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mikkaeus · 10 months

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house md hilson fic rec - medium to long fics (10k+)

Other house rec lists: short fics | episode tags | postcanon | infidelity trope (all of these are mutually exclusive apart from the infidelity one) // Edit: I added the longer postcanon fics to this reclist as well because this one got the most traction!

These are all House/Wilson unless otherwise stated. Before we get into the fics, here are some of my fave authors that have written several house fics.

fourteencandles: im literally in love with them . 10/10 writing no notes. also long fics?? hello???

ictus: this author has the range! from emotional to fluff to funny. very smooth writing. all of their fics have different vibes which was fun to read. they’re all very good.

Transformatron: fics that are transcendent and porny, all featuring a d/s undertone or theme (wilson as the dom)

Namaste (livejournal / ff.net): Some short fics, some much longer ones. Mostly gen focussing on H&W friendship, with some fics on canon pairings. Interesting character studies and discerning prose.

In order of length. *faves, ***underrated faves

*Brain Damage by fourteencandles (8k) (Ok I know this isn’t over 10k but I wanted all of their fics on one post and it’s close enough so.) This was brilliant. Like a real episode of House, with Wilson as the unfortunate patient-of-the-week, with bonus House/Wilson. Characterisation was bang on, and the plot was original and engaging and had a satisfying conclusion. Love to see House taking care of Wilson.

Down to the Water + Bound for Home by blackmare (~10k) Aftermath of season 4. House and Wilson go on a road trip. Quiet and sad and fragile, with excellent writing. This fic appears to have been fairly well known in lj days but I don't think a lot of newer people know about it.

*A Smaller World by fourteencandles (10k) The thing between them works, if Wilson doesn't push for more. God I’m so soft. I have so many feelings!!! In love with this established relationship hilson, still a little precarious, but with Wilson adapting, and House willing to put in effort.

*What's Past by fourteencandles (10k) The guy who used to have Wilson's job comes back for a visit, and it turns out they have more in common than Wilson ever knew.

*Touch Therapy by nomad (10k) It's not that House needs the human contact. It's just that when you're sharing an apartment, these things happen sometimes. Light hearted and funny, canon divergence from when Wilson’s staying on House's couch in s2. This is pretty much the homosexual waters have started flowing in House's direction post. Excellent dialogue.

***not another medical drama series (10k) by captainharkness Retelling of season 1 with House and Wilson as an established relationship. Great slice of life stories! Ongoing. The first is H/W POV, the second is Cameron, and the third is Chase. My favourite is definitely the second one (someone else’s story). I adore seeing H/W through the ducklings’ eyes.

Synchronicity by copperbadge (10k) Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love.

systemic by ictus (10k) Ever since Wilson moved in, House has presented with some inexplicable symptoms. Fortunately, he has a team of talented doctors to aid him with his diagnosis. Season 2 fic! This one is funny and sweet and overall a great read.

Rush Down Darkness by Starlingthefool (10k) House MD/World War Z crossover. Told mainly through interview dialogue from house’s pov. Engaging story. House/Wilson definitely takes a backseat to the plot — there’s no grand getting together or anything. That's not to say it's not about them though, because there were still lots of good moments (good in the sense that my heart hurts). More succinctly, it has the vibes of an established relationship fic., although it isn't technically one.

Defensive Strategies by Milkshake Butterfly (~10k) (lj) In which Wilson is tired of being asked out by women when he's not ready to date again, and naturally House proposes a simple solution: pretend to be together. An enjoyable read.

******Commonplace and True by celestialskiff (11k) It would be a simple story--House and Wilson meet at a medical conference, have sex, and enjoy each other's company--but nothing is ever easy, or simple. Explores Wilson's relationship with House, with women, and with himself. House and Wilson throughout the years — with the version of canon where Wilson has cheated on every wife and girlfriend with House. When I tell you I am FROTHING!!! Pining while fucking?? The way it’s never the right time?? The greed of wanting to have your cake and eat it too? (That one’s specifically for Wilson, our beloved three-wives guy.) The vibes are immaculate. The prose is elegant verging on poetic. I’m eating this fic whole and it will be on my mind always. It is THE hilson fic for me. It is criminal that this fic has been up since 2012 and it only has 200 kudos. Go read it immediately & give the author some love.

***Declarations of Independence by Namaste (ff.net, also on livejournal) (11k) House and winter, throughout the years. I really enjoyed this. Excellent writing. Copy pasting a part of a comment by bedawyn which articulates why this fic is unique better than I can: “So far, I've seen a lot of focus in the fanfic (and the eps) on the pain and the Vicodin, but very little awareness of the practical aspects of limited mobility and the emotional impact of those even apart from the pain. So this was a very nice change.”

***Rule of Three by Transformatron (11k) (House/Wilson/Foreman) Foreman sees something he shouldn't have. And, maybe, wants something he shouldn't have, too. This was well written and super hot, with fun dialogue and descriptions that do justice to the excellent writing of the show itself. Foreman is faithfully characterised in a way that made me sympathetic. Also H/W outsider perspective as a third is such a treat to read. Lower me into my grave!!!!

*Warning Signs by out_there (12k) Excerpt: House looked to the left, staring down at the open box. Wilson knew that expression on his face: House was torn between denying it all and gleefully acknowledging his schemes. Normally, his ego won out and, like a comic super villain, he'd explain all. Wilson just needed to stay quiet and wait. This fic was fantastic. I am disgustingly fond. Superb characterisation. Light hearted and funny.

The Oncologist Trap by zulu (13k) (2007) House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium (13k) House and Wilson pretend to be together to play a prank on the ducklings, which is an extremely plausible scenario. From the perspective of the ducklings. Set sometime after 3x15: Half-Wit.

hail mary by ictus (13k) A post-canon fix it! In the weeks since finishing the show and reading this fic there are times I forgot that this wasn’t canon. It’s such a believable (and well-researched) alternate ending that feels like an actual episode.

Son of Mine by simoneallen (14k) Sherlock is House’s long-lost kid. Usually I’m not a fan of cross-over fics but I enjoyed this one. Established relationship on the johnlock side, getting together on the hilson side.

***hearts turn red by ictus (14k) In my head this is the counterpoint to Commonplace and True. When I found it after reading that one it really was a holy shit two fucking cakes?? moment. The delicious infidelity vibes are similar, but the vibes of the writing are pretty different -- whereas the above fic has a more quiet, subdued atmosphere, this one has more snappy prose and it’s more light-hearted with funny moments as well as emotional ones. It’s not just the infidelity theme that makes me crazy about both of them though; it’s how they play on the great tragedy of House and Wilson. In the author’s own words: In a way they do feel a little bit doomed to never quite be on the same page with each other until the very end of the series and by then it's too late. Of course, in these fics, they’re rescued earlier than the end, but the wretched vibes remain. Also, I’m obsessed with this line: By Wilson’s read, House is somehow simultaneously joking and sincere: Schrödinger’s sexual advance. That is the entire fucking show.

An Inconvenient Truth by annathaema (15k) Wilson helps out Cuddy and reveals something about himself in the process. House freaks out accordingly. Also features banana-colored babies, the men's room, and Skee-Ball.

*at the rind by ShanaStoryteller (19k) An AU where Wilson experiences all the near death moments House has in the show as a series of nightmares. Set between 1.19 and 2.05, but spoilers for the whole show. Protective Wilson!! We love to see it. I also like Wilson’s characterisation here - you can very much see how not-normal he is. We love unhealthy co-dependency.

***Esopus Creek by shaycat (24k) An eighty-year-old widower by the name of Eugene Skinner ventures out one September day in upstate New York for his usual morning activity - fly fishing. His leisurely hobby is interrupted by a bickering pair nearby in the river. That chance encounter with Greg House and James Wilson changes the course of his life. Told from the perspective of the last friend the boys make on their final road trip. This was the perfect post season 8, Wilson-still-dies fic. A sad fic but not a depressing one. It’s quiet and heartwarming, in a bittersweet way. Highly recommend. It has great use of outsider POV — I’m always a sucker for it but it worked particularly well in this case to have the angst but not be drowning in it. Also I just really liked the OC.

***Howler Tone by baffledbear (25k) The calls always happen late at night, and they're extremely sporadic, with weeks, sometimes months bridging between them. They talk on the phone otherwise, of course; about patients, or dinner plans, or carpooling. Typical stuff. But the calls that always end a certain way always start a certain way. Wilson is so repressed but so attracted to House. House is taking as much as he can get while still remaining in relative safety. Together they push a platonic relationship to the absolute limits of plausible deniability. Overall totally realistic within the canon of the show — the natural step up from the gay chicken already depicted. It’s just such a perfect scenario for them! That combined with silky smooth prose, faithful characterisation and accurate dialogue makes this fic is a definite hilson favourite and also a hilson-thesis fic.

*The Open Road by Pun (25k) A fandom classic. Road trip fic set in the earlier seasons. It's good; read it.

*He Won't Tell You That He Loves You by hellshandbasket (25k) [In which Nolan pulls at the Wilson thread, and House can't stop it all from unraveling. Repression is a hell of a drug.] Early s6. Another fandom classic that is worth its salt.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare (25k) House makes the mistake of telling his mother he can't join her for Christmas because of his new boyfriend. Somehow, this becomes Wilson's problem. Cute and fun. I put off reading fake-dating fics because I was worried about them being OOC but this one definitely wasn’t!

***Sticks and Stones by Transformatron (25k) (WIP) House has an innovative new idea for managing his chronic pain. Wilson’s not sure he approves - but when has House ever asked for permission? This is such a great concept I am climbing the walls!!! D/s with House as the sub. The story is currently still at pre-relationship stage, with House experimenting with BDSM and Wilson being unhappy with the proceedings (for some unknown reason /s). Also the writing is nice and snappy with some great figurative language that manages to incorporate medical themes impressively well.

