’re all together forever. But like I said, we don’t know. And I don’t think about it too much. It’s probably the sleep thing, anyway. The other way would be too nice.”

You’re rambling. “Does that make any sense?”

Tomura dematerializes. That makes twice in one night. “Okay. Good talk.”

You switch off the movie before the theme song can really kick in and weigh your options. You could boot Phantom off your lap and head upstairs for the night, or you could twist around and fall asleep on the couch. You choose door number two, stopping just long enough to pull your phone out of your pocket and set an alarm. You got a text from Aizawa about two seconds ago, too: When I asked you to address the situation, I didn’t mean to do it like this.

You don’t know what ‘like this’ means, and you’re too tired to care. You set your phone screen-down on the coffee table and go to sleep.

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #reader insert #x reader #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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rhondafromhr · 5 months

Text

Finished the second chapter of my ‘nerds corruption au’ story!

I have way too much free time right now and I’m also having way too much fun writing this so here’s another chapter, this idea has me in an absolute chokehold.

Link to Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/rhondafromhr/738099850581835776/i-ended-up-writing-it-after-all-ill-probably

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies”

Chapter 2: They’re Walking a Very Fine Line

Paul’s been Richie’s guardian for going on four years now and in that time, Richie’s never given him much of a reason to worry. He’s never been sent to the principal’s office or the police station, he keeps his grades up, he chose the math club over the smoke club and the most rebellious thing he ever does is stay up late on a school night watching anime. More importantly, he tells Paul everything - when he gets bullied at school, when he’s struggling with a class, when he has a fight with Ruth (Oh God, Paul remembers, he promised they’ll go see The Barbecue Monologues to show her their support. Ugh. He does not like musicals). If he’s going to be out late, he always texts Paul to let him know where he is, what he’s doing and about when he thinks he‘ll be home.

At least he did until Friday night. He said he was going to Pete’s after school for a D&D session and he should be home around eleven. But then eleven o’clock rolled around and Richie didn’t appear, nor did a heads up that he was going to be late. Paul ignored the slight gnawing anxiety. There’s no reason to worry, he told himself, they probably just got really caught up in their game. From the few times Richie’s hosted D&D night at their place, he knows how intense they get with it.

But then it was a quarter past eleven and still no sign of him. He texted: hey, haven’t heard from you, everything okay? No answer. Ten more minutes passed and eventually he caved and called. Nothing. He tried two more times and still nothing. By eleven forty-five he was desperate enough to call Ted and ask if he’d heard anything from Peter. He hadn’t and he was none too pleased with Paul for interrupting his favorite pastime (“screwin’ around with another man’s wife”). Apparently, Ted had him on speaker, because Charlotte heard and she was much nicer about it. She told Paul they’d notify him if they heard anything and asked him to please let them know once Richie got home safe. Just when he was on the verge of a panic attack, he heard the lock clicking on the front door as Richie let himself in. By now it was almost two in the morning. Paul exhaled and the tension left his body. He’d never felt this relieved in his life. Obviously, Richie had some explaining to do, but at least he was here. At least Paul finally knew he was safe.

“Hi, Richie. Did something happen? Usually you at least shoot me a text if you’re going to be out late.” Something was definitely off. Richie’s clothes were disheveled and the way he rubbed his arm was subtly different from the way he usually does it - his hand rested on his shoulder rather than his forearm and he winced as if there was some physical pain he was trying to relieve. Did he get hurt? Why didn’t he call Paul for help if he got hurt?

“Oh, uh, sorry, Paul. We just got super into the campaign and I guess the time got away from us. Won’t happen again. I’m pretty tired now, I think I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight!” He rushed to his room before Paul could ask any follow-up questions.

“Goodnight, Richie,” Paul said with a sigh. He wasn’t convinced, but maybe Richie just needed time to open up about whatever actually happened. He always did eventually.

That night still weighs on Paul’s mind as he drives Richie to school Monday morning. Richie seems distracted, too. Without his usual enthusiastic rambling about the merits of subs versus dubs or why there should be a copy of the full Attack on Titan box set in the library of congress, the car feels eerily quiet. Paul turns on the radio to try and fill the silence, but the cheery, up-tempo song that comes on somehow creates an even weirder atmosphere. They finally pull up in front of the school and say their goodbyes.

Just as he’s about to take off, Paul notices a tall boy in a letterman jacket waving to Richie. Richie waves back and approaches him. Wait, isn’t that Max Jägerman? The kid that’s been bullying Richie and his friends for years? He watches as they walk towards the school entrance together. Why is Max being so friendly to him out of the blue? Is this the setup for some horrible, mean-spirited prank? Paul’s heart sinks, but there’s nothing he can do. He’ll just have to trust Richie’s judgment and be there for him if anything happens. He’s definitely going to Beanie’s on his lunch break today. He desperately needs a coffee and Emma will probably be happy to let him vent and maybe even provide some surprisingly thoughtful advice. Knowing her, she’ll welcome any distraction from her usual degrading job duties of making coffee, serving “cold, shitty pastries” and singing for tips.

“Hey, Richie! How was your weekend?” Max greets him enthusiastically. Huh, he’s been upgraded from Shitlips. Not only that, they’re on a first-name basis now. So they’re actually doing this. That night at the Waylon place wasn’t some weird fever dream.

“Uh, it was okay, I guess? My Uncle Paul didn’t seem too happy with me for staying out so late on Friday, but he didn’t, like, ground me or anything. Other than that I didn’t do much, just rewatched Attack on Titan again.” Friday was the weirdest, most stressful night of his life and he had no idea what to expect on Monday, so the comfort and familiarity was much needed.

“Oh, cool. My dad was pretty upset when I told him what happened, too.”

“That makes sense, you did almost die.”

“Yeah, he’s really pissed I didn’t. Wanted to collect the life insurance payout or whatever. You know how dads are,” Max says with a shrug. Richie actually doesn’t know how dads are, but he’s pretty sure that’s not normal.

“Oh, uh, sorry. That sucks.” What else can he say to something like that?

“Anyway, I gave Kyle and Jason the rundown over the weekend and told them to spread the word. Everyone should know by now that you and the rest of the group are not to be messed with and from now on they’ll be answering to all of us. And if anybody tries it you just let me know, it’s a swirly and a flick-it ticket for them. We’ll do it together. I have to teach you the proper form, anyway.”

Oh, right. That part of the deal. It’s not just being cool with Max Jägerman, it’s being “on his level” as he phrased it. Which means joining in on the bullying unless they can use whatever influence they now have to talk Max out of it. Grace did say she thought it was possible back at the Waylon place. Richie agreed at the time. Does he still believe that? Did he ever, or was he just trying to justify their decision? If they can even pull it off, it’s going to be a lot more complicated than just going “Hey, let’s not bully anyone!” and Max being like “Okay, sounds good!”

“Will do, Max, but uh, what if it’s somebody who doesn’t have nuts?” Richie asks. He may or may not be speaking from experience. Truthfully, flick-it tickets have never worked on him, but convincingly faking like they’re the most painful thing in the world has probably saved him from Max inflicting actual pain countless times. Ruth’s acting tips have been really helpful for that.

“Oh, good point! Two swirlies, then. Love your inclusive way of thinking!”

The bell rings, providing Richie with a convenient exit from this conversation.

“Oh, gotta get to honors English, see ya later!”

“Bye, Max.” He hurries to Physics, wondering how the hell Max is in honors English.

When he joins their usual group (plus Grace and Steph) at the lunch table, it seems like everyone else is reeling from the changed dynamic, too. At least Ruth is having a good time with it.

“She actually said hi to me!” Ruth says, her eyes lighting up “Then she told me my headgear is fire today! It was so hot, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife!” There’s only one person at school who still says things are fire unironically. Brenda must have gotten the memo.

“Isn’t she dating Kyle?” Pete points out “I know Max won’t let them, but clearly they’d just go behind his back, right?”

“Yeah,” Richie chimes in “If anything, sneaking around would make it hotter. ‘Forbidden fruit’ and all that.”

“Duh! Everyone knows that, watch some porn! But also, watch some romcoms - I’m the nerdy underdog, obviously she chooses me in the end.”

Before Grace can admonish Ruth for being so lewd or Stephanie can rant about the problematic tropes and implications of the romcom comment (the collective word count of her Twitter threads on the subject rivals War and Peace), Pete raises the question that’s been on all of their minds:

“Can we really be considered underdogs anymore?”

“I don’t know. The vibe is definitely different from before,” replies Richie “God, this morning was so weird. Max just walked up to me and started the most normal ass ‘how was your weekend?’ conversation ever. I mentioned anime and he didn’t even make fun of me, it was fucking surreal!”

“It’s definitely weird, but I have to admit it’s been kind of nice to be able to walk down the hallway without constantly watching my back,” Pete says “Brad Callahan called me Micro-Pete earlier. I told him to back off and he actually did!”

“He called you what?” Startled, they all look up to find Max looming over them at the end of their table. When did he get here? “I fuckin’ told him not to bother you guys, but it looks like my instructions were unclear. C’mon, Pete, let’s go find him. We’ll make sure there are no further misunderstandings.”

“What, like, beat him up? I don’t know, Max, he’s twice my size. And he did back off, maybe we let him off with a warning this time?” Pete protests weakly.

“It’s okay, dude, I’ll be right there with you! Nobody who knows what’s good for them is going to jump in to defend him, either, so it’ll be two against one. And I know pummeling people seems intimidating if you’ve never done it before, but I’ll show you the ropes. I bet you're stronger than you think you are!” Ignoring the subject matter, Pete has to admit Max gives a pretty solid pep talk. Now that they’re sort of friends, maybe Max will send some of that energy his way before the AP Physics exam.

“Okay,” Pete says, still uncertain, but also acutely aware that he’s not getting out of this one.

“Can I come with?” Stephanie asks “I’ve actually always wanted to slap Brad across his stupid, smug face, but this is the final straw. Nobody’s going to disrespect you like that on my watch.” Pete turns beet-red.

“Oh, awesome, three against one!” Max says “Let’s roll out!” Stephanie grabs Pete’s hand and the three take their leave. Max and Steph walk with a menacing, determined stride like predators stalking their prey. Pete trails behind them, a little more hesitant, but still follows.

“Slapping Brad in the face has always been one of my fantasies, too! Probably not in the same way, though,” Ruth says “I should’ve joined them! Life is but a series of missed opportunities.”

“Ruth,” Grace says “have you ever considered taking a vow of chastity? Resisting the temptation you’re feeling until you’re safely married could save your immortal soul.”