Fresh Feeling by justkeeptrekkin (30k) House is tricked into going on a team-building trip with his colleagues. He does far more bonding with Wilson than anyone else. Funny and well written. The team interactions are very cute.

***Tracking Time by Namaste (37k) (ff.net) A look at House and Wilson's friendship over the years and how it has changed from their meeting through the end of the first season. I don’t usually read long genfics but this one was exceptional. I like Namaste’s take on House and Wilson’s characters. And they are a very good storyteller — one thing that you don’t tend to see as much of in fanfiction is the old adage of ‘show not tell’. The writing in this fic is careful and subtle, and lets you read between the lines, making it so that no part of the 37k words is a drag to read.

*The Body Found by fourteencandles (46k) Wilson's missing. When I tell you I cried... Premium angst & hurt/comfort. Excellent dialogue with some alternating POV (House mainly, but you also get the three ducklings & Cuddy).

You Already Know How This Will End by fourteencandles (46k) What if House had gone to rehab right after/around "Merry Little Christmas"? (3.10) This fic was interesting. It’s told in a series of short vignettes with a variety of different perspectives. It’s not really a hilson fic (or a fic for any ship). It just explores the characters. I did wish for more hilson but it’s a good read (I mean, it’s fourteencandles). The one hilson scene near the end where they hire a hooker in Atlantic City lives in my head rent free. Warning that the ending is rather abrupt and I didn’t find it satisfying, but I think it works for this kind of story, in a way. Messy people and their complicated relationships, with a lot of loose ends left untied, because that’s just what life is.

***For Every Closed Door by starlingthefool (around 50k?) (lj) Overview of the chapters (14 with 4 interludes and an epilogue) is on the author’s lj (scroll down). House MD/Dead Like Me crossover. I love this fic a lot! It’s canon divergence from Season 3. House gets killed in a freak accident and becomes a reaper, remaining in the mortal world to harvest souls, able to interact with people but not be recognisable to those that know him. As the author says, this is an Afterlife!Fic and therefore a deathfic. They also said it’s not depressing — which is true, because it’s more plotty than an angstfest, and there are lots of light-hearted parts, but it is definitely heartbreaking at points. I literally cried all the way through the last chapter. Happy ending though!!! Don’t worry about the cross-over aspects. I haven’t seen Dead Like Me, and as far as I can tell, it just takes the premise of the show. I’m glad I found this fic whilst trawling 2000s livejournal because it’s really a hidden gem. Great plot, dialogue, compelling OCs — the whole package! I got so emotionally invested in the story. I think there were maybe a few parts that were a little unpolished but just keep reading. It’s really worth it.

*A Modest Proposal and Involuntary Commitment series by ignaz (98k) The one where House and Wilson get married so Wilson can’t testify against House in the Tritter arc. I have an unfortunate habit of downloading fics and then forgetting to bookmark & comment once I’m done, so I don’t have anything detailed to say about this one, but it’s a classic and a favourite of mine.

Twenty Years of Stealing My Food by hwshipper (100k) A backstory taking place over twenty years, from how House and Wilson met all the way to canon. A reimagining of their fucked up, magnetic relationship, with a straightforward writing style. They get together nearly as soon as they meet and maintain a steady open relationship whilst cheating on their various girlfriends and wives throughout the years.

#house md #hilson #house x wilson #house fic rec #house fic #house md fic rec #house md fic #my rec list

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the-nysh · 1 year

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Hi there!! I just saw your tags on the Vash marksman appreciation post and I really REALLY gotta know your thoughts on the fight choreography bc while I did martial arts as a kid I don’t remember everything and just extremely curious!! Wanna appreciate the thoughts put behind making this boyo!!

👀👀!!! Yes, hello! (Note: I'm also about 10yrs rusty out of practice in hapkido--a Korean defensive art that combines many styles from judo/aikido/etc, so while I may not remember all the formal terms and stuff, I can still SEE the very real and very sexy close combat choreography + randori/grapples/ground work they're smoothly throwing in there!) I've briefly tag-ranted on some former gifs I've reblogged here & here but OK, I can indulge into a little more detail! :D

Let's start with this gif, which is such a nice introductory tease!

The point-blank bullet dodging is some of that sick looking 'rule of cool' inhuman spice, but oh what's this?? 👀 The other dude is dumbly holding his arm out (non-defensively, since if that guy were smart about close fighting, he'd have his other hand up at the ready too) right in Vash's personal space, ripe for the taking - to which OH YES he easily blocks with the prosthetic arm and transitions right into a throw for the takedown. Where he shoves the fool over his shoulder with a lot more power (which is hard to do, esp from a standing position without a solid grip on any lapels either; woo he just goes right in for it), rather than using the dude's own momentum against him, since the guy's literally just standing there (as a stationary weight) rather than trying to punch him in a brawl. But LOOK what else Vash does!!! His block with the prosthetic becomes a grip that both holds/pulls onto the guy's arm during the throw and disarms the guy - by tossing his gun away, in one swift movement! :O Not only that, but there!! We see the first quick tease of him reverse-griping his own heavy brick of a gun into a tonfa position to strike the guy at the back of the neck for a non-lethal stun!!! That is SO cool!!! ;o; Some galaxy-brained application of his no-killing fighting style (using both arms + his revolver in his repertoire...oh wait, that already makes up the title's literal 3 guns *gets shot*) where it looks so fresh and seamlessly smooth af. Great stuff.

Then the Livio fight, despite him being double-armed with long-range weapons, is full of close-range gold from the way Vash tackles him, straddles him, and pins him to the floor with a (forceful!) choke to the throat (like whoa excuse me hello), but ALSO from the self-aware way Vash always has his guard up to keep both of Livio's guns out of the way at all times. D: Whether parrying bullets with his prosthetic, blocking/holding the guns away with that arm too (as shown), or even using his own gun defensively as a tonfa-shield to reinforce his blocks as well.

So then we get to THIS GIF, the same sequence that drove you insane for his smooth marksmanship tracking, drives ME insane for his immediate close-quarters holywhattheflyingshit did he just DO!?!?!?! 👀👀

LOOK AT HIM!!! Honestly it's kinda hard to see everything from how fast he goes, but I love the way he zips in there to grapple Livio off-balance, and ahh!! Look at the way Vash ducks and defensively keeps both arms up (this is SO important, because once you've trained you'll notice how in so many movies/comics' 'rule of cool' martial arts moves, they'll often have a character wildly swing their arms out to the sides to counter-balance kicks and stuff, but no--that's bad/unsafe form; bc if you're in a real fight you need to keep both arms up and ready at all times if you want to protect your core/face from getting blown off! Which just as you've noted, is something that needs to be practiced! The fact Vash has kept his unblemished pretty face for 150yrs is testament to that~) Vash knows how to simultaneously use his prosthetic AND his gun as needed--cause look at that, he swiftly holds it reversed as a tonfa again to block Livio's gun swing, which is a really cool way to use a gun as a shield to protect his own flesh arm from the incoming blows.

But that's not all, because ahaaa~ Fighting defensively is not all he's got up his sleeve! The little boxing jab he throws to Livio's face with his prosthetic arm makes me giggle, because OH YEAH that's a real thing! A type of distraction strike you pull - the same as stomping on a foot or kicking someone in the balls, to disorient your opponent off-guard first before you serve your real (offensive) move. Which in Vash's case leads up to a....O___O;;!?!? TF is THAT.

Here's where they're teasing in more of that inhuman spice again, because Vash holds Livio's guns out of the way (as usual) and revs up for a....fucking one-punch to the solar plexus at point-blank?!? D8 Whatwhatwhatwhat!!! Because that wasn't his gun's doing at all; he was still holding it defensively in that arm as a tonfa! That was his real arm's natural brute strength bitch!!! aaaahaha!!! wow I love it. The guy modestly says he's not much of a fighter but that's not trueeee at all, is it~ ;) I can SEE real proof of that otherwise and I can't wait for what else studio orange will show us to blow our minds.

*Ahem* So anyway did I ever mention how much I like the way he reverses the grip on his gun to use as a tonfa? (both defensively as a shield to protect himself and offensively to stun/strike his opponents with) For thematically how much it seamlessly works for his fighting style to never kill, for how the improvised (but practiced!) close-range practicality and versatility of it looks crazy awesome, and because damn, that shit's hot.

#trigun #gif #commentary #totallynotsilversora #replies #hoho so happy to oblige to share more nerding out insanity for him #studio orange really did their homework that's both recognizable and flattering to those who know our shit!#(just don't ask about the footwork as that's where i'm too rusty to comment on the physics without jumping back in the rec room to try)

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miyaur · 1 year

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ok but tbh im surprised not a lot of ppl have talked ab having phone sex with the hsr men because like....

— ok hold on nonnie, you cant just give me one of the best ideas ever, and leave me hanging cuz um????? only made scenrio for the ones onboard with the astral express huhuuu, FOR JING YUAN/LUOCHA/BLADE JUST IMAGINE THY JOIN THR ASTRAL EXPRESS !!!, lowkey my worst work, i dont feel good :)

— heads up! phone sex, mutual masturbation??, idk character strokes cock thing

dan heng, caelus, welt, luocha, jing yuan, gepard, blade, sampo — the astral express!

it just started off as a small conversation, himeko decided to separate you two for this mission. so while he was out trailblazing, you were watching the planet, every day 'till he came back. and you couldn't help but feel lonely. all you could do was wait for him to reply to your texts, asking if everything was going well, all that stuff (more utc.)

texting each other "wish you were here right now", etc., just telling each other about the past days. somehow, it slowly turns into flirting, and even into sexting, those pictures of you with only laced lingerie, just captioned "ready for when you come back<3" and he can't help but stroke his clothed cock that was just all of a sudden hard. covering his mouth, trying to muffle his mouth as he slowly took out his dick. reddened shy tip just waiting to be stroked. dan heng couldn't help but imagine his cock inside you, you teasing him by moaning into his ear didn't help his situation, it helped him get off better though! as he could barely contain his own moans, it seemed like you were getting off too <3 and it seemed like your climax was coming earlier than expected, and you couldn't help but let such sultry moans out of his name. his cock ached for you, but all he can do for now is do the same as you and imagine </3

⟢ ⁺ ﹒ ₊ TAGLiST ◌ !!