“No, of course not! Why would I do that now of all times? I’m not a repulsive loser anymore, somebody might finally touch me!” Ruth sighs dreamily. “I’m telling you guys, me and Brenda, there’s something there.”

“If you’re so worried about our immortal souls, why didn’t you try to stop them just now? I don’t spend my weekends at bible study, but I’m pretty sure wrath is a sin,” says Richie.

“Well, Brad has it coming. He’s always been a no good sinner. It’s not our wrath, it’s God’s wrath. They’re just carrying out His will.”

Richie’s surprised to find himself entertaining Grace’s point. She’s right about Brad, at least. He has always been kind of an asshole. He was picking on Pete earlier, too, and it certainly wasn’t the first time. Then there’s the whole “long-con” aspect of it all - once again, things aren’t going to change overnight. They all need to play along if they don’t want to lose their new status ruling Hatchetfield High by Max’s side. Maybe if the next target is less deserving than Brad, he can test the waters and try to get Max to lay off. For now, Richie will just head to his next class and try to make it through the rest of the school day without being roped into roughing somebody up.

#nerdy prudes must die #npmd #npmd corruption au #max jagerman #richie lipschitz #grace chasity #peter spankoffski #ruth fleming #stephanie lauter #hatchetfield #paul matthews #Paul is Richie’s uncle #Max’s shitty dad is briefly mentioned #cw child abuse mention #lautski

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letterstoear · 5 months

Text

Last letter from the mountain lover's club series

Notes: Confession letter from your Jade Leech, Jade x reader, gn reader, fluff, can be read alone but for the best experience I recommend reading the previous two letters.

You can also purchase the matching item with the physical copy of the letter here: Mountain Lover's club Volume 3

Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Letter 3

My dearest _______,

I’ve been trying to trace my steps back to the moment I fell for you, and I’ve finally figured it all out. You wouldn’t think at first glance, but us moray eels are cowards. While I hate to admit it, I’m no exception. Hence, the reason I’ve chosen to write a confession letter. Please read everything closely.

I never believed in having anything romantic love before nor did I imagine a traveling companion to be all that interesting. My days had been satisfying enough. The feeling of discovering the new and unexpected life on those mountains was enchanting. Then, came the day you arrived at my dorm. My heart nearly stopped with how shocked I was to find you rushed over to hear about the Mountain Lover’s Club. Such a feeling remains burned into me till this very day. Even if you were to drown the memory it would remain crystal clear. Such a feeling is treasured deeply in my heart, but who wouldn’t? You were my very first member of course. Those around me doubted I could get someone to join, but I knew one would show up. It only took a little bit of time.

To me you are irreplaceable as a club member and as a person. I’ve come to love you in both ways. During the time we weren’t together, nothing felt the same. The mountains had been more dull than normal. I couldn’t feel anything other than a small tug of curiosity. In comparison to the travels, we did together an empty feeling washed over me. What happened to the once colorful mountains?

To investigate this curiosity, we signed a contract of observation. Your eyes gleamed with a look of curiosity as we sorted through the deal. I desperately clung onto the idea of you being curious about my feelings. Perhaps you shared the same unknown feeling. Following these short two weeks I concluded as to how I felt. _________, I never needed the full two weeks to observe you. I, in fact, discovered my feelings of love for you within that first week.

What had it been that I loved about you? My mind couldn’t form the right answer. Yet, I am now fully aware, allow me to list out a few. Your presence, for starters, is rather impactful for me. I feel safe when I’m with you. _____________, I can lower my guard around you without worry of being attacked. What’s more is you see right through me. Rather entertaining. Since when did my clueless _______ become so sharp? That’s not to say I can’t go teasing you. In fact, I find myself wanting to tease you more often as you react in a charming manner. I do love how I can play tricks on you who are still naive enough to fall for it. Plus, you even get bold enough to playfully tease me with your own games.

However, this feeling is nowhere to be seen with anyone but yourself. See, I tried several of the same games I did with you towards Azul. There was an incredible lack of excitement. I enjoy your reactions precisely because I love you. Had it been anyone else, well, I wouldn’t feel the same. I find everything about you to be so dear because I love you. This feeling of mine has grown even stronger now that I’ve discovered the truth.

I know we’ve met on strange terms, but my love for isn’t strange. It’s incredibly sincere. ____________, I love you. Please consider being my lover, I promise to hold you tight and bring new ideas to life with you. Having met you was the start of a wonderful new beginning. Not only did I gain a new club member, but someone who I can rely on. I want to feel a world with you in it. I love you _____________. I need to know how you feel towards me, even if by some crazy chance it’s not the same.

With hopes of love,

Jade Leech

#twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #jade x reader #octavinelle #the final one #letter #I've finally finished it #fluff #romance #gn reader #mountain lover's club

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the-empress-7 · 1 year

Note

I haven't figured out if it's a trial balloon from BP or whether it's the press stirring shit.

Two ways to tell if it's Charles's trial balloons: 1 - his balloons usually go up on the weekend so they can be quickly buried if they're poorly received and 2 - when they're this poorly received, they're quickly followed by another royal story to bury it. Neither of those happened this time so I don't think it's a trial balloon, however...

I do think it's Charles's PR. His PR shenanigans are regular like clockwork: first a story about the Waleses overshadowing Charles's work (Kate's unannounced visit to the Chelsea Flower Show on the same day as Charles's visit), then a Kate hit piece (William not liking that the press crops him out of their photos to feature Kate, which is a classic Charles complaint from the Diana days), followed by a Middleton hit piece (Party Pieces' COVID loan), then a William hit piece (Queen Mother Camilla). The cycle ends with something that praises Charles or portrays him super positively (giving RVOs to the Royal Naval regiment for supporting The Queen's funeral).

Sometimes the Sussexes hop onto Charles's PR shenanigans with their own smear job - think "10 times Kate copied Meghan's style," "Diana's ring really belongs to Meghan," or resurrecting the affair rumor, but not always. This time they're trying to force divorce rumors onto Will and Kate with that story of their fighting and how they have separate homes now, but this isn't their usual smear job - this is the Sussexes deflecting from Harry's big mouth talking about how he sometimes leaves Meghan to stay somewhere else.

One quick caveat - the press also gets up to their own shenanigans stirring the pot whenever the Waleses are on school holiday, which is also happening this week. But I don't think this is it. This is, as @honeytothebee says, #clarence house antics.

Every time the attacks on W&K ramp up, it's a sure sign that desperation has set in. As to why that is this time around, trust me that we will know soon enough.

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

You’re So Vain - chapter 15

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 11.7k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Explicit food descriptions, discussion of diet culture, dirty jokes, references to sex, discussion of chronic illness. Summary: Dieter returns home to LA to a big family dinner, and date 6 of the contract is bigger than you could possibly imagine. Notes: This is it, guys...the last full chapter of YSV. Next week will be the epilogue and you can rest assured that we will be ALL kinds of emotional saying goodbye to these two morons in love. It’s been a long journey to get here, but we love to see people adoring the shit out of their partners. Thank you for coming me with on my first real enemies-to-lovers journey. I hope you’ve enjoyed the chaos!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

Coming back to L.A. is both a blessing and a curse. Dieter had gone back to visit his family one last time before he was due back, explaining that the latest gossip was pure fabrication, an unfortunate by-product of being famous. Sometimes people tried to claim things that weren’t true, either for financial gain or their fifteen minutes of fame. They hadn’t held it against him and had sent him home with even more pictures that had been unearthed and copied. Walking out of the security point, he looks around for you, ignoring the flashing cameras as he tries to spot the only person that matters right now.

"Dee!" You have to call his name over the crowd noise, both because LAX is always noisy and because there's a group of fans and photographers waiting for him. There's a whole homecoming waiting for him back at his place, and you know he's jetlagged as hell from the flight so you push to the front of the chaos as best you can while you try to get his attention.

His eyes light up when he spots you, shouldering his backpack up higher and re-gripping the handle of his roll on so he can scoot by the crowd and reach you. Desperate for a kiss after a week apart. A week that’s felt like a month. “Baby.”

"Hey handsome." You can't help but reach out, almost afraid that he won't be real when you reach to put your arms around him. But he's solid under your hands and ducking his head to kiss you almost instantly. It's like getting an invitation back to bliss after a week of melancholy and heartache, and you welcome it with everything you have.

He needs this. Despite the clicking cameras, he needs the feeling of your lips on his. He knows that the interview has turned the tide in his favor, but they still want the evidence that the two of you are real. Especially since that rocky start you mentioned in the exclusive. “God, I missed you.” He huffs against your lips before he pulls back with a grin.

"I missed you, too." He looks good despite being tired, but that might just be the love talking. You reach past him to grab the handle of his suitcase and take his hand with your free one. "Let's go home, love."

“God, yes.” Dieter rolls his eyes and nods to the paps that are steadily clicking away and shouting questions, but he doesn’t answer them. “My ass went numb about halfway through the flight.”

"Think you can make it home without losing feeling again?" Home is what you've been calling his house for the last six days, since he asked you to move in with him and you said yes. Even though you aren't moved in yet – deciding not to do that without him – it's still where you'll be laying your head every night from now on, so home it is.

“Only if you give it a few good smacks in the car.” He winks at you and chuckles as the two of you head over to baggage claim. “Did Rico drive you or did you drive yourself?”

"I drove." You know your car isn't as nice as his, but you wanted to have the first little part of this time alone with him. Just to be able to breath each other in. Plus, there's the other thing. "I feel a little weird asking Rico to do stuff in a professional capacity...since I'm both not his boss and his girlfriend's sister-in-law."

“So it’s official, huh?” He grins and waggles his brows at you at the conveyor that will deposit his bag.

"They haven't told Nora yet, but yeah." Leaning over to steal another kiss, you grin against his lips and only force yourself to pull away when the conveyor belt whirs to life. "They're really happy. It's made me miss you twice as much, to be honest."

“Are they afraid Squirt will be upset?” He frowns slightly, hoping that Nora wouldn’t begrudge her mom another chance at happiness.

"More like the opposite, actually." When his suitcase comes into view, you keep an eye on it until it gets close enough to grab. There's no way you're going to be more than three feet away from him for at least the rest of the day. "She really loves Rico, so they just want to make sure they're serious about each other before they tell her they're more than friends."

“I can understand.” He gets it. If it’s just a summer fling type thing, there’s no point in getting the kid’s heart involved. “Hang on, let me grab my bag.” Dieter leans forward and grabs his bag with a groan. “Shit, this thing is heavier than when I left, I swear.”