@edit-me-prettyplease @reveihehe @hyuga-nhi @red-kh @arseniiiarso @h4wkz @rinn31 @ablondehoe @chaik1 @pianopuppygirl @lupicalbestwolf @usagiagastopia @venniin @heartswonder

if you submitted a form to my TAGLIST but dont see your tag/your tag isnt underlined?

:: i received your form AFTER this was posted :: the @/user you put in the form isn't valid/i can't tag it

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kenananamin · 7 months

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A Sorcerer’s Spirit

A story inspired by the 1947 film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Summary: You move into an older house that keeps going up on the market. Avoiding all the warning signs, you move in and meet the ghost of a sorcerer named Nanami Kento. Nanami sees you struggling with the piling bills that could put your livelihood at stake and suggests you write stories from his life to sell and help decrease the growing worry.

Preview: Nanami rounds the couch and sits beside you, “I have a plan.” You raise an eyebrow at him, “My life was not exactly… normal. Not a lot of people know about what I do — did. I think you can make some money with my stories.” You put down the letter in your hand and furrow your brows, “What?” Nanami shifts to face you, “Write my story. We can write it as a thriller or mystery or supernatural piece. We can change the genre depending on the story.” He explains with a proud grin and... you're confused.

Warnings: implied spoilers, mentioned deaths of several characters

Tags: nanami kento x fem!reader, sad, angst, ghost nanami, sad reader backstory, happy ending

~6.3k words

You sit at your table with the growing pile of bills and a throbbing headache. Having to move during such a difficult time and changing the address to every single letter you dread every month was absolute torture. You weren’t even able to unpack anything for your room, bathroom, or kitchen. Your priority was the big plastic bin with pending letters.

2:34am. You weren’t going to finish anything else for the night, so you stand to go to your mattress instead. God knows where the blankets and pillows are so you grab your jacket to use as a blanket for the night. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, it’s not like it’s going anywhere, you think.

You sleep almost immediately after laying on the mattress and if you had stayed awake for a minute more, you would have seen the figure appear by the doorway.

“Hmm,” the man by the doorway ponders, “I wonder how long it’ll take for you to leave…”

———

You wake up with the sun shining directly on your face, “Damn it. I should’ve put the curtains up.”

You take the sun’s assault as your sign to start your day. Going past the table full with the pending letters, you grab a couple boxes labeled bathroom and start unpacking. You were ready to settle into the house and you did not plan to move again. The landlord was a bit hesitant to rent this place to you but it was the size you needed and you just had to ignore the other warnings this place had attached to it. If you didn’t bother any other … things … that were here, then they would leave you alone too … right?

The doorbell rings and you knew it was the moving company with your bigger furniture. Four men start moving everything in and you focus on unboxing the things that were in their way. You’re putting a shoe rack in the entryway closet and close the door when you see a man standing right behind the cloor.

“Oh shit!” you jump back, “Oh – oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you just scared me.” You try to laugh off the weird encounter and look back at the man, “Sorry, was I blocking your way?” You move to the side and make space for the man, but – you notice he’s not holding anything… and his attire is very different from the movers.

“For how long are you planning to stay?” he asks with his hands in his pockets.

Did this random man just barge into your house?!

“You’re… not a mover. Please get out of my house, now.” You block the way to the rest of your house with your body and step forward.

The man chuckles and steps forwards too, “That’s my line. You get out of my house.”

You step back to turn and call one of the movers to help, but the man literally… disappears. You’re frozen in your entryway for a moment but you run into your house looking for the man. Maybe he just went past you and you think he disappeared?? The oldest mover goes to you and asks if you’re ok, worry obviously stitched into his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, umm, are any of the movers wearing like a – a suit? Or did anyone see someone else around the house?”

The older man looks to his colleagues but quickly turns back to you, “Miss, it’s only the five of us here.”

———

You spend the rest of the day looking around for that man. You looked in every room and closet and even checked the perimeter of the house for any possible breach. All windows were locked and doors closed. It makes sense that the man was at the entryway, the door was wide open for the movers… but where did he go?

You’re back at your table, trying to read the new bill that came in today, but distracted with the thoughts about that man that entered your house. You lean your head down on the table and focus on your breathing to try and avoid any panic or anxiety.

“Your furniture is too small for this place.”

You immediately lift your head to the voice that broke your silence, to the voice you recognized from that morning. How did he get in here?

You push your chair away and stand up to prepare to defend yourself if needed. The man looks you up and down and quietly says, “so dramatic.”

You grab the scissors you were using to shred the old letters and hold them in front of you, “What are you doing here?! How did you get in here?!”

The man looks at the scissors and laughs a bit. He starts to close the gap between you as you step back while swinging the scissors at the man who kept getting closer and truly scaring you. You keep stepping back and back and end up against a wall, and he steps right in front of you – right in front of you. You look to your hands that you know are still holding the scissors, but anything beyond your wrists – there’s nothing. Your wrists, hands, and scissors are inside this man’s chest and he is nonchalantly standing right in front of you.

You might have screamed, maybe, you aren’t too sure. But you know you faint and fall to the floor and the last thing you see are this man’s polished shoes.

———

You wake up against the cold floor. A male voice rings out, “You’re the first person to actually move all their furniture in here and unpack the bathroom and kitchen. Most people unpack their towels, maybe their toothbrushes and a pot or pan before running out again.”

You start to sit up, deciding if you should come to terms with the fact that you’re being held hostage in your own home. “Who are you?” You tried asking as brave as you could but the shakiness in your voice couldn’t be hidden and quickly gave you away.

The man is sitting on your couch, legs crossed and one arm leaned against the back of the seat, “I actually feel bad that you fainted and reacted the way you did so I won’t play my games right now,” he stands and makes his way to your spot on the floor. “I’m Nanami Kento, and this is my house.”

His house?? You furrow your brows and open your mouth to talk but he, Nanami, interrupts, “Yes, my house. I’m dead. But this is still my house. Haunted places don’t do well in real estate so not many people make it here, but the ones that do immediately leave because again – my house. I make sure people don't stay for long.”

You don’t move from your spot, speechless by this man. In a truly inexplicable way, you might, maybe, perhaps believe him...

“So when do you leave?”

The question brings you out of your shock and you stand to confront him, “I am not leaving! Your house?!” you scoff, “Sir, this is my house now. I am not leaving my house because a ghost in a suit refuses to leave limbo! Now leave!!”

Nanami grimaces but leans in to stop inches away from your face, “We’ll see.”

———

You get used to wearing your headphones the whole day around your house. You would flinch when you’d turn the corner and see Nanami lounging around or, in a couple occasions, waiting for you as soon as you opened a door.

You would see his lips moving, trying to talk to you but you’d look past him and continue what you were doing. It’s been over a week since you moved in and you’ve only had a couple conversations with him that usually end up in him calling you a “stubborn girl” before your headphones are back on.

You’re walking back home with a few groceries. The house was not too far from the store, but it was a good distance to let your ears rest from the headphones. And think about those bills. You would be ok with the next few payments since you’ve saved enough in the bank, and your job could cover a bit more after that but you’d run out of funds soon and have to live paycheck by paycheck. Then your mom would move in, then your brother too. Three mouths to feed…

You rub your face and walk into your house.

“I thought your name was y/n.”

You flinch after hearing Nanami’s voice. Shit, you forgot to put on your headphones. You start taking off your shoes and respond, “It is.”

“Then why are those medical bills written to a ‘Mari’?”

You look up to the man with his hands in his pockets, “Were you looking through my stuff?! Stop looking through my stuff!”

He tilts his head, “I didn’t go through anything. You always leave everything out on that table.” He shrugs after seeing your glare, “I got bored looking out the window, so I started reading what I could.”

You scoff and roll your eyes as you make your way to the kitchen. Nanami follows you and tries to peek inside your grocery bags.

“So why are there so many bills?” Nanami asks and leans on the counter as you take out your things.

You don’t feel like answering so you ask him, “Why is this house so cheap?”

To your surprise, he answers and points to himself, “It’s haunted.”

You roll your eyes and grab the butter and milk to put in the fridge.

He continues, “And over the years, this area hasn’t been as popular. The area west of here is in demand so this whole neighborhood has been going down. It might get really quiet around these streets soon.”

You close the fridge and look at him. You honestly weren’t expecting any sort of answer from the man despite the very simple question. He usually ignored your questions too and you just asked the first thing that came to mind to avoid answering his question. You take a deep breath, Oh what the hell, it's a ghost, “A lot of them are medical bills,” Nanami looks into your eyes as you explain, “My parents and brother were in a really bad car accident. The other car got away and there was no insurance to help. Everyone was hospitalized and the bills… didn’t stop. They lost their house after that and… and my dad passed shortly after.” You clear your throat as you finish your explanation, “Funerals are pretty expensive too…”

There’s a short silence before you hear a soft and genuine, “I’m sorry. It seems like you’ve taken over everything.”

You nod but look away from the man before he can notice your glossy eyes.

“Is that why you need this house? A place for your mom and brother?” he softly asked.

“Yeah. My mom should be leaving the hospital soon. My brother has a couple surgeries left but he’d move in soon after.”

Nanami nods as you finish your sentence. For the first time since you moved in and he appeared in front of you, he turns and leaves the kitchen without you having to say anything. You peek into the rooms to check for him, but he’s nowhere to be found after your first open conversation.