"I got it." There's a short staring contest while you dare him to try taking the suitcase back from you, but he relents with a grin and you wheel it behind you toward the parking areas. "Jesus Dee, did Arya send you home with half the bakery?"

“They sent home more pictures.” Dieter shrugs. “The baked goods are in the carryon.” Feeling both exhausted and exhilarated, he walks along with you, fingers threaded through yours.

"They love you." It was obvious right from those first moments in the bakery and from the conversations you've had with Arya, it hasn't wavered. But then – you completely understand adoring this man. In fact, you're pretty biased on that point, and it makes you smile even wider. "I love you."

“I love you too.” Dieter takes advantage of the fact that no one in the parking garage is paying attention to you to pull you to a stop and tug you closer. “And I can’t wait to nap with you.” He moans softly. “I hated sleeping in that bed this last week.”

"Sleeping alone sucks." You can agree to that entirely, nuzzling against his chest like a cat begging to be pet. "I put fresh sheets on your bed this morning...I haven't moved anything in or anything like that, but I wanted you to have a comfy bed to come home to."

His pout is instantaneous. “You’re staying though, right?” He huffs. “Or I’m hauling my tired ass to your house to sleep in the little fucking bed you have.” You had a full-sized bed in the house you live in now, but it was tiny compared to his king.

"Of course I'm staying. Your fancy ass bed is way more comfortable than mine." Tipping your chin back lets you kiss the pout clean off his lips and you grin. "Everybody's waiting for us, ?and dinner should be ready by the time we get back."

“Thank God.” He huffs, feeling better. “We just established sleeping alone sucks and I have plans to be a leech all night.”

"A naked leech, though, right?" You nudge him toward the car, only a few more yards away across an astonishingly empty portion of the parking garage. "As much fun as it's been having you control that vibrator from almost six thousand miles away, I'm aching to have my insides rearranged."

“Fuck yes.” Dieter groans, cock twitching at the thought. “I’ve discovered something about myself.” He tells you, looking over at you when you both stop at the trunk of your car. “I fucking hate jerking off.”

That makes you snort, and you quickly lean forward to nip his bottom lip before loading his suitcase into your trunk. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you." Once everything is loaded, you shut your trunk and offer him a small, almost coy smile. "I...I got in to see my doctor this week."

Travel and fatigue cause him to take a moment beside he figures it out. “Really?” He hums, glancing down at your stomach. “And what did you decide to go with?” The idea of sex without a condom is sexy, especially since you’ve already risked it twice.

"Just the standard ol' pill. I take it with my vitamin every morning and that's that. No big deal." It's easy, it's well tested, and you hadn't been crazy about the idea of an IUD anymore after reading some stories of people experiencing very real pain and complications with them. "So say goodbye to condoms."

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.” He tells you seriously. He’s always serious about protection. It’s how he’s never actually had a pregnancy scare. He doesn’t count the crazy bitch who lied – since he had never slept with her. “It’s not one hundred percent, so if you want me to wear them when you’re – you know, fertile, I will.”

"So I don't end up carrying the inevitable twins that your family apparently breeds en masse?" You shake your head at him, climbing into your car and waiting for him to do the same before you pick up his hand and press a kiss to his palm. "If it will make you more comfortable, we can still use them while I'm ovulating. I'll download a tracker app to my phone so we can be extra careful. But I don't want to use one tonight. I just want to feel you."

“Wait.” He doesn’t want you to think that he’s uncomfortable. “I didn’t— I don’t –” he shakes his head. “I’d rather not wear one again, but I meant that if you wanted me to wear one I will.” He gives you a small shrug. “It’s your body that would change. So you deserve the consideration.”

"If the kids are determined enough to get past the birth control, I almost feel like they deserve to be born." Key in the ignition, you turn over the engine and crank up the air conditioning so the two of you can be comfortable on the drive home. "I don't mean to bombard you with this conversation right off the plane, love. We can talk about it later." You'll have to talk about it at some point, but you've both studiously avoided any kind of long-term topics beyond living together over the last few days. Not another word about marriage has been spoken since the phone call after your ET interview.

“We can, but can we talk about you moving in?” He asks. “I’m surprised you haven’t already done it.”

"I didn't want to mess with your stuff while you were away," you admit. Backing your car out of its spot, it's off through the maze of the parking garage and out to the highway with you. "My stuff is pretty much packed, but I didn't want to just take over your house with it. I figured I'd do some this weekend and finish next weekend." Since it's the beginning of the school year you don't have any heavy grading yet and your weekends are still entirely your own. Perfect timing for a move.

“Did you ask if Steph and Nora want to move in too?” He asks, knowing that you will miss having Nora underfoot. “Or do they want to stay in their house?”

“Steph wants to keep the house.” It had been the subject of a few very long conversations between the two of you this week, but ultimately your best friend always came back to the same answer. “Leaving it would feel a little too much like leaving Shawn behind and I don’t think she’ll ever be ready for that. Plus,” you flash him a smile. “Some really nice guy paid off the mortgage a couple of months back, so it’s truly hers now. I figure, I can still help out by being Nora’s babysitter whenever she needs. Just because I’m moving out doesn’t mean I’m abandoning them.”

“I figured that would be the case.” He easily glosses over the mention of him paying off the mortgage. He doesn’t even think about it. Hell, he’d forgotten about it. “Besides, if Rico and Steph get serious, they won’t want to share a room in our house. They’ll want their own space.”

The phrase makes you hum softly, a happy buzzing warming through you as you drive. “Our house. I love that.”

“You like that?” He tosses you a grin. “You just want the pool.” He can’t help but lighten the mood and tease.

“That’s a serious fringe benefit.” You laugh, slipping your free hand into his. Driving is relaxing for you, and you had missed it in Switzerland. Not having an international license had meant that he drove everywhere. “But I’ve also got a super hot roommate now.”

“Who?” Dieter narrows his eyes playfully. “I knew you had a thing for Rico.”

“Oh shut up.” Laughing again, you roll your eyes and squeeze his hand in yours. “He’s a very nice guy, but Rico isn’t the guy I went on national television to defend.”

“True.” He can’t help but grin at that reminder. “You did do that, didn’t you?” He had been very smug about his soulmate for the next few days as all the lies had come out. This woman had apparently thought to scam him and believed he wouldn’t know it since the Dieter Bravo of old wouldn’t have remembered sleeping with her or not.

“Has Libby mentioned to you that she wants me to start modeling now?” It was a completely insane concept to you, and you had actually laughed the first time Libby called you with an offer. “I guess some companies have decided they like me for being a spokesperson or something? I don’t know, it all seems extremely weird to me, but Lib’s been getting calls asking if she represents me.”

“How do you feel about that?” He asks, surprised but also not. And of course Libby would like a client in Dieter’s soulmate. “If it’s something you’re interested in, you should do it.”

“Honestly?” You shrug slightly. “I have no idea. But it’s a hell of a lot more money than I make teaching. I just really like food, so I don’t know if I want to have a bunch of people arbitrarily judging my looks.” But that, again, makes you shrug. “Maybe I’ll just do one or two — what are they called? Campaigns? And use it to fund my traveling art teacher adventures.”

“I don’t want you to starve yourself.” Dieter is adamant about that. “But you are gorgeous and if they are clamoring for you, make it known what you will or will not do. Make them cater to you.”

“Trust me, I’m not starving myself.” It’s far too much of an impossibility and it actually makes you chuckle dryly. “You’ve seen me eat, babe. I will pick pizza over a tight dress any day. But maybe that’s a good stance to keep if I’m going to consider it, ya know? I just won’t take contracts where they want me to lose weight.” And maybe you would never get work for exactly that reason, but if that’s the case then you wouldn’t want to represent those companies anyway.

“Absolutely.” He whole-heartedly agrees. “Plus, it’s not like you have to worry about doing it or not. It’s just something fun to consider. You get a shit ton of clothes. I modeled for Gucci at one point.”

“Is that why you have so much Gucci? I just thought you had a favourite.” The road drives by quickly and conversation devolves into silly things, until you get closer to the house and Dieter has talked about nothing but the last meal he shared with his family so you know he has to be starving. “Rico cooked,” you promise him, knowing he has a soft spot for the other man’s food. “He even made dessert. Nora and Steph have been hanging out in the pool all day while we waited for you to land. It’s been a perfect Saturday.” Perfect, largely, because you knew by the end of it that you wouldn’t have to miss him anymore.

“That sounds great.” There is a small, relieved sigh when you pull through the driveway. “I want to lay by the pool too. After a nap.”

“If you want to take a nap before dinner, go for it.” There’s no reason that Rico’s Italian feast can’t keep a little bit longer, and you know no one will blame him for being jetlagged.

“No, we’ll eat.” He doesn’t want anyone to wait on him. “I’m just going to need a nap after. I’ll just hold you and snore while you talk with everyone.”

“Romantic.” You tease, pulling your car up in front of the house. “Welcome home, baby.”

“I’m happy to be here.” He admits, even though he is tired. He’s been up for a long time, but he is looking forward to seeing everyone. An odd sensation since it was normally Rico picking him up and Dieter would either immediately crash or party.

“What are you gonna do with all this domesticity?” Hopping out of the car, you grab his luggage from the trunk to bring into the house and pause for just a second to steal a kiss. “Nora can’t wait to see you.”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose and grins. “Of course she can’t wait to see me. I’m her favorite uncle.”

It’s the same nose wrinkle and smile that you give him – the one that made him stop on the street to kiss you – and you swear he’s picked it up from you. So of course, you double back from the front door to kiss him again. “Yeah.” You have to admit that. “You absolutely are. Kid’s got good taste.”

“Of course she does.” Opening the door to his house is familiar, but the music is definitely kid friendly and the laughing and shrieking through the space coming from the back is something new. It’s welcomed though, making him perk up and smile in anticipation. “Gotta get her gifts out.”

“You go ahead and dig.” It’s sweet to see him so excited, to know that he’s as glad to be around your family as they are to be around him. “She’s been an absolute fish the whole month, it seems. You may be the only thing that can get her out of the pool.”

“Good.” Dieter flips the carryon on its side and unzips it, pulling things out so he can get to her presents. “The pool should be used. She’s always welcome over to use it. Both of them are.” He looks up at you. “Anyone you want here, it’s your home too.”