———

You’re shredding some old bills on your couch when you hear light steps behind you. Ever since you told Nanami about your situation, he hadn't been bothering you as much as that first week. He might pop up for a bit but he'd usually disappear and be unseen for most of the day. Nanami rounds the couch and sits beside you, “I have a plan.” You raise an eyebrow at him, “My life was not exactly… normal. Not a lot of people know about what I do — did. I think you can make some money with my stories.”

You put down the letter in your hand and furrow your brows, “What?”

Nanami shifts to face you, “Write my story. We can write it as a thriller or mystery or supernatural piece. We can change the genre depending on the story.” He explains with a proud grin and... you're confused.

You think about what he said for a while, "why do you want me to write your story?"

He shrugs, "It's not that I want my story out there to be remembered or something like that. I just think it would be interesting to write them out. But most importantly, it could help you and your family. And look at me," he points to himself, "dead. It's not like I would need any of that money, it would just be to help you."

"How do you even know that your stories would make money?" you ask more unsure of the plan the more you talk about it.

He lifts a brow playfully, "Oh y/n, you haven't even heard my story yet. You'll be begging me to write it."

The next week and a half was filled with Nanami telling you his story in great detail and the ideas he had on how to write each part of his life. You weren't sure at first but the more he told you about his life, the more intrigued you were. Sorcerers, curses, staying in the shadows yet being in the open without a single soul noticing. You'd sit in bed at the end of the night, writing blurbs and brainstorming with what he told you that day. It wouldn't be easy to try to sell this, you weren't even sure where to start, but it was a nice distraction after those terribly long days at work and heartbreaking hospital visits.

"I don't like that last sentence, it wouldn't keep the reader's attention," Nanami spoke from beside your bed and you jumped up, not expecting the man to be learning against the wall right next to your bed.

You had been getting used to Nanami appearing out of nowhere but it still surprised you when you thought you were finally alone only for him to break that silence... again.

You look up to ask the question that's been plaguing you since starting to listen to his stories, "How am I even supposed to sell this? It is interesting and all, but I don't know anyone and I'm sure publishing companies won't even look my way despite how good your story is."

Nanami keeps his eyes on the screen when he says, "Kiyokata Ijichi. He can help sell this. I'll give you more information so he believes you, but I know he'll help."

You blink rapidly not understanding a word of what he just said but look down again to re-do the last sentence.

———

You met with Kiyokata Ijichi and it did not take much convincing to get him to believe that a sorcerer's spirit was floating around you at home and he wanted you to sell his story. It made the man laugh and he had to remove his glasses to wipe his tears after hearing how Nanami looked. Nanami had told you about the last few hours of his life, how chaotic it had been in Shibuya and the last image others around him must have had. He knew his death was a gruesome one and that it'd be reported and filed for other sorcerers. Ijichi would of course have found out how his colleague —no, close friend, died. The man was content that Nanami wore his suit and still had his glasses...

Ijichi took what you had of the transcript and told you he would find a publishing company. He assured that he would usually not even listen to a proposition like the one you presented him, but he wanted to do anything to help his friend one last time.

You took the opportunity of your meeting to ask questions about Nanami. Ijichi spoke a bit of his adolescence, but spent most of his time complimenting the talented sorcerer for his skill in fighting and caretaking personality despite the stoic appearance. You could tell he admired the man and truly truly missed him. He mentioned he would've have liked to answer one more call from Nanami and help him one last time. This was the call he was waiting for, and he would do everything to make sure this mission given by Nanami Kento was completed.

———

You started to leave a chair at the table out for Nanami to sit when you left the house for work or the hospital. You'd leave sheets and sheets of paper spread on the table and floor so he could move around the house and read the edited stories to give you notes and/or corrections when you got home. You had tried handing him a stack of the new edits before, but they just plopped on the floor. Nanami stared at the stack on the floor and told you he could not lift or touch anything. His brows lightly furrowed and you could see the sadness extending into his eyes. Although he would mist away as a spirit, you would honestly forget that this man was not actually there. To you, he was like another visitor whose company you started to enjoy. You started spreading the paper on other surfaces that day and although Nanami did not tell you anything at that moment, he was grateful that you'd take the time and energy to do it.

———

"Can I ask you something... kind of personal?" You look up from your laptop to glace over to Nanami sitting across from you reading his next story you had edited. He nods and you continue, "how come you never leave the house? You stop at the door when I'm walking out and you've never attempted to walk out with me.."

He puts his elbows on the table and looks straight into your eyes, thinking about how to answer. "After my death in Shibuya, I had very little energy in the afterlife. I was ready to go at that moment, but a part of me wanted to continue — to stay. I had thought about home and how much I would have liked to be home resting, packing for my trip that never happened. I didn't know I was doing it but I attached myself to my house in the process. I can leave, but it takes a lot of energy even as a spirit. If I have very low energy, the door does not lead me out to the street, but it becomes a beacon of light that I suspect would take me to the actual afterlife. I'm not sure I should take that chance right now and head out the door with the possibility of not coming back."

You softly nod at his response, "thank you for telling me. I'm sorry again about Shibuya, but thank you for telling me... and helping me, Nanami."

The man smiles at you and simply replies, "thank you for listening."

———

"Please promise me that you won't show yourself to my family. Please, I don't want her to see anything she shouldn't and go back to the hospital from shock," you tell Nanami as you fix the pillows on the couch, preparing for your mom's homecoming. He assured that only you will see him and that he will not speak around your mother to avoid you accidentally giving an answer out loud and freaking her out. You head out to pick up your mom from her lengthy hospital stay while Nanami looks out the window, awaiting your return.

When you're back inside, Nanami is leaning on the kitchen counter, listening to your mom thank you for everything and compliment the place. You would catch Nanami smiling at you both when you'd glance his way. A deep part of you thought, I wish they could meet. I wish I could tell her about the man standing so close to us, the man who has been keeping me from a complete break.

In the kitchen, Nanami thought, They look so alike, the same eyes, bright smile, beautifully soft hair, calm beating heart... A beating heart. She was alive, she has a tint to her cheeks, she can touch and feel. Alive. Unlike me.

———

Ijichi found several publishing houses that were interested in your stories and a few even offered deals for multiple books and volumes. The books would be published under a pen name, a combination of both yours and Nanami's name that you both contemplated one late night on your bedroom floor, far from your mother's listening ears.

You ran back home to tell Nanami the news, too excited to wait until the end of the work day. Thank the heavens that your mom was at her part time job when you got home, you don't think you'd be able to contain your excitement to your room at a moment like this.

"Nanami!! Nanami, where are you!" You start screaming out for him as soon as you open the door. But.. it's quiet, "Nanami, Ijichi called!! Where are you!" You head for the common space but he's not there either. A quiet alarm starts going off in your head, but you try to push it back. You try to smile and ask again, "Nanami? Hey, where are you? I have news from Ijichi about the book — can you come out?"

Silence. You only heard your footsteps walking into rooms while looking for Nanami. You open the door to the extra room you use as an office sometimes and see Nanami mist into shape in the corner, "Oh! I found you!" Relief immediately spreads in your chest and you smile widely at the man.

Nanami returns a small smile and asks what happened. You excitedly share the news and jump around him while repeating every single detail Ijichi said. Nanami listens with a smile as he leans on the small desk in the room. He tried to keep the smile on his face for you, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. I can't do this to her yet, oh god — no, not yet. I know I should for her sake, but I... can't.

———

Nanami enters your room as you're asleep. Your eyes softly shifting behind your lids, your fingers occasionally twitching and your chest slowly and repeatedly rising and falling. He never considered coming into your room while you were asleep before, but he wanted to tonight. Just tonight. He kneels next to your bed and lifts his hand to your hand. I can't touch her. My fingers go into her hand and I cannot feel her at all. Nanami floats his fingers over yours, pretending his hand is resting on yours as it would if his form was tangible. He imagines what your skin would feel like. What your small, soft hand would feel like to hold in his. I have to try, I have to give her what I can. Nanami floats his hand over your heart, imagining he could feel the soft beating he would focus on listening when you were around. He leans in closer, much closer than ever before, and gently hovers over your your lips. If only I really could. He pretends to land a soft kiss on your lips, something he wishes he could actually do a thousand times.

———

You jump around and cry when a copy of your soon-to-be released book is finally in your hands. The first of a five-book series. Nanami stands next to you and smiles as you show your mom what you had been working on. You leave out the fact that a sorcerer who hovers around the house helped you write it and say it was a fantasy book you've been thinking about for a long time.

Your mom starts crying, proud that you wrote a book and apologetic for potentially taking so much of your time when you were trying to do something for yourself. You're comforting her and telling her you're glad to be able to provide and be with her.

Nanami goes into the office to give you the space and privacy to talk with your mom. He decides it's finally time. Tonight, I'll do it tonight.

Late at night, after a long conversation with your mom, you sit on your bed as Nanami sits on your floor. You're still holding the book, tired from the overwhelming excitement and adrenaline. You had also just gotten news that your brother would be coming home within the next few days. For the first time in a long time, your face hurt from smiling and crying so much the whole day. You lie down and tell Nanami, "I'm so happy Nanami. Thank you for helping me so much," you felt the tears well up again, "you've helped so fucking much." The tears fall but your smile does not falter as you thank him.

Nanami wishes he could wipe your tears, but he stays in his spot next to your bed and says, “Call me Kento, I think we’re close enough for you to call me by my first name now.” Nanami wanted to hear you voice say his name, to see your lips move to every consonant and vowel in the beautiful way he'd imagined.

For some reason, the thought of calling him his first name makes you let out a small giggle. You look at his waiting face, “Thank you Kento. Thank you a thousand times over.”