“Everybody I care about it either in front of me or already in the pool, so I think we’re okay.” You can’t help but grin as he pulls all manner of treats and toys and clothes out of his bag - all the things he picked out for your niece over the last month knowing she would be clamoring excitedly to see him when he got home. It makes your heart swell in an incredibly unsubtle way, and you push the thought of kids away in favour of grabbing two cans of soda out of his fridge. “You got everything?”

“I think.” He bites his lip and hands you a small box. “I got this for you. After you left.” He adds, looking a little flustered.

“What’s this?” There’s no mistaking a jewelry box, but it’s distinctly not the right size for a ring and that’s relieving. Conversation first, ring later. If he even wants that. Pushing the thought aside, you open the little velvet box to find a delicate gold chain bearing three pristine, slightly ivory-colored pearls as the centerpiece. “Dee.” It’s stunning, and your eyes shoot up to his in wonder. “Baby, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He grins, because you love it and his expression turns into a smirk. “I love you wearing a pearl necklace, so I couldn’t resist.” He snickers, acting like a twelve-year-old boy rather than a man gifting his soulmate with the first piece of jewelry in your relationship.

“Theeeere it is.” Despite rolling your eyes exaggeratedly, you do have to laugh. The genuine mix of thoughtful romantic gesture and absolutely juvenile joke is pure Dieter. “I’ll wear it with pride,” you half-snort, closing the box again carefully. “And tell everyone my soulmate gave me the best pearl necklace.”

“Damn right.” He laughs, ecstatic that you are joking along with him. A far cry from where the conversation would have gone if he had given it to you in the beginning. “Do you really like it?” He asks, softer and more serious this time. “I just— I saw it on you in the display case.”

“I love it, baby. It’s gorgeous.” And it earns him a sweet, indulgent kiss that nearly turns dirty. “I’ll wear it on date six, whenever that is, and lots of times afterward when we’re just out having fun, not fulfilling a contract.” Although, you may have that damn bundle of papers framed. It brought you together, after all.

“You – I hate that contract.” Dieter admits quietly. “I want to rip the damn thing up.”

“I don’t mind it like I used to.” Okay. Maybe don’t frame it. “It’s what brought us together. It’s why I went to Switzerland. It’s—” you shrug, feeling a little sheepish about defending it. “Yeah, it sucked in the beginning, but without it, we might never have spent time together. And I hate that thought so much more.”

“I hated it because I—” His fingers thread with yours. “I was afraid that when the contract was over, so were we.” He knows it’s crazy to think that now, but he can’t help the irrational fear.

“Never.” His hand is tangled in yours and you raise it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I mean absolutely, one hundred percent, never. You’re gonna have to break up with me your damn self if you ever want me out of here.” You tell yourself it’s an irrational fear, but a part of you might be scared of the possibility for a long time to come. Only because he means so damn much to you.

“You don’t remember my near total meltdown a week ago?” He asks, reaching up with his free hand to cup your cheek. “I’ve never, ever, cried over losing a lover like I did when I thought you would hate me again.” He bites his lip and decides to be completely honest. “I couldn’t look at your messages because I didn’t know what I would do.”

“It looks like we’re stuck with each other, then.” The soft smile on your lips warms your cheeks and you turn your head slightly to kiss his palm. “When you’re ready we’ll have that conversation, but there’s no rush, love.”

He knows what conversation you are talking about be he decides to play dumb. Giving you a confused look and tilting his head at you, only a slight smirk to his lips. “What conversation?”

“The one that eventually leads to another fancy jewelry box.” If you’re honest with yourself, marriage wasn’t something you saw for yourself — ever, really — unless it was to him. The adolescent daydreams have returned in a newer form. You’re not sixteen years old looking at edgy black wedding dresses and picking out your favourite-that-week Something Corporate song for your first dance: played live by the band, of course. Now you dream about the actual marriage – the quiet dinners and the proud smile on your lips as cameras flash in his direction. Painting together and raising that set of twins that you just know is going to happen if you ever do decide to have kids. He could propose with the plastic ring from a Cracker Jack box and you would still say yes. And that is a very big thought to have after only three weeks. Or it would be, if you weren’t soulmates. You’ll never pressure him, but you know where your heart lies.

“Oh, that conversation.” He bobbles his head and tosses you a grin. “Good to know you want it.” He teases with a wink.

“I already told you that.” But you press another kiss to his hand and shake your head, motioning finally to the small warehouse’s worth of loot he has for Nora. “Come on, love. We should go say hello.”

Gathering up all the presents, Dieter follows behind you, following his nose to the delicious smell in the kitchen and through the doors to the backyard. “Hey, Squirt!” He calls out, seeing Nora splash in the pool with her goggles on.

The squeal Nora lets out is unholy, yelping his name and flailing her arms excitedly until an equally shocked Steph can help lift her out of the pool. She hadn’t heard the car at all - probably owing to the Disney music currently being piped through Dieter’s outdoor sound system. “UNCLE DEEDEE!” Nora yelps his name excitedly. With a little floaty on each of her arms they simply stick out from her sides, flapping like wings as she completely ignores the No Running rule to race to his side.

He doesn’t care that she’s soaking wet, doesn’t give one damn. She looks happy, healthy and over the moon to see him. The presents in his arms end up on the ground as he kneels down and lets her fly into him at full tilt, nearly knocking him over. “Oof!” He exaggerates. “How did you get so big? I just saw you!”

“That was three whole weeks ago!” She huffs, because three weeks to a four-year-old is an eternity. “I’m a big girl now, Uncle Deedee. Kin-dee-garters started!”

“Kindergarten started!” Dieter whistles and shakes his head. “You’re getting to be a big girl.” He huffs. “But I guess that means you don’t want presents. Big girls don’t like presents, right?”

Nora’s eyes widen with both intrigue and a slight panic, and she shakes her wet curls furiously. “Big girls love presents,” she insists, but it seems that the present she wants first is more hugs. Throwing herself into his arms again, the little girl snuggles herself against his chest and giggles. “Missed you, Uncle Deedee,” she murmurs, arms squeezing his neck almost too hard in her enthusiasm.

“Missed you too.” He promises. “It wasn’t the same without you there. Although I know you were excited to come back to the pool.” God, he loves the way she so innocently loves him. She trusts him, even though she doesn’t know any of the bad things that he’s done in his life. His own arms hold her more securely that he had that first night in her hospital bed as he hugs her back. “I’m going to try to not go away for a while, okay?”

“Okay! That’s good.” Her head bobbles as she nods, smiling brightly. Everything is good in Nora’s world today. Everything is better than good. “Auntie Gigi missed you, too. So that’s good.”

“I missed Aunt Gigi too.” Dieter admits quietly, like it’s a secret. “Let me help you take off your wings and you can see what I brought you.” He offers with a wink.

Steph has lifted herself out of the pool at this point and snagged her drink from the little table next to where Rico is sitting - quickly grabbing a kiss that she thought no one would notice before turning to greet Dieter. “We’re glad you’re home safe,” she tells him honestly, wrapping him up in a hug when he’s finished taking off her little girl’s water wings.

“I’m glad to be home. The past week was lonely.” He lifts a brow at her and grins. “But someone isn’t, I see.” He’s happy for the obvious happiness that he sees in Steph’s eyes and there’s no missing the way Rico is proud, his impressive chest puffing up even more.

“Later.” Steph mumbles in his ear, not wanting Nora to start asking questions. She had never even considered dating again until meeting the man she now giddily referrs to as her boyfriend, and things have been going extremely well between them. Extremely well and surprisingly fast.

“Gotcha.” He sends her a small wink and looks back down at Nora. She’s nearly vibrating as she examines the wrapped bundles he had deposited on the concrete to hug her. But she’s resisting touching them. “What are you waiting for, Squirt?” He asks. “Go crazy.”

Permission is what she was waiting for, and the instant she has it from both him and her mom, she goes nuts. Packages of three different candies will keep her in a carefully regulated sugar high for a couple of weeks, the new clothes are brightly coloured and patterned and slightly too big - which Steph thanks him for because it means she can wear them longer. The stack of puzzle and coloring books weighs almost as much as Nora does, and the bilingual French/English picture book came with a recommendation from his cousin after he had mentioned that Nora thought the language was pretty. The showstopper, though, is the beautifully crafted doll in her exquisitely old-fashioned dress with eyes the color of the ocean and a happy smile painted on her little face. “She’s so pretty!” Nora squeaks, hugging the doll tight in her arms. The soft brunette ringlets aren’t quite like her own, but they bounce beautifully when she pulls on them and then cradles the doll back in her arms. “She needs a pretty name.”

“Well, Nora is taken.” He teases, happy that he’s been able to make the little girl happy. He had flashes of paternal pride and wondered what it would be like with kids of his own. “What kind of name are you thinking?”

“She’s gonna have the best adventures with Jessie and Woody and all my Barbies!” Nora’s little face screws up tight for a second before realization dawns on her. “I don’t know that many names…” she murmurs, looking between the four adults until her eyes settle back on Dieter. “Do you have a favourite name?”

Dieter bites his lip and gives a small nod. Kneeling down, he reaches out and touches a flounce on the dress. “I do. I used to have a sister.” He tells Nora. “Her name was Danica and I thought it was pretty. Dieter and Danica. DD, like you call me Uncle DeeDee.”

“Can…” Nora looks at him pensively, biting her lip before asking: “Can I call her Danica? It’s really pretty.”

His lower lip trembles slightly as he smiles at her – albeit a little watery. “I think it’s the perfect name for such a pretty doll.” He manages.

You and Steph are on the verge of tears watching this exchange, and you reach down to squeeze Dieter’s shoulder gently with one hand as you smile at your niece. “Why don’t you go wash up for dinner and we can have Danica sit at the dinner table with us,” you suggest, wanting to give Dee a minute to process. “I’m sure dinner is almost ready.”

“It is.” Rico nods, holding up his watch. “Two more minutes. Just enough time to set the table.”

Nora rushes off and Dieter’s chest heaves. “God.” He breathes out and looks up at you. “She’s named her doll after my sister.” Awe-struck by that fact, he looks over at Steph. “She’s just— amazing.”

Steph has one hand over her heart and she shakes her head softly. “I don’t know how, but she’s…it’s almost perceptive. I swear she sees right into your heart sometimes.”

“She’s so innocent and good.” If there is ever one thing that he will be most proud of, it’s making sure that this little girl has a bright future. Beyond capturing your heart, of course. He stands up and shakes his head with a grin. “She going to change the world one day. Or run it.”

“My money is on running it.” You wrap Dieter up in your arms and hug him tight. “You did good, Uncle Deedee.”

“Just wanted to spoil her.” He huffs, leaning in for a kiss. “Although I know I can’t spoil her too badly.”

“Bringing home presents after a trip is an appropriate time for spoiling.” You assure him, giving him as many kisses as he wants.

“Good. I thought so.” He smirks and gives you a wink. “Besides I did bring you a gift too.”

“Yes, you did.” And you snort when you laugh about it, leaving a kiss on the tip of his nose. “A cheeky gift, at that.”

Rico has seen every possible version of his boss over the few years they’ve been together – or at least he thought he had. But he’s never seen Dieter this happy. It warms his heart and makes him even more glad that his own happiness has been found with this amazing little family. “Lasagna’s done,” he announces, checking his watch once more before hauling himself off the pool chair he had been lounging on. “I’m going to throw the garlic bread in the oven to toast.”

“And we’ll set the table.” Steph nods, starting to herd all of you inside.

“Well, yes ma’am.” Dieter doesn’t miss how Steph knows where everything is. Something Dieter struggles with when he’s here. A sign that she really has been spending a lot of time over here with Rico. “Soooooo, this is like a routine now, huh?” He asks with a grin. “Lemme guess, when you’d come to get Squirt, the most mouthwatering smells of dinner would just happen to be minutes from being finished.” He chuckles. “So of course, you had to stay for dinner?”

“That’s…how it started.” Steph mumbles, looking down at the plates in her hand like they had given away her secret.

“Rico used that a lot to get me to eat.” He huffs good-naturedly. “Make something irresistible.”

“And it works every time.” The younger man grins at his boss unapologetically as he brings an enormous tray of lasagna to the table. “It’s all totally safe for her,” he promises, seeing the look of doubt on your face. Lasagna is a tricky food by its nature - ground beef, multiple cheeses, and spinach all being traditional ingredients that will send Nora straight to the hospital. “I use ground turkey and pork sausage for the meat, the mozzarella and parmesan are both lactose free, and instead of ricotta and spinach the ‘cheese’ layer is crumbled tofu with zucchini and mushrooms. All seasoned to hell and back, of course. The tofu tastes exactly like ricotta. You’ll see.”

“It sounds like it shouldn’t work, but knowing you, it’ll be better than the original.” Dieter has known him long enough, eaten enough of his food to know that the man could make anything taste like a masterpiece. “I swear he would kill those cooking shows.”

“My Ma always thought it would be funny to send me onto one of those Worst Cooks shows as a ringer.” Rico laughs. “But I told her it would never work. I would cringe too hard any time I tried to make something bad.”

Dieter laughs and shakes his head. “It’s true, the first time he saw me making ramen noodles, he took over my kitchen.”

“And now you eat gourmet-level miso ramen absolutely any time you want.” Steph looks at Rico with a kind of pride that reads love loud and clear. “Nora loves it, too,” she explains when she catches you smirking at her.

“That shiiiiii— uh, stuff is amazing.” Dieter catches himself as Nora bounds back into the room and he rolls his eyes at himself. “Gotta get used to that.”

“Mommy I washed Danica’s hands sooooo carefully.” She presents her doll to Steph to be checked out, and there isn’t a single drop of water on her dress. “Can she sit at the table pleeeeeease?”

Steph looks around at the adult to make sure that no one objects before she nods at Nora. “Yes she can, but you will have to remind her to mind her manners, okay?” She tells her daughter with a smile.

“She’ll be good, I promise!” It’s clear that Nora has a regular seat at the table, because she goes over and climbs up into one of the chairs without hesitation as the adults all start to join her. Doll Danica easily shares the seat with Nora’s small frame, and you give Dieter’s hand a squeeze under the table before Rico starts dishing out slices of lasagna with perfectly toasted garlic bread on the side.

“It looks and smells amazing.” Dieter groans happily. “The food on the plane was okay, but it’s got nothing on Rico.” More than the food, the atmosphere reminds him of the dinners that he had with his family, and it makes him smile.

It’s an amazing meal, and the homemade coconut milk vanilla ice cream and caramelized bananas that Rico made for dessert is the tip of the iceberg that makes you groan happily when you sit back in your chair with an empty bowl in front of you. “I swear,” you point your spoon at Rico and grin. “When you finally decide you want to open a restaurant, we are going to be there all the time.”

“I’ve told him that he would have more business than he could want.” Dieter agrees, grinning at the way even Nora looks a little overstuffed. Now that his stomach is full, his eyes are starting to feel heavy and he looks over at you. Wondering if you want to lay down with him or stay here and talk with your friend.

Your hand skims gently over Dieter’s arm while Nora yawns her way through the end of a story about something that happened in her class yesterday, and you smile at how excited she has been to start school. It’s a fantastic thing to see and Steph has been so proud of her as she adjusts to more big girl things. “Getting tired, sweetie?” Steph smiles indulgently, always glad when Nora can have a meal that sits well enough with her that she can eat all she wants.

“I think the jet lag is kicking in.” Looking over at Dieter, you could practically sigh out in contentment. He’s home. In your home. Your home together. So much has happened and somehow – for once – all of it is good.

“I just— just an hour.” Dieter tells you with a small pout. “I’m sorry. I can just go pass out on the couch while you talk?”

“It will be close to bedtime by the time we get home.” Steph tells him, not wanting him to feel like he’s kicking them out. “We’ll see you tomorrow though, right? To help with moving?”

Dieter lifts a brow, assuming you would have hired a company to move the things you want to bring but he nods. “Yeah. You’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Nora’s gonna use her big muscles to help out, right?” You shoot a grin at your niece across the table before leaning over to kiss Dieter’s cheek. “You guys get some sleep and we’ll be over before the movers get to the house. It won’t take long to get me loaded up.” Steph had insisted on being able to help somehow, but the fact is that the movers will do most of the work. You and Steph and Dieter will just be packing up the last few things while they load the truck.

Dieter stands and helps with the dishes, shuffling slowly as he yawns while Rico picks up Nora and the little girl immediately snuggles against his chest and her eyes start closing.

One of the other members of Dieter’s security staff has been taking care of the night shift while Rico’s duties have been different for the last month, and that man – Jordan – is arriving to his shift when Rico, Steph, and Nora are loading into their cars out front.

Following you like a tired puppy; he gives a small smirk at the way that Rico carefully bundles into the car and then discreetly kisses Steph.

You and Steph wave to each other before she pulls away and Rico is quickly off as well, leaving you and Dieter alone as Jordan settles into his first walk of the property’s perimeter. “Nap time, babe?” He has to be incredibly jetlagged, and you honestly won’t be surprised if he just sleeps through the whole night.

“God yes.” He groans, leaning heavily against you. Swearing that he could see the back of his brain fright now, he nods against your shoulder. “Need to give my pillow some head and the sheets some ass.”

“Come on.” Giggling, you turn him around and haul him upstairs to the bedroom you’ve only shared once before.

His room is the same as he remembers but it feels different. He’s changed since he was last here. “Oh god.” He groans, pulling away from you to start stripping bare.

You don’t hesitate, locking the bedroom door for privacy and pulling off your clothes, setting them carefully on top of a long dresser against one wall. “Glad to climb into your own bed?” It’s a comfort that really can’t be replaced, and you know he must have been craving home after so long away.

“Don’t care about the bed.” He flops down on the comforter face first and moans happily before trying to wiggle under the covers. “Just want to be in bed with you again.”

Sure, you could tease him. Needle him saying something cheesy about you being his home, but you won’t ruin the honesty of the moment. Instead, you toss your bra and panties on top of the pile of your clothes and crawl in beside him. “You wanna be big spoon or little spoon, baby?”

Turning big eyes on you hopefully, he sighs. “Can I be the little?” He asks, wanting to feel you surrounding him. He needs the intimacy of it.

“Of course.” Turning over and opening your arms to him, the sensation of having him settle into your arms again after a week apart is so much better than anything else could be.

He’s shameless as he snuggles back into your arms with a happy sigh. “Fuck, I missed you.” He mumbles. “Gonna stay with me the entire time, next time.”

“Yeah?” You grin, scattered kisses across his back as you hold him. “Can’t stand to be away from me, huh?” Alright, maybe you’ll tease him a little.

“Love you.” Dieters breathes out, already falling asleep. “Can’t— can’t live without you.” He mumbles the second before a soft snore takes over.

“I love you, too, baby.” One arm tightens slightly around his waist as his breathing settles and evens, and you rest your head on his shoulder blade contentedly. “More than anything.”

******

“Lib - we live together.” Dieter rolls his eyes, phone on speaker to his manager as the two of you get ready in the shared bathroom. “Do we have to do the contracted sixth date? It seems a little excessive.”

“You’ll have fun.” Libby insists for the third time. “Just humour me. You’ve been working hard and I’m proud of you – this will be a nice night out.” She had dropped off a dress and accessories as usual earlier in the week, assuring you that the little red one-shoulder cocktail dress would look amazing on you. “Jordan has the address. Just go and have fun.”

Dieter groans and rolls his eyes at you, shrugging helplessly. “Are you sure that a couch date with IG photos won’t cut it? What is this event anyway?” He knows Libby won’t give a straight answer, not when she knows you don’t know.

“It’s a benefit.” Libby sighs, playing along. “Charity fundraiser for medical research. It’s a good cause, Dee. And the food will be top notch.”

“It will be fun.” You’ve already put on the dress, the jewelry, and inspected the shoes that you doubt you’ll be able to walk in, and you run your thumb over the peak of Dieter’s shoulder. Then the contract will be over and buried.”

He sighs dramatically and looks back at the mirror. His dark suit is perfectly cut and the tie and pocket square matches your dress perfectly. Another nod towards your bond. “We’re already dressed.” He concedes. “Fine but we’re only going for the food.”

“And you’re going to dance!” Libby adds quickly, before he can hang up on her. “At least one song. Preferably close to wherever the photographers are.”

Dieter gives you a small shrug. “I tried babe.” He offers with small pout. “We’ve got to go.”

“It’s okay.” You give him a quick kiss before applying your lipstick while he says goodbye to Libby. “It’s fine. We’ll have a nice meal and we’ll have a dance. It sounds nice.” In the six weeks since he came home from Switzerland, Libby hadn’t interfered too much, only helping you pick out your first modeling contract doing promotional print work for Audi. It hadn’t been hard to agree to – you just had to pose with cars and then they not only paid you a ton of money, but gave you a brand new car on top of it. She hadn’t brought up date six until a few weeks ago, and at that point you couldn’t have cared less. Things are good – who cares if it’s just a normal date or one attached to the old contract?