You both sit there smiling at each other as your tears continue to fall. He comforts you how he can and you both stay awake talking late into the night. And that night, before your exhaustion drifted you to a slumber, you imagined the bed shifting next to you and Nanami laying down beside you. His body warming the other side of your bed, and his arms wrapping around you and embracing you.

Nanami waits for you to sleep as he watches from the same spot on your floor, for your breath to slow down and even out. He gets on his knees and hovers a kiss over your lips and another on your forehead.

That would be the last time you saw Nanami. And you would not remember how he helped you or kept you company.

———

Nanami used all the energy he could to leave the house for the first time since shortly after his death. He had only left the house once before and it drained him enough that he could not even mist his body into appearing. But tonight, he had to leave to go see Ijichi, even if that meant risking not having the energy to appear in front of anyone ever again and not knowing where he'll end up.

Nanami leaves the house, tired, but finally leaves and starts to make his way to Ijichi's apartment. Nanami waited for Ijichi, knowing he would open the door at the crack of dawn to leave for work as early as he always did.

Ijichi opened the door and to say the breath was knocked out of him would not be an understatement. Nanami appeared as a faint and transparent figure in front of Ijichi, compared to the opaque figure he could create with you with the energy of the house. Faint and transparent, Ijichi still cried and thanked the heavens for a chance to see Nanami in his fine attire one more time. Nanami spoke fast, saying he did not know how much time he would have, but asked Ijichi for one last favor.

Nanami asks Ijichi to find someone to erase the memory of him in your mind. He did not want to be remembered by you and wanted you to enjoy your life and new-found success without wondering about the what if's. Nanami saw the way you looked at him lately and it broke his heart every single time. He saw you pondering the possibilities and he knew you both were thinking the same things. Nanami wanted you to live, to enjoy your life without thinking of the 'between' where he would stay.

Ijichi agrees and says he will stay in contact with you with the excuse of being your agent. Nanami agrees and stands by his friend's entryway as Ijichi calls someone and they all rush back to the house before you wake. Nanami tells Ijichi how to get in and he quietly stands with Ijichi in the corner of the room as the woman Ijichi called rests her hand on your forehead, altering your memories and giving you peace.

———

Many, many years later…

Your brother and his grandson have just left your house. You sent your nurse home early and now you sit in bed with the photo album your grandnephew made for you and a mug of your favorite tea. Your hand hurts if you hold the tea for too long but you enjoy the warmth of the mug on your stiff hands. You finish looking over the photo album and put it down next to you and shift down your bed to sleep while you think about the precious photos your grandnephew thought to give you. You turn off your lamp and feel yourself drift off to the happy thoughts of your brother and his beautiful family.

You wake up and the sun is barely starting to shine through your window. You move to sit up and it’s… easier. Your back does not hurt, and you were able to sit up much faster than you have in years.

“y/n.”

The familiarity in the voice stops you mid-stretch. You slightly turn and see a man. But... not just any man…. Nanami?

It’s overwhelming. Your eyes are scanning his figure as the memories flood in, the arguing and bickering, the planning, the writing, the laughter, the tears… all of your memories. He’s standing on the other side of the bed and smiles. It’s the biggest smile you’ve ever seen from anyone, especially from him from what you can recall. His eyes no longer hold the sadness from before, it’s – it’s relief?

“I wanted to be the first one you saw after…” he pauses and looks behind you on the bed, “it was peaceful, painless, wasn’t it?”

You follow his gaze and look directly behind you to where he’s looking. And there you are. You’re laying still and it looks like you’re asleep. You scramble away from your figure and stand up in a semi-panic.

Nanami walks around the bed as you keep staring at yourself, dumbfounded, and reaches for you, and touches you. Actually touches you. You flinch at the contact at first but lean into it immediately. It was almost as if your body was waiting for his touch, yearning for it and not being able to relax until the contact finally happened. This was the first time you felt him. His fingers lightly grazed your forearm and slid down to your hand, half intertwining your fingers.

You look away from your body on the bed and look at Nanami. He has stepped closer and is looking at every detail on your face. You look down at your hands and notice they are no longer wrinkled and covered in sunspots. These hands were the hands that typed for hours on end, the hands that covered the floor with sheets of paper, the hands that reached for Nanami's back as he walked away… the hands from when you were young.

“You’re beautiful.” Nanami moves a few strands of loose hair and leaves his hand on your cheek.

“Why did you leave? What happened to you?” You tilt your body to face him, moving closer and snuggling your face into his hand, savoring the feeling of his large hand on your cheek.

“I never left you alone. I was still here, I just didn’t want you to see me,” Nanami sighs. “You needed to live your life, I wanted you to live your life.” He pauses before asking, “do you regret it?”

You step closer to him, your bodies only inches apart, “What?”

“Writing my story, the memories of it all.”

You shake your head. You lived your life after the book, Nanami made sure that you were set before taking a step back and watching from afar, from behind. You could never regret writing his story. After all, it was his house and his story that brought you two together.

Nanami asks another question as he strokes small circles on your cheek with his thumb, “Darling, why didn't you leave — get married?”

Why didn’t you? You think for a moment before answering, “I – I was too attached to this place, I think. I couldn’t leave this house and the thought of it was too sad, I would shut down those conversations immediately when my family would bring it up. I thought maybe it was the memories I had in this place with my family... but I think it was you. Subconsciously, I think I knew it was you I didn't want to leave behind. I never felt like getting married either, I was living well by myself, and I did well.”

He moves both hands to your face, staring into your eyes and rememorizing the mesmerizing color that he missed staring into. The feeling of his fingers finally being able to touch you is almost too overwhelming, “I’m sorry... and thank you. For living so well… and for so long.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and finally, after decades since the first time you thought about it, kiss him. Your first kiss, his soft and supple lips covering yours as he lowers his arms and pulls you in closer. It is slow, so painfully but beautifully slow. You had both fantasized about this moment, the moment to finally feel each other so closely. Nanami pulls away from your lips but drags his lips around your face, kissing random spots over and over again.

You slightly pull away from him and ask, “was I an ugly old woman?”

Nanami laughs at your bizarre question during such an intimate moment. He pulls away as well to drag his eyes to look every detail of your face again, touching your hair and leaning his lips back over your forehead, “No, you were the cutest woman I’ve ever seen.” He leans away again but some of the sadness from before flashes in his eyes, “I just wish I met you during my life... and aged with you to touch your wrinkled hands and run my fingers over your smile lines and grey hair.”

You smile at him to relieve his sadness and move to hold his face, “You can hold me now whenever you'd like. And I can hold you, touch you, whenever I’d like.”

Nanami returns your smile and holds your hands to slowly pull you out of the room. He starts to slowly look around the house and you understand why. You’re leaving – the both of you. This would be the last time you’d be in this house… because you were leaving with Nanami. You follow his lead and look around the house one last time. The kitchen you’d brainstorm in, the living room floor and couch you'd congregate to for the next chapter, the office you’d sneak off to so your mother could not hear you, the bathroom you’d argue in with Nanami when he didn’t agree on a few sentences from a chapter. There were so many memories, with and without Nanami, you lived a long, eventful, and ultimately joyous life.

You both end up back in your room where Nanami looks over your aged body on the bed then the pictures on your nightstand and bookshelf. A full life. A happy ending to a devastating start. He feels your hand on his back, and he turns. The stark contrast to your aged body, the young woman who stood up to him after trying to stab him with a pair of scissors... and trusted him.

You both hear the door pad slide open and the clicking of the buttons. You hold out your hand to Nanami and he happily accepts the hand he'd been yearning to touch. You both walk out of your room and pass by the unknowing nurse walking to your room and hear a gasp followed by quiet prayers. You and Nanami stood to the side as the funeral home came for your body. The respect they showed and the grief of the nurse you loved told you you had done enough, and you were ready to go.

Nanami squeezes your hand a bit and nods towards the main door. You nod to him, and you both start to make your way to the door, saying quiet goodbyes to your favorite parts of your house. Nanami’s house, your house.

“Thank you Kento, for letting me live such a life. And for waiting for me.”

His wide smile returns to his face, “I’ve been waiting decades to hear you say my name again. It’s all I’ve wanted.”

You're both smiling with heads held high amongst the humans who all have somber expressions and their heads down. You pass the foyer and look back one last time. Nanami is not alone, and neither are you. You'd both be together in the next step, happy to finally experience something together in the same form. He softly kisses you again before stepping closer out the door. Hands tightly held together, bodies side-by-side, you both step into the bright white light.

the end

a/n: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is one of my favorite movies ever. black and white movies fill a very special place in my heart so please please try watching them if you haven't yet!

252 notes · View notes

kyupidos · 3 months

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02/23/24’s delivery 🏹✉️ twisted wonderland

google how to confess to my bsfヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ,ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ ;; summary. ‘they really just want to romance you, really really—but by the sevens is it difficult.’

part one. ft. a. trappola , s. zigvolt

characters. first years : deuce spade , jack howl , epel felmier ( separate ) ;; romantic . 🖇️ tags. reader is gender neutral ( you/your ), reader is yuu, pre-relationship, romantic fluff

📡 _a/n. on my lifers i needa learn to stop posting in series bc i know it’ll take millennia to finish..whoopsie daisy!!

d. spade

— who has the most negative rizz out of the first years and why is deuce spade in second place what the carp 😭😭 ok serious mode back. let it be known that while deuce is absolutely going to trip up even if it’s just a bit when trying to acknowledge his feelings for you, there’s no way he’s ever gonna back down!! deuce is proof that chivalry is not dead because he treats you with so much care he is such a gentleman, the sweetheart.

— maybe it’s true he doesn’t have much experience because of his delinquent era.. but by sevens if his heartslabyul seniors and wikihow aren’t helping him through this, then—well no actually he’d still be confessing but he really wants to try and get his feelings through with a hundred percent accuracy. oh, but how the words, the words he’s ever so carefully trying to find get lost whenever you’re around, flustering him when you compliment him which sends his heart into an absolute rollercoaster.

— inviting you on a secret date on his birthday, wanting to prepare egg dishes for you, his feelings sure aren’t the most hidden compared to the rest..not like he’s trying to hide it, though! it feels odd to say, but he’s super fond of the light teasing and the jokes about the idea of him and you being together; it brings hope to the idea that you reciprocate, and as per the prompt mentioned in part one..oh, ABSOLUTELY you do, and it’s surprising he picked up on his own feelings before picking up on yours.

— like i’ve mentioned once in the past—he’s one of the quickest to be able to admit his feelings to you. so while these more oddly romantic moments between the two of you since he first realized his feelings do seem to last for forever, truth be told it’s probably only been three days ( the rest of the first years squad BARRFSS at the cringe and yet at the same they’re all sharing popcorn ready to witness the confession ). flirt with him maybe once or twice more before said confession, he eats it up.

— but also he’s sooo confused when the other first years are prodding at him and making fun of the fact that he hasn’t confessed in that three day timespan yet..like he’s not even trying to hide it yet he’s flabbergasted that people realize like?!

( also ace is the one in first place for neg rizz. adeuce and their negative rizz shenanigans.. )

j. howl

— as he mentions in one of his chats; it’s not like he doesn’t have at least one romantic bone in his body. and while jack sure may not be the most conventionally romantic of the lot, that’s just who he is and doesn’t make him any less capable of trying to make sense of his feelings for you. ‘til he begins having a bit of a tsundere moment as he tends to.. perhaps, you’ll have to be the one leading most the romantic charges in this case, but no complaints there no siree.

— wolf courting methods are quite cute you know, bonding through closeness like grooming each other ( you notice the way jack hesitantly but hopefully offers to fix your gym attire during flying lessons ), and finding each other with their eyes and noses ( when you’re looking around and accidentally lock eyes with jack during history, he’s rather quick to look away and you can tell he’s flustered ). it’s honestly adorable, so your liking to him in mind, you indulge him.

— even things you don’t even seem to realize you’re doing ( albeit only at certain times ), like reaching to pat his head as he leans into your touch while sitting together during lunch hour or while studying together. all in all, it feels like a sudden yet so naturally paced domestic vibe between the two of you, and he appreciates that a bunch. it can’t even be dubbed cringe anymore it’s like a match made in heaven with the two of you, i’m jealous tbh!!

— but SERIOUSLY, it’s got the feeling that you’re already together even without the label; actually, it’s when you bring that up to joke around, jack might just come back to his senses about the crush he has on you and act again on his tsundere ways. this is the part where the label comes in, because, to confess to him, finally, this moment feels the most right.

— hashtag power couple moment, that one singular romantic bone in his body saved him ( trust i’m the romantic bone in his body ).

e. felmier

— “if you simply assumed i was a romantic for whatever reason..reassess that.” - epel in that one chat. but why are we here then epel. why are we here.. i don’t really doubt that the sudden realization to his feelings for you was a TRIP for him, has him carving apples to calm his nerves and everything. not like he doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way though; how you accept every part of him and encourage him consistently as he tries to get to where he wants to be with himself, actually he starts wondering why he wouldn’t like you somewhere along the line.

— actually, considering the exact fact that the idea of him being a romantic needs to be reassessed..he should probably ask for advice, huh. from granny marja and vil and rook, maybe he’s sending them into a bit of a shock that he’s truly asking for advice on how to romance you—not out of disappointment though, but they try to help enough so that he can confess in his own epel felmier way. and let’s just say he’s coming in strong; but sevens, you’re coming in STRONGER?!

— helping him feel better about his appearance when he needs it, preparing him things like macarons and many assortments of his favorite foods, just being around you leaving him comfortable enough to be himself. he’s tearin’ through some meat as he wracks his mind around all the things you do for him and how to repay you for the fact. every word you speak that sings his praises, he relishes—he wonders if the feeling’d be better if you spoke the words with the context of you being together.

— if he was a romantic, things would probably go a bit smoother..but what’s fun if not a bit of a carnival ride? actually, with him, while he can flustered every now and then when around you, he’s pretty calm about it. just give him a wee bit of time, a wee bit of confidence in the fact you feel the same, and he’ll be confessing to you with a whole apple pie.

— ( and then you ask to share the pie and proceed to feed him a slice. he is not ok. )

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rawrsatthetree · 23 days

Text

I think the best way to tackle a Modern AU for BG3 isn’t to make it a slice of life but to some how combine the elements of a collage drama, organized crime, a dooms day cult, and an alien invasion all into one coherent plot.

I do not know how to do this but I do have some ideas. All the characters have no reason to associate with each other until they’re all abducted by aliens, wormed, and released back into the wild like a bird that just got tagged. Everyone kind of writes it off as either a bad trip or a dream until the cross paths and the worm does the connection thing. Eventually bringing them all together with a few people investigating the invasion to get to the bottom of what’s happening.

Wyll is a pre law student mostly against his will to appease his dad. He wants to help people but doesn’t necessarily want to be a cop like his father the chief of police. He half asses his classes because he doesn’t have much passion for them, blowing them off to volunteer in clubs and community outreach programs. I think Mizora should be either a professor, Dean of students, or academic advisor. In exchange for favors she alters his grades pushes him through the system. Little does he know she’s also idk involved with a crime organization and her favors go from small and perverted to slowly becoming more dangerous and criminal. He’s young and she has a lot of power over his future and could even expose him as a fraud and an accomplice to his father so he feel helpless to defy her.

Astarion is a law school drop out but that’s old news. You’ll find him prowling the local bar and club scene looking for potential clients. After a string of bad luck and poor life choices he’s a prostitute and drug dealer for a local gangster in the Black Hand gang only known as The Vampire (I know I’m so creative). Cazador’s deal is still the pretty much the same local rich public figure is secretly a very cruel and evil man who uses fear and addiction to control his underlings.

Karlach worked as muscle for the leader of the Black Hand gang before she was forcibly sold and enlisted as a mercenary over seas. After a ten years fighting in foreign years she’s back and ready to get her revenge on the whole Black Hand cult unfortunately she has to do it quickly because (ok idk I tried doing some research and couldn’t find any condition caused by an injury that can suddenly become fatal idk maybe cancer from a bullet or shrapnel)

Gale isn’t a professor but like a doctorate student on a tenure track, but bordering on the mad science kind of research. He’s in an abusive relationship with his over seeing faculty Mystra. Ultimately a lab accident during his research leads to the orb.

I think Lae’zel should still be an alien. She was abducted on another planet and escaped while the earthlings were being tadpoled. Now she’s stranded and tadpoled on a strange planet.

Halsin is a university professor and a local environmental activist. He’s been investigating strange occurrences and is onto the alien invasion thing.

I’m honestly not sure about Shadowheart. She should definitely be college age. But I’m not sure how to approach the shar thing.

Not sure about Minthara either except maybe military turned death cult member.

Jaheira and Minsc are cops investigating the alien invasion I’m so sorry not like real world cops but like fun fictional cops that only exist in movies. Boo is their police dog. OMG wait no they’re Park Rangers!!

Other stuff

The dead three chosen are instead three gang leaders. Except Bhaal cult also doubles as a murder cult still on top of being a criminal organization.

The alien invasion is still the mind flayer grand design.

I don’t think the dead three are controlling the mind flayers this time. Instead they’re using the strange alien invasion occurrences as grounds to start a dooms day cult or maybe they are idk

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #balur's gate 3 #bg3 modern au #bg3 au #baldurs gate 3 modern au #bg3 wyll #bg3 gale #bg3 karlach #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 halsin

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wenellyb · 27 days

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Random thoughts on Bucktommy and Buddie

Please bare in mind that I'm only sharing my personal opinion and that I'm always open to discuss.

The discussions I've had over the past couples of weeks have been very interesting and I wanted to add my 2 cents.

Before season 7 episode:

I'm a causal viewer of 911 and I'm also on Tumblr so of course, I know Buddie, but I've never really shipped it... I can understand the appeal and I think the ship has potential but I never felt like the writers ever intended to go there. And I'm not a big fan of non-canon ships.

If they had gotten together, however, I think that I would have enjoyed it.

What has always bothered me was the behavior of some Buddie shippers who would complain about queerbaiting on the show, when there were already several Queers characters in it and one character (Hen), who's part of the main cast. I always got a weird feeling that those shippers didn't care about Queer characters if they weren't White. There is also a spinoff of the show, 911 Lone star with Queer characters who are also part of the main cast.

To me, the fact that Buck and Eddie never got together was a writing decision, not queerbaiting or anything like that... the writers had decided this wasn't the way to go for Buck and Eddie's chatacters, because if they had wanted to write a storyline between them, they could have.

I've seen a lot of people being happy about Buck being confirmed as Bi, and I get it. But to me, it was confirmed he was bi in the 911/911 Lone Star crossover when TK told Buck he had a boyfriend after Buck asked him out. I was just waiting for a storyline to confirm it. Obviously, I always thought the storyline would involve Eddie, but I was wrong.

After Season 7 Episode 4:

I follow some 911 accounts so I knew something was happening before the episode aired and I saw a preview of Buck seemingly being jealous of Eddie leaving with Tommy and I thought... this is it, this is where the writers are going to confirm Buddie. Buck will realize his jealous and realize he has feeling for Eddie or something like that.

I was very curious so I tuned in for that episode and imagine my surprise when I realized at the end, that the jealousy wasn't about who we thought and all this time the writers had been planning a storyline with Tommy.

So to me, it doesn't look like the writers are planning a Buddie storyline. Otherwise they would have prepared it gradually after the Buck and TK's discussion.

That doesn't mean it won't change in the future, writers and showrunners can change but I have never noticed them introducing a storyline that could lead to a Buddie relationship.