“I guess.” He rolls his eyes and opens his arms to let you inspect him. “How do I look?”

“Hmmm…” Making a show of inspecting him, you pull an imaginary piece of lint off his suit and brush his shoulders lightly. “Like I wanna tear this off you and make that dance a horizontal mambo,” you admit, giving him a grin.

“Another reason that we should stay home.” He slaps your ass playfully and shoots you a wink. “My car or yours?” He asks with a grin, knowing how proud you are of that car.

“Didn’t Libby say Jordan is driving?” That usually means his car, because you’re still getting used to the idea that his team also sort of works for you now. It’s all very much a grey-area. “If Jordan drives, then we can both drink whatever we want, and that always leads to fun sex before we pass out.”

“True.” His hand wraps around your waist as the two of you walk out of the bedroom and walk towards the stairs. “So Jordan is absolutely driving. Maybe we can get frisky in the back of the car on the way home.”

“It’s bad enough my best friend’s boyfriend has born witness to us getting busy, we don’t need to add more of your employees to the list.” Steph and Rico are still going strong, and it speaks volumes about his integrity that he has never once given you grief or teased you about that night in the back of the car.

“Technically he was not the boyfriend at the time.” He reminds you as the two of you walk downstairs together. “So you get a pass. Besides, he might be a bit of a voyeur.”

“And that makes it totally okay.” You wrinkle your nose at Dieter and laugh, seeing Jordan ready at the bottom of the stairs already when you get to the bottom. “Well, let’s get the evening started. Shall we?”

Dieter plasters a smile on his face, an act, and nods. “We will make sure that we have a great night. And we will be surrounded by some big names tonight. Lots of press and photographers from what I’ve heard.”

“A night of smiling and nodding politely. Got it.” He’s in his element much more than he likes to admit when there are scores of other celebrities and press around, but you’re definitely still adjusting. The last mixer you’d gone to was for the studio that is producing his next movie and the only reason you had been comfortable there was because you already knew his costars.

“I think you will find it to be a good night.” Even though Jordan is there, Dieter opens the car door for you to get in. “At least, I hope.”

“You’re going to be with me.” Sliding across the backseat of the car, you make room for Dieter to get in beside you and lean over to kiss his cheek when he does. “That’s all I need.”

******

The drive to the event isn’t long, only about forty-five minutes with traffic. His fingers tap against his thigh and his other hand holds yours firmly.

The building that you eventually pull up to is large and showy, just like most things in Los Angeles, with elegant floor-to-ceiling glass windows and tropical plants all lining the gorgeously kept garden outside of what appears to be an art gallery and event hall in one. There are onlookers being kept at bay by security, reporters and cameras everywhere, and a beautiful blue carpet outside instead of red that tons of celebrities are always making their way down. “Jeez…” You breathe, hanging on to Dieter’s hand tightly right before one of the venue’s security team moves to open your car door. “This is…a much bigger thing than I was expecting.”

“Yeah?” Dieter plays dumb, exiting the car and looking back and holding his hand out to you to help you out. “I’m sure you will fit right in.” He promises with a grin. “You look incredible.” He doesn’t mention that it’s a cause close to your heart.

“I told you, I’m just going to keep letting Libby dress me. She could have been a stylist.” Cameras turn toward the two of you almost instantly, and you smooth your dress slightly with the hand that is holding your clutch. “Libby can dress me and you can undress me. I’m everybody’s favourite Barbie.”

Snickering, he pulls you close and presses his lips to yours. “Maybe that should be your modeling slogan.” He teases.

“Dirty.” You huff, grinning and wrinkling your nose at him as you laugh. “Always so dirty.”

“You love me for it.” He jokes, winking at you before leaning in and kissing you for the required kiss.

The photographers and reporters have stations along the long entry carpet, but you seem to stare past them for a long moment when you see the logo for event embossed on a sign in between two palm trees near the entrance. Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation Annual Fundraising Gala reads the banner, and you gasp audibly before looking back at Dieter beside you. “Wha— is this—? Did you?” You sputter inelegantly, grasping at the question. “Did you know?”

Dieter nods. “I was the one that had it organized for L.A.” He admits proudly. He had contacted the organization to find out if they had resources and heard their need for fundraising and decided it was going to be his mission. “For Nora and every little boy and girl like her.”

You could cry right there on the spot, but instead a nearby photographer gets a shot of your throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder for a second. Dieter knows full well that any kids you have one day could also have the disease since it is genetic – and for that matter, there is still a very small chance that you might one day mysteriously develop symptoms. And that is why research is still so incredibly necessary for this particular disease. It is still such a mystery. "I love you," you murmur, sniffling back the water in your eyes when you pull back to look at him. "You're completely out of your mind sometimes and then you go and do the sweetest things in the world and I just— I'm so proud to be your soulmate."

“It’s important.” Dieter huffs, not taking compliments well, even though he knows that he deserves this. “I figured that I could get my friends and acquaintances to open their wallets for a cause that would benefit someone I love.”

“You really did all this?” It must have been a massive undertaking, from the look of things. The scope of the event seems to be enormous, and you can’t even think of how much work he put into this. “Steph would love this…” you sigh softly. “She would absolutely love it…”

“About that….” Dieter turns you around, Steph and Rico stepping out of their own car, dressed to impress as well.

"Oh my god." Somehow you manage to not bolt forward, slipping gently from Dieter's arm instead to wrap your arms tightly around Steph. "You guys look incredible! I can't believe you didn't say anything you sneaks!"

"I only found out about it today!" Steph squeals as she looks around in awe. "I cannot believe this is happening!"

“I don’t know how we managed to keep it a secret,” Rico admits, grinning brightly as he hugs you in turn. “Go on and get your picture taken and enjoy the spotlight,” he urges you. “We’re all at the same table. We’ll get the chance to talk inside.”

Dieter grins at you. “Rico helped me, but I kept Steph in the dark. I wanted her to be surprised too.” He admits.

“You’re amazing.” You take his hand, suddenly no longer having to force yourself to be optimistic about the night but bubbling over with excitement for it. There could be a thousand photographers between here and the entrance to the event and you would stop for every single one with the brightest possible smile on your face.

“I figured our last contracted date should be something special. Something for your family.” He smiles at you right as a photographer snaps a photo. It will be one that is on the front of People magazine in two weeks as they highlight the entire event.

"It's perfect." The whole night could end right now and it would still be perfect, but the two of you very slowly make your way inside and past the group of folks from the Foundation who all want to shake Dieter's hand and take a picture with him. They're chattering about the turnout and the venue and how excited they are for the food that's being served tonight like he had a hand in planning every single aspect. "Exactly how much of this did you do?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him when he ushers you over to the bar to get your first drinks of the night.

Dieter grins at you and gives a small shrug. “I – to be honest, I haven’t been working on securing a new project over the past three weeks.” He admits. “I’ve been working on this fundraiser.”

"You're such a sneak." And even as you shake your head at him, you're leaning in to give him a kiss. "This is amazing, baby. The research they can do with this kind of money is so important." The A-list celebrities starting to file in are impressive to say the very least, and you really have to wonder how many favours he called in to get this kind of attendance.

“Hopefully so.” Dieter grins as he looks around. “Libby helped garner attention. Get the word out to other managers and put the bug in their ear that this will be the event to attend.” He chuckles. “She’s hoping this will become L.A.’s Met Gala.”

“L.A.’s Met Gala is a fundraiser for research on chronic digestive disorders.” You have to laugh, shaking your head again as Dieter orders your drink and his own from the bartender. “I guess that makes sense with how full of shit this town is,” you joke, waggling your eyebrows at the pun. “What do you think the themes will be like? Outfits inspired by your favourite ingredient that you can’t eat anymore?” Despite the joking, it would be amazing if it happened. There is so much that doctors don’t know about the disease that affects every waking second of your niece’s life. It would be wonderful to start getting some more answers.

He snorts and slides his hand down to pat your ass fondly. "It would be fun and funny." He hums happily, already sensing this is going to be a huge turnout. "Everything tonight is going to benefit research and from the ticket sales alone, we've tripled the funds they've had for the last two years. That's not including the silent auction." Dieter grins. "There have been a lot of things donated and Libby is looking at the entire event as a tax write off."

"I wish I had known; I would have figured out a way to help." Of course it was his intention to surprise you, but for a cause like this? For something that means so much to you? You would have done anything in your power to help. "Auction off a painting commission or something."

He shakes his head. "I wanted this to be something I did for you this time." He insists. "You have— you've given me so much and I wanted to find a way to show you – give you something that can help your family – my family."

"You really have no idea how much you've already done for us." Leaning into his side, you nod your thanks to the bartender after he sets your drinks down and floats away, letting you focus on Dieter again. "Either way, baby? We're so, so proud to be your family."

He leans in and nuzzles against your neck, kissing your pulse softly. "I love you." Your confidence in him means everything and it's just solidified his happiness with finding you.

"I love you, too." His arms keep you close, wrapping around your waist and holding you against him for a moment. You nuzzle him back before leaning back to kiss him and picking up both of your drinks. "What do you think, handsome? Want to mingle a little?"

"Absolutely." He flashes you a smile you always call his 'celebrity grin' the trademark roguish grin that you swear makes panties drop and takes his drink from to you clink against your own. "To getting these selfish, egotistical celebs to open up their inflated purses for a good cause." He jokes, knowing at one time that was your opinion of him.

******

The first portion of the night is time for people to bid on auction items and mingle, and then there are speeches from members of the Foundation. Thanks are given, praise is heaped, and outlines are given for what types of research studies will be funded with the money raised tonight. The crowning glory of the night, according to the last person speaking, is the menu you're about to indulge in. Each course of this four-course supper adheres to the strict guidelines that people with Crohn's and Colitis have to work through every single day, and it is the inaugural dinner for a catering company that will do exactly this for its future clients: specialized menus for people with complicated dietary needs. The company, she announces proudly, is called Nora Approved, and it is only then that you realize Rico has disappeared from the table.

Dieter watches as your eyes widen, clapping loudly when Rico appears on the stage to answer any questions about the night's menu if they need to be answered and give an outline of what this catering service planned to do.

Steph is practically in tears beside you, and the two of you grab for each other's hands in the same wild motion of shock. "He— he named—" She can't even choke out the words under her breath with the tears threatening to spill from her eyes any second. When you feel like you can breathe again, you turn to look at Dieter in complete disbelief. "Is that...is that why Jordan's been working so much? Did Rico actually quit to start a business?"