Everytime I see a post "proving" Buddie, it's always showing something friends or best friends do (hugging, being affectionnate), even Eddie making Buck Chris' legal guardian is something a best friend could do.

I'm not saying that they couldn't be romantic in another context, but there hasn't been any indication that the writers are planning a romantic plot for Buck and Eddie.

The writers decided to go there with Buck and Tommy. They're treating their story like a romcom, with the kiss, the hearteyes and everything. Buck is obviously into Tommy and being ready to tell the world about him.

That's the storyline the writers have decided to give us and it's a very nice one.

I know a lot of people are expecting Tommy and Buck to be temporary but to me that's wishful thinking. It wouldn't make sense to have Buck invite Tommy to his sister's wedding just for them to break up a few episodes later. If a breakup is what the writers had in mind, they would just set up another normal date.

Shipping goggles are ok, I have other ships for which I have shipping goggles on and for which I'm not very objective.

What's not ok is trying to ruin the fun of Bucktommy shippers who are trying to enjoy this beautiful storyline but can't go in the tags without seeing a post about the ship's impeding break up.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #eddie diaz #buddie #911 spoilers #always open to discuss this as long as you're not urde #rude*

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upat4amwiththemoon · 8 months

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i need some wanda angst ANYTHING PLSS

Wretched mirrors

Summary: Mom, are your arms open tonight?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x daughter!reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, complicated mother-daughter relationship, bad mental health

Word count: 2259

a/n: you asked for it

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Wanda hums a Sokovian lullaby with a smile on her face, as she braids five-year-old Y/N’s hair into a french braid. Y/N is swinging her legs, as her short feet can’t reach the floor yet, while she’s watching Bluey. Sometimes she giggles at the characters ok the television, and sings the opening song with them, clapping when the episode starts.

Every once in a while, Wanda has to set Y/N’s head back into a good position, so she can actually braid her hair, buy she doesn’t mind. This is her favorite time.

It’s early morning, the sun has just risen. There’s porridge in the pot, ready for them to eat once the braids are done. Birds are chirping outside and Wanda is spending time with her little girl. And she loves that little girl with her full heart. Her eyes are so innocent and big, they shine every time she learns something new. Her hair and skin is so soft, Wanda loves to hold her close as much as possible. Her tiny nose and chubby cheeks are perfect for playful pinching. She’s perfect. She couldn’t have asked for a better babygirl.

“All done, Y/N!” Wanda crouches in front of her, looking at her handiwork. “You look so cute, baby.” She smiles with her teeth and Y/N giggles. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Uhuh!” She raises her arms high in the air.

Wanda grins and lifts her up to the side of her hip. “Oh my goodness, how did my little girl get so tall all of a sudden?” She gasps, twirling them around.

Y/N giggles, “you’re holding me, mommy!”

“What are you talking about?” She gasps even deeper this time, lifting one of her arms up. “I’m not holding anything in this hand.”

“No!” Her laugh is like music for Wanda’s ears. “Other hand, silly mommy.”

“Is mommy being silly again?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, Wanda rubs her nose against Y/N’s. “Yes, she is, silly mommy. But guess what?” She grins, rubbing her cheek. “You’re my daughter, so you’re just as silly!”

Y/N starts laughing with her full body. The sound echoes through the house, making Wanda’s heart ache with joy. Her eyes tingle as she stares at her daughter.

Her daughter.

She’ll never get tired of saying that.

The pots and pans clang loudly as Wanda washes them. She’s using a lot more force than necessary for washing dishes. Y/N is sitting at the kitchen table, a math book in front of her and a pen in her hand. She’s trying to math work for school, but instead she’s crying.

“I’m sorry, mommy.” She cries out, too scared to look at her mother. “I’m really sorry, mommy.”

Wanda doesn’t answer. She slams a plate to the drying rack. Y/N is scared a dish will break.

“I didn’t mean to do so badly, I just didn’t get it.”

The tap gets turned off with force. “Do you understand how badly you embarrassed me?” Her voice is loud. She walks over and stops right next to Y/N, who is still too scared to look at her in the eyes. “Your grades have been so bad, the principal asked me if there are troubles at home. Do you at least get what that means, huh? It means your teachers think I’m a shit mother!”

“I’m sorry!” The tears are coming out faster.

“And then you start crying in front of the principal? You don’t do things like that!”

“You were yelling and I-“

“Oh, it’s all my fault again. I guess I’m the fucking worst mom then!” Wanda throws her hands in the air, walking to the living room and sitting on the couch. She turns the television on.

Y/N gets out of her seat, “you aren’t the worst mom,” she walks a few steps closer, trying to talk over the loud sound of the television, “you are a good mom, please. No one think you’re the worst.”

When Wanda doesn’t answer, Y/N drops down to her knees and start sobbing loudly. Wanda doesn’t stand up and come to comfort her, she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even look at her. All she does, is watch the show, and let Y/N cry, until the tears stop and she goes back to doing her math work.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” Is the first thing coming out of Y/N’s mouth since they got into the car.

They’ve been driving for twenty minutes towards the campsite where Y/N will be sending a week with her friends. There’s still and hour and a half left to drive.

“No honey there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re perfect.” Wanda assures, fiddling with the control of the radio. She’s trying to find a good channel. “You’re just thirteen and a teenager. It’s all normal.”

“No, mom,” she lets out a heavy sigh, “I think there’s really something wrong with me. Something doesn’t feel right in my head.”

“You’re just tired.”

“But the tiredness is never ending!” She turns her head to look at Wanda. “Look at me, please, mom. I need you to see me. There’s something wrong with me and I need you to see it too.”

Wanda’s eyes stay on the road. “Stop saying that, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Her lips are in a thin line, and her brows are scrunched. She’s starting to get annoyed.

“There has to be something wrong with me! This can’t be who I am. Please, mommy!”

With sharp moves, Wanda drives the car to the side of the road and stops it. “Shut up, right now! You’re being so grateful right now. You had a good childhood, you got food and water whenever you wanted, you had a roof over your head and all the toys you wanted to play with. There are people with worse lives, who have actual problems. So either keep your goddamn mouth shut, or walk the rest of the way, do you hear me?” She doesn’t start driving against until Y/N nods.

The rest of the car drive goes in silence. Y/N looks out the window all the way to the campsite, fighting her tears while Wanda hums along the song on the radio.

Opening the door as quietly as she can, Y/N steps inside the house, slowly putting her shoes to the mat. She closes the door and starts sneaking towards the living room. She stops on her tracks when she notices the television is on. “Well, are you going to come in or not?” Wanda’s heavy voice comes from the living room. Not bothering to be quiet anymore, Y/N walks to the living room, where Wanda is sitting on the couch, watching the mute television. “Where the hell have you been?” She turns to look at her daughter, but all Y/N does is shrug. “Do you know what the time is?”

She glances at the clock, “three.”

“Three in the night.” She’s staring Y/N right into her eyes, and Y/N stares back. Her eyes are red, but it’s not from crying. She hasn’t cried in a long time.

“Fun.”

Wanda stands up, coming right in front of Y/N, so she has to look up at her. “What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t the girl I know.”

“I’m not five anymore.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N, I know that, but you sure aren’t acting like a fifteen-year-old.” Y/N rolls her eyes and goes to walk away, but Wanda grabs her arm. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me. I am your mother and you’re supposed to respect me!”

“You don’t deserve my respect. You’re not a good person.” Her teeth are bared like an angry dog’s.

“And you think you are?” Wanda scoffs. “You’re my blood, so you’re just as bad. You’re horrible.”

Y/N is packing her things to two different boxes. One says to donation and the other to dorm. She’s nineteen years old and ready for college, ready to move away from her mother’s house. Most of the things in her room are already back, though she has to wait until tomorrow to actually leave. She’s taking the train to her university, not wanting to be in the same car with Wanda for six hours.

“Is packing coming along nicely?” Wanda appears to the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. “I could help you out if you need me?”

“Uhh, I think I’ve got it.” She rubs the back of her neck, looking around her room. “There’s not much left.”

“Okay.”

They stand there in silence. Neither of them know how to talk to the other. Wanda never bothered to learn and Y/N gave up on trying. Besides, she couldn’t talk about the things she wanted to without crying, and she really doesn’t want to cry in front of her mom.

“Did you find any things to donate?”

“Some.”

Silence again. It’s making Y/N shake from the need to lay it all out for her. She wants to scream and throw things, but she just bites her lip. There’s no use. No matter what she says, her mother won’t lis-

“What do I have to do?” Y/N suddenly breaks the silence.

“Hm?” Wanda looks at her with a confused expression.

“What do I need to do to make you love me.” The silence is deafening. They’re staring at each other, but Wanda isn’t saying anything. She never does. “Tell me what to do!” Her voice gets louder, but Wanda doesn’t react. It makes Y/N angrier. All the times she was sobbing while her mother punished her with silent treatment coming to her mind. She hates silence. She can’t sleep in a quiet room anymore. “Tell me how to change myself to make you love me!” The tears start falling, and all Wanda does is stare. “Because it hurts, mom, it hurts so bad.” She’s getting desperate. She wants to hurt her, not physically, but the way she has hurt her. All she wants is for Wanda to feel the way she has always felt growing up. But instead of saying something hurtful, all she says is, “I’m sorry for being a bad daughter.”

Wanda walks out of the room, and Y/N wipes away her tears before continuing her packing.

After a few hours, Y/N is sitting on her bed, reading a book. A smell is coming from the kitchen, which tells her dinner is almost ready. She doesn’t want to go downstairs, at least not until Wanda somehow expresses she isn’t angry anymore.

Her whole body tenses when she hears steps coming upstairs. She’s holding her breath when Wanda walks into the room and sits behind her on the bed.

Y/N puts her book down, but doesn’t say anything. All Wanda does is set her head to a correct position and start making a french braid. There’s a piece stuck in Y/N’s throat as she sits there, it makes her whole body hurt, but she fights back the second set of tears threatening to fall.

Wanda’s fingers work in a fast and skillful pace, having done this multiple times. Y/N’s hair is longer now, and there’s a lot more of it, but still it gets done quickly. She puts the ponytail in place, kisses Y/N’s cheek and walks right out of the room.

Y/N takes the braid to her hand and holds it against her cheek. She starts crying silently. It doesn’t feel the same as it did when she was five years old.

Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, Y/N holds her phone in hand. There’s a small cupcake in front of her with candles that say 22 on them. She hasn’t eaten it yet.

Her hands are shaking and black spots are starting to appear in her vision. Whatever is wrong with her, is starting to get worse again. She thought she had gotten better after moving on her own, but it all came rushing back after the initial relief. It was manageable for a long time, but these past few months, she has started to feel like she’s drowning.

She’s afraid she’ll do something bad if she doesn’t get help.

Which is why she has been gathering courage to call her mom and tell her she want to come back home, that she needs to come back home. How she feels like she won’t survive if she’s all alone. She needs her mom.

“I need help, I want to come home.” She mumbles quietly to herself as practice before pressing the contact on her phone and bringing it to her ear. She waits for three rings before Wanda answers. “Hi, mom.” Her voice is quieter than usual.

“Hi, honey. Happy birthday!”

She’s tired.

“Thanks, mom.” She huffs out a laugh.

She’s just tired.

“How’s it going over there?”

“Hm, it-“

“Oh, you can’t believe what the weather has been like over here.”

Y/N freezes. She grips the phone tighter. “What has it been like?”

“Crazy. It was raining so much yesterday, and today there’s some kind of wind monster outside.” Her mother laughs. “What’s the weather been like over there?”

“Sunny.”

“Oh, isn’t that great! I wish we’d get sun more over here, I’m getting fired of…”

And Wanda continues talking. And Y/N continues listening. The phone call lasted for thirty minutes. All they talked about was the weather.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can you please write a fic of Nuada having a bad day, and his s/o takes the initiative to prepare a bath for him? She tenderly washes his scalp, massages his soapy body and leaving kisses on his skin. I like the idea of a grumpy, solemn character getting pampered, and how Nuada would feel getting treated like that for once. :)

I hope you like this!

“Tending the Prince”

Pairing: Nuada x Fem. Reader (Human / second person POV/established relationship) Themes: Soft | Fluff Warnings: Kissing Word count: 1.5K words Rating: Mild NSFW | Minors DNI

Summary: Nuada comes home in a foul mood, and you decide a little pampering is in order.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

It was cold, mercilessly cold, when Nuada made his way back home, slinking through dark roads and darker alleys, moving quickly and silently like a cat as he slipped past oblivious mortals before heading into the abandoned railway tunnels he called home.

Well, it was no longer just a series of abandoned tunnels. Nuada converted a part of them into an underground home, a refuge from the outside world and a small reminder of the once bustling city of Bethmora.

Tonight, he found no joy in any of it on his return, as he was tired and cold, and his body ached all over. Hellboy took it into his head to anger the Vizier of the Troll Market, and Nuada had to save him.

Yet again.

Nuada felt his hands turn into fists. Hellboy was always like this, bullheaded and rash, getting everyone else into a mess, and then, if he failed to extricate himself, someone else had to swoop in to save the day. This time that lot fell to Nuada. And Nauda was not happy about it at all.

Oh, how he wanted to punch something.

And how he just wanted to be alone.

He pushed open the doors, not even bothering to close them behind him. He snarled when Mister Wink greeted him and bit his tongue when you came over. Nuada could never, would never, take his frustrations out on you, no matter how surly he was of an evening. He grumbled a hello before disappearing into your shared chambers.

"Bad day, you think?" you turned to Mister Wink.

Mister Wink seemed to think so, and you tried to come up with something that could put Nuada into a better mood. "Right," you said. "You go lock up the place, and I'll check on our Mister Grumpy Pants."

The troll chuckled heartily before going off to check all the doors, and you steeled yourself to check on the prince.

"Nuada?" you knocked on the door before entering. "Is everything ok, sweetheart?"

Nuada was muttering under his breath as he struggled to undo the clasps of his armour. You pick up mumblings of Hellboy and the Vizier and other words that were quite colourful and inventive. It seemed like the visit to the Troll Market didn't go according to plan, and that had put Nuda into a foul mood. When he struggled with a clasp for the umpteenth time, you bit back a smile and went forward to help him.

"Here," you said softly, taking over where he left off. "I'll do it."

The rage in Nuada's eyes died the moment you neared him. "I want to be alone, my love," he mumbled.

To sulk and be miserable, no doubt. You sighed and worked on one clasp, then another. "Well, it's obvious you're not managing on your own." Your eyes widened when the deep red bruises on his neck came into view. "And you're hurt. What happened?"

Nuada lifted his arms so you could take the armour off him. "Anung un Rama, that was what happened," he muttered, anger and frustration bubbling inside him again. "And I would rather not talk about it, if you do not mind."

"Alright," you said and started on the clasps of his tunic. If Nuada decided not to discuss something, you would let it be. He would always talk about what vexed him once he was ready to do so. And his skin was so cold, icy to the touch. Perhaps something to warm him up might put him into a better mood, you thought. "How about a bath instead?" You peeled the tunic off of him, trying not to wince at a large bruise on his chest. "You could use it, I think."

Nuada shook his head, determined to refuse. "I would rather..."

And you were determined to have your way. Nuada needed some looking after, it was plain as day now. "In fact," you said, turning sharply on your heel, "I insist on it. I'll have one ready for you. Give me ten minutes."

Nuada grumbled at your back, determined to stay where he was. He did not attempt to move when you headed toward the bathroom. He tried to turn a deaf ear to the sound of water running, to your humming. He wanted to refuse, to not indulge, but -

The sound of that water proved too much, and his body yearned to be warmed a little after being in the filthy cold for so long. With an angry growl, he muttered under his breath and stomped to the bathroom once the ten minutes were up.

And you were there, standing beside a large, claw-foot tub. The lights had been dimmed and there were candles all over. "What is all of this?" he asked, as he took in a little tray on the bathtub counter, filled with all sorts of scents and ointments.

"This, sweetheart is a bath."

"I know what a bath is my love, but what is all of this?"

You came over to him and sank to your haunches. "A bath, nothing more," you insist, working on the lacing of his left boot. "Now lift."

Nuada stifled a wince when he lifted his leg, and that first boot was disposed of in no time. Same for the second boot. You then rose and got to work on his belt. Now that filled him with a sliver of mischief. "In here my love?" he teased. "While I am sore all over?"

Oh, how the innuendo made you blush. But at least he was in a better mood. "I'm not unbuckling your belt for that," you grinned and laughed lightly, and went to work on the clasps of his trousers. "I'm just helping you with your clothes. But if you're of a mind to ruin a good pair of trousers," you said, gesturing at the tub with one hand, "By all means."

Nuada chuckled before quickly taking your face into both hands and stealing a quick kiss. "I have no interest in getting into a tub while still dressed," he said, his eyes lighting up at the soft hint of pleasure reflecting in yours. "Go on."

You smirked and helped him out of his trousers too, tossing them to the pile on the side. Nuada took slow steps and got into the tub, a sigh rising from the tips of his toes when warm water met his skin. You pulled up a little stool and took your place behind him.

"Now what, my love?" Nuada said, and let his body ease back against the tub, his aching muscles slowly easing and unwinding in the fragrant, soapy water.

You reached for the little tray to pick up a soft sponge and dipped it in the water. "And now I'm going to look after you."

Nuada's grumble died when that sponge slowly glided over his skin. Soft, it was, almost as soft as your skin. He sighed wistfully and surrendered slowly when the hurts of the day ebbed away. And how it surprised him, to be cared for like this. It felt alien, but oh-so-wonderful at the same time. "You need not do this," he said.

You smiled and kept running that sponge over his shoulders and arms, his quiet sighs encouraging you to continue. "But I want to do this," you said. "You take such good care of us, and ask for nothing in return."

Nuada softened and tilted his head up, his hands reaching up to play with your hair. "That is because you are worth it. I love you."

Your smile just grew. "I love you." You dipped your head and brushed your lips over his, only to pull away when he winced. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Nuada grimaced and swallowed, waiting for the dull throb in his throat to pass. "I will be fine in a little while."

It took a moment or two, but the pain passed. While he waited, you rose and went to the sink, to fill a wash basin with fresh water. When you returned, you brought it with you and kept it on the counter, next to the tray. "Now dip your head little," you said, and picked up a little bowl.

Nuada sighed wistfully again as the water went through his hair. His throat was sore, but he ignored it, so focused was he on what you were doing. His entire scalp tingled sweetly when you carefully applied shampoo to his hair and massaged away. He sighed again when you poured more water over his hair, to wash it clean. He sighed even more when you took one of his hands, to see to his nails. So strange, that something like this could lighten him and make him feel so good, yet he did not want to give it up, not when you were looking after him the way you did.

And you enjoyed every moment, just as much as he did. It felt so intimate, taking care of him like this, feeling him soften and unwind under your touch. And since he rarely took the time to look after himself, you thought he deserved this.

Nuada just closed his eyes. It all felt so wonderful, the way his skin warmed, and the way his entire body softened. He felt his breath hitch a little when he felt your lips brush against the tips of his fingers, his wrists. "You are too good to me," he breathed.

"You deserve it," you hummed and carefully nipped down his arm. "And I need to get back to work," you said and sat straight. "Your nails, sweetheart, are a mess."

Nuada chuckled and urged for you to continue.

#nuada #nuada silverlance #prince nuada #nuada x reader #x reader #reader