"Rico didn't quit." Dieter stresses. "He is merely branching out into a business opportunity that arose after an investor decided they liked his business plan." During the planning of the event, Rico had originally been just planning the menu but the idea of the catering service and thoroughness of his bodyguard had impressed him. Dieter's LLC had – through Libby – invested in the man's idea.

"Dieter Bravo, making dreams come true." You almost don't know what to say, except that you're so flabbergasted by the whole thing that you turn back to Steph and squeeze her hand tightly. "Don't you ever try to tell me that that man isn't head over heels in love with you. He named his business after your little girl."

Steph's eyes are still watering, and her head bobbles up and down quickly. "I – he – oh my god." She breathes out, clutching your hand desperately. "I love him. I really love him."

There's only a single pang of melancholy that lasts half the length of a heartbeat, because you know that Shawn would be so proud to see someone love his baby girl as much as Rico clearly does. There is no chance that he isn't looking down on all this and smiling, glad to see Steph finding her happiness again after so long without it. "I think it's time to tell him that if you haven't already," you laugh quietly, breathily, shaking your head a little as Rico waves to the crowd and hops off the stage to disappear back into what you have to assume would be the kitchens of the building.

Dieter watches with approval as the servers start to bring out the plates. Watching the various celebrities and influential people in this room start to try the food. Wanting this for Rico as well as the foundation. He deserves it. As much as he hates to lose the man cooking for him daily when he's home, this is an impact that he wants made. Especially because it will benefit the little girl that has stolen his heart.

In your entire life you've never heard a room fall silent the way the echoing art gallery does when people start eating. The menu card carefully set out at everyone's places details each course and you can see people everywhere picking up their cards and inspecting them while they eat. It's like watching an entire mass of people hear an amazing song for the first time as one by one, each guest starts to light up with enjoyment.

After about fifteen minutes, obviously working on something in the kitchens, Rico comes back to the table and slides into his seat, immediately leaning over and kissing Steph's cheek. "Sorry about that. I needed to handle a few things." He murmurs to her softly.

“You’re—you’re absolutely incredible.” Steph’s eyes are wide when he sits back down beside her. Wide and watery and so full of love that she could burst. “I—I can’t believe— this is how you decided to have your career as a chef. Doing something like this a-and—and naming it after…” It’s no use, the tears prickling at her eyes spill over and she takes one of his hands in both of hers. “I love you…completely and totally and I—” She laughs through the tears, willing them away, but she’s so overwhelmed with the enormity of everything happening tonight that she can’t helped it. “I love the way you love my daughter.”

Rico grins proudly and reaches up to wipe away the tears from Steph’s eyes. “I love you both. I know it’s so soon to think about anything permanent and I will always follow your lead on letting Nora know, but I’m all in sweetheart.”

“We can—” she sniffles, burying her face in his neck as she hugs him close. “We should tell Nora.” Steph is completely overcome, so entirely overwhelmed and grateful that this incredible man would love her daughter so fully. It had been a secret fear that no one would stick with her, not wanting to care for a chronically ill child that wasn’t their own. But Rico not only loved her, he had taken steps to form a life around her. That is proof enough to Steph a hundred times over that her love for him was not misplaced. “Whenever you want to, love.”

“Whenever you want.” Rico cups her cheek and smiles at her softly. “I never want to replace Shawn, I couldn’t. I just want to love both of you and be there for the two of you.” He chuckles. “The best thing that happened to me was when you beat on my boss’s door to beat his ass.”

“I love you.” Steph murmurs softly, leaning into his touch right there in their seats. “I’m always going to love Shawn but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.” She laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to his lips before she shifts backward again in her seat, not wanting to make the other people at the table uncomfortable. “Maybe we could talk to her over brunch tomorrow? Some good news over her favourite meal?”

“Why don’t we do that?” He asks with a grin. “I can come over early and make it.” He’s not been staying over, never wanting to put Steph in a position to have to explain why he was in bed with her.

“That would be really nice.” After that – after Nora knows and has adjusted to her mom having a romantic relationship – then she’ll feel comfortable adding sleepovers to the list of activities. For now they have quick liaisons or the occasional night that Nora sleeps over with Uncle Deedee and Auntie Gigi, and those have been wonderful.

Rico gives her a big grin, like she has given him the best present in the world. “I have to warn you, my Ma has already asked when I’m bringing you home and she’ll box my ears if I’m not treating you right.”

“Hmm.” Steph ducks her head, grinning so madly that she’s practically burying her head in her hands. “Nora’s never had a white Christmas before…” she offers, thinking of how much her little girl would love the snow. “Maybe it’s time? Two more months seems long enough to see how she’s adjusting to us being together.”

“We can do that.” Rico grins. “I will let Ma know. She will be overjoyed.” He’s already told his ma about them, about him falling for Steph and Nora. They are a packaged unit and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I guess that answers my question about Valentina’s invitation for us.” You hum, tilting your head at Dieter. His grandmother had sent you ornate invitations to his family’s Christmas celebration far in advance because of the travel and planning that would be necessary. You had been nervous about leaving Steph and Nora more or less alone – but if they’re going to New Jersey with Rico, then that wipes all your worries away.

“Only if you want to.” He offers. “We can always either go to your parents or invite them here.” He had met your parents a few weeks ago and still wasn’t quite sure how they felt about your soulmate.

“We can always give my folks Thanksgiving.” It’s something that you could do on your own terms, and would give them more time with Nora and you may have given this a little thought before now. “Inviting them down here for Thanksgiving means they can see Nora, too.” Shrugging slightly, you dig into the second course that the waiter has just set down in front of you: a completely diet-approved plate of cacio e pepe that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread. “We don’t have to decide tonight. But I think it sounds nice.”

“Well, I’m going wherever you are.” Dieter announces. “If it’s to my family’s Christmas, cool. If it’s to lay on a beach in the sun, bring the skimpiest bikini you own.”

“I could just wear that for you at home,” you remind him playfully, squeezing his thigh under the table and lowering your voice. “Where you’re allowed to take it off me.”

“But I want to take it off of you on a private beach.” He grins and sends you a wink. “Or on a yacht in the middle of the ocean.”

“That can be your reward for surviving another weekend with my parents.” Smirking when he pouts at you, you lean over and place a kiss on the tip of his nose. “We’ll figure it out, love. Whatever we do, we’ll have nice holidays to look forward to.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He agrees and looks down at his plate. “This looks like it should be on a painting. It’s art, isn’t it?”

“If it’s possible…” You mumble through the bite of pasta you’ve just taken. “It tastes even better.”

“We’ve got high hopes for this dinner.” Dieter tells you. “Rico wanted to knock it out if the park to show that foods that are accommodating to Crohn’s doesn’t have to be bland.”

“Well you’re doing a very good job.” The older woman sitting across the table tells Rico with a wide smile. The four of you had been seated with people from the Foundation and this woman had been a donor most of her life owing to her own struggle with the disease. “If you’re ready to take new clients, young man, I think you’re going to get a lot of business from this room.”

“Nora Approved is ready for whatever people need.” Rico assures her with a bright smile. He’s relieved that people seem to be eager for his food. “We will accommodate much more than Crohn’s. But that disease is very close to our hearts.”

“Nora is very lucky to have you,” the woman tells him, rightfully guessing that the business is named for someone specific. “I hope she knows how loved she is.”

“She does.” Steph smiles and squeezes Rico’s hand. “She has an amazing set of men in her life. Especially her uncle Deedee.” She grins at Dieter. “She’s five and completely spoiled.”

You can see on Dieter’s face that he’s going to protest that spoiling her is his right, and you grin. “The Toy Story birthday party and phone call from Joan Cusack was pretty over the top. But it was great. She loved it almost as much as she loves you.” With your hand in his you laugh happily.

This is your family – and it’s strange and sometimes messy and a little complicated – but it’s perfect in its very own way.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape @sammus-white @spanishmossmagnolia @frasmotic @quietpainter

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #The Bubble #soulmate au #Trash Can Man

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pentacentric · 7 months

Note

Oooh, tell me about "pretty when you cry"....??? 😊

copying some of what i previously answered for the background, since this is from the same series that's already stsrted being published. Things That Can't Be Seen is canon-divergent (but not excessively) AU, wincest, powers/magic-adept sam, heavy on the world-building (there's a bit more backgound and 2 excerpts under the cut)

firstly, i have to say Pretty When You Cry is named after the VAST song not the lana del rey one which i didn't know about at the time (it's also good but a very different vibe). the story's actually about 2/3 done and already ridiculously long. it was also actually originally started to fill a kinkmeme request (ikr) and it got out of control and then i ended up fitting it into the series

it's set during sam's years at stanford. sam's experiences have made him a lot more comfortable with the more extreme side of his sexuality than in the show, and he's lacking a very good idea of what normal is as well. he continues to mourn his relationship with dean throughout, but he meets brady and they become cluelessly reciprocally-pining friends and eventually lovers. they're into kink pretty heavily (sam's subby and masochistic and bratty, brady is brash and has some lovely repressed aggression but is also very empathetic). but also he and brady genuinely love each other. i'll admit this story is somewhat self-indulgent since i discovered i really love sam/brady while writing this. it's like 50% kink, 50% sam/brady banter, 30% world-building, 20% sam being awkward while trying to figure out how to act like a person. it will get around to demon brady and also jess as well

series background: the major world difference is that the hunting community is slightly more structured (though no less dysfunctional or dangerous, maybe more so) and that it includes dedicated magic users within it (though on the fringes and generally with a lot of reticence and, for some, active resistance). the magic and its systems are also somewhat different and much more developed than in the show. as far as the winchester family goes, john never bothers to hide hunting or the paranormal from either of them. sam starts showing signs of powers (and not necessarily demonic) from a young age. there's also a family ritual that involves painting sigils on one's body that is central to the story

excerpts

this is prob more than you wanted, but you get 2 excerpts because i couldn't decide. 1st is some banter between sam and brady because there's a lot of that in the story. the second is one of my favorite parts that shows some of the magic in this world. they're both kinda long, sorry!

excerpt 1:

............

He shrugs. "And, to top it off...I really didn't know if you were into guys, even."

Brady stares at him. "How could you not know??"

"Well, I mean, I never really saw you flirt with men or anything."

"Yeah, ‘cause I was kinda focused on getting into your pants, you know? Um, had my hands all over you? Sleeping together in the same bed?"

Sam flushes. "C'mon, you're pretty affectionate with everyone, so how was I supposed to know?!"

"You really think I treat all my friends like I do you?" Brady shakes his head in disbelief. "Damn, I'm kinda proud that you think I'm that easy."

"Well, you kinda are. Once you get past the do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no notes stage." Sam grins.

"Maybe I should have given you one of those in the first place." He looks at Sam. "You know what it finally took to get me to man up and do something?"

"Um, getting me desperate and naked and sobbing in your bed?"

"Well, now you're just giving me ideas for later..."

"It's Thursday tomorrow."

"...seriously, you can be such a buzzkill." He huffs. "Sure, that was the spark and all, but the fuse was already primed."

"...you don't prime fuses."

"Well, maybe you don't...you know what I meant, bitch. Anyways, it was Nathan."

"Nathan? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, what he wants to do is you."

"What?"

"...well, I'm kind of reassured that at least it's not just me you're oblivious to. Anyways, he saw you at The Crucible."

Sam almost chokes. "What??"

"C'mon, Sam, you think you're the only kinky bastard in our group of friends? I mean, you might be the most extreme and all, but, really? Like, tell me you at least know that Tara does photography for the kink scene?"

"..."

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like she hides it!"

"Well, she didn't show us her actual pictures! When she said sexy photos, I figured, like, standard boudoir stuff, maybe some pinup."

"Nope. I mean, I think she does a little of that on the side, but most of her stuff is pretty hardcore. Beautiful, though. Hot. You should ask her to see it sometime."

"Huh. Wow. But, um...yeah, Nathan saw me at the goddamn Crucible. And told you about it?"

Brady shrugs. "He worried you might be runnin' around behind my back. Said he wasn't sure it was his place to get involved, and maybe we had an open thing going on, maybe at least where scening was concerned, but that if it were him, he'd want to know. When I told him we weren't like that, he was genuinely surprised. Didn't believe me at first, said everyone would be cool with it, we didn't have to hide anything. Once I convinced him, he was all well, I gotta warn you, if you don't go for it, I will. Told me I had no idea what I was missing out on, by what he saw."

"Oh my god. I only went there once, and...fuck." Sam shakes his head, swallows. "I'm surprised he can still look me in the face and act like everything's normal."

"Well, it's not usually your face I catch him staring at.' Brady smirks.

Sam groans and buries his face in his hands. "I think I've hit my RDA of humiliation today."

"Pssshh, Nate definitely didn't think any less of you for what he saw, I can tell you that much. Anyways, he musta seen something on my face, cause he backed off a little on the goin' after you. Said he didn't really believe in the 'calling dibs' thing, but it was clear you and I had something goin' on, even if we were clueless, and that he wanted to give us a chance to get our shit together. Told me not to wait too long, though. That was about a week before you showed up all fucked up at my door that morning." Brady rubs at the back of his neck. "Was gonna say somethin' to you on the night I made you dinner. Chickened out."

"Declarations of love over spaghetti? Very Lady and the Tramp of you."

"Shut up, bitch. You love to suck my noodle."

Sam shakes his head with a grimace of disgust. "No...just no, dude."

"Eh, can't land 'em all...shoulda gone with 'you're the one that's both the lady and the tramp,' yeah? Anyways, it all worked out in the end, obviously. I got my Disney princess." He picks up his pencil and turns his attention back to the papers in front of him. "Still kinda kickin' myself that I missed that night at the Crucible. Sounded pretty fucking memorable. 'S not my usual club, though."

Sam's brain stalls, reboots a few times. "Wait...you have a 'usual' club? You go to kink clubs?? Which ones? When?"

Brady smirks, doesn't look up, though. "Hmm, yeah, but I think that's a talk for another night. Might get us a little worked up, you know, keep us from gettin' to sleep right away." He turns a page in his book. "And it is Thursday tomorrow, you know."

"...I hate you."

"Whatever you say, Sammy." He innocently bats his eyes at Sam, who hasn't moved and is still staring holes into Brady's head. "Don't you have an essay to finish, baby?"

...

The next morning, as Sam's getting ready to walk into class, he feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He smiles, pulls it out, sees a message notification. Flips it open, and his smile disappears as he freezes in front of the doors of the Keck Building.

G (2 new messages)

Gideon.

His heart clenches. Misses a beat, maybe two. He barely even notices the annoyed girl with the curly pink hair that elbows him; absently stumbling out of the way of the flow of students without lifting his eyes from the phone.

He selects the notification, presses the green button.

-Sam. None of your dreams will come true.

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, the relief outweighing the resentment. Thumbs down to the second message, opens it.

-I won't have to hold your debt for long. I'll contact you soon for assistance.

That feeling at the bottom of his gut; that cold, that clenching. It's not fear.

It's not.

It's just relief that Dean, his dad are ok. Will be ok, for now. Everything else, he can deal with. It's all worth it, for that.

Right?

___________________________

excerpt 2:

............

"So," Brady says, arms spread out, slowly spinning, inviting Sam to take in the whole of the small harbor as if he, himself, had made the sand, waves, and towering cliffs. "This is Gray Whale Cove."

Sam tilts his head back, turning in place to take it all in. "It's amazing." He says, sincerely. "Beautiful."

So maybe he's looking at Brady when he says it.

"Yeah, not too shabby, right? I thought you'd like it here."

And Sam does. It really is spectacular; the slopes and peaks of the cliffs around them a mix of jagged grey stone and ground-hugging green brush, the half-moon of faded gold sand between the promontories jutting into the water on either side of them, the deep steel-blue of the Pacific churning itself through green into foamy white as it thrashes against the sand and crags. The air smells of salt and growing things, but with that base note of mineral you sometimes find in places surrounded by exposed rock. Everything's a little washed over and silvery with the sharp, pale winter sun. His skin prickles in the wind that whips through the cove.

But beyond even that there's a fierce power here that buoys and exhilarates Sam, sets his heart racing. Brady, while he's often so empathetic to the moods and needs of people around him that it still surprises Sam, doesn't have an ounce of sensitivity to the supernatural (and Sam has said a prayer of gratitude for that more than once). But even those without any gift sometimes feel the pull of places like this, without really knowing why. Sam can feel it thrumming through him, ramping up with each deep pulse through him, making his nerves twang like plucked chords, sparking tiny fires in his subtle body. It reminds him of the bass in the Impala vibrating through the seats when the sound's turned all the way up and they're pushing past a hundred on some straight-as-an-arrow, cornfield-choked, midwest backcountry road or a sandswept, broadly curving desert highway in the salt flats of the southwest.

Combined with his already nebulous state from the events of the nights before and today's blessing, he's soaring on it like a leaf in a whirlwind. He can't put away the grin that's cracking his face open. He'd worry about how his eyes must look to Brady (mad, crazy, dangerous) if he could bring himself to grab even a tiny thread of the concrete, the practical world right now. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to center himself a little. If he lets this build too much more he's gonna spin out. Do something dumb and hurt himself or Brady, or, at the very least, the surge is gonna burn through him too fast and he'll be left even more depleted and thinned-out after it's gone.

Regretfully, he pulls up a few of his barriers; not all of them, not all the way. Modulates the rush of energy tearing through him. Less firehose, more broad river to float in. He opens up his eyes slowly, nictitating their astral membranes at the same time, to get a look at the source of the energy swirling through the cove.

It's magnificent. A light-limned nest, a vast net of vital elemental magic and intrinsic etheric energy, woven, knit, exquisitely around them.

The major ley line that skims along the California coast, but only touches shore rarely, intersects here, running right up the length of the beach: a spitting, twisting, living rope of light, pulled taut between the bookend promontories, right over their heads, wide as a 6-lane interstate. But it also crosses no less than six smaller, less-deeply-sourced power lines. They spiral up and over and through the surrounding cliffs and hills; one even snakes up from the ocean floor, through the waves, its light refracting and breaking all green glowing through the turbulent water. But on top of that, there's also the confluence of three fundamental elements—the vast waters of the ocean, the earthy bare rock of the cliffs and hills, and the air of the blue sky high above and the wind funneled down into the cove. They're balanced well, the tension between where they push and pull and merge sending out fountains of branching, fractal luminescence at sudden and irregular intervals.

Sam doesn't know all the power places in North America, of course, but he knows of the biggest, most important ones, and this place he's not heard of. It's much more modest than many of those famous ones in terms of sheer power. It's doesn't have the gut-wrenching sheer force of the convergence of two major ley lines that some spots have, nor does it have the fulgent potential of a place where all four elements meet in equal power, but the mix of the two types of earth energies makes for a delicious nexus of magics. It makes Sam want to strip his clothes off and bathe naked in it.

Which, considering the few other groups of visitors speckled across the beach, might not be the best idea.

Though he'd bet Brady would appreciate it.

With that thought pulling at the corners of his mouth, he turns and looks at his boyfriend standing on the sand behind him.

He's never looked at Brady before with the astral veil lifted, it's not something he wants to make a habit of in his new, normal life. But he can't resist, just this once, and he's not surprised to find the view just as magnificent as what surrounds him. In his own, entirely non-biased, opinion, of course. Brady's aura isn't simple, but Sam didn't expect it to be. It's tangled, knotted, bruised in some places, in others loops in on itself protectively. But it's bright, and threaded with colors that resonate and shift. And it's warm, so warm. It sends tendrils out in some place, seeking out the light of others; vulnerable, but full of a pure kind of desire to connect. Many of them keep drawing back to Sam, slipping along his edges, under the surface. Their borders melt together briefly when they touch, and Sam lets one of his barriers down, just a little, feels Brady penetrate him, warmth spreading out from where they touch. He shivers; it's so incredibly sensual, intimate; he can't help himself. He surges forward, drops his mouth to Brady's, slips his eyes closed; lets Brady's warm tongue and warm emanations push into him.

Breathless minutes later, he opens his eyes, the mundane world filling them now, all glimpses of the metaphysical tucked away again. Brady's smiling at him, bemused and fond.

"I guess you really needed this, huh?"

Sam smiles back. "I guess I did."

With his boundaries tamped down now, the thrumming energy of the place is muted now, in the background. And, while Sam’s still feeling some of the residual euphoria, it's more of a gentle invigoration instead of the inundation from before. He'll only leave here a little recharged compared to how he felt before, but he's also not at risk of spinning out on energy intoxication.

"C'mon," Brady gestures with his head towards the north end of the cove. "Let's walk a little."

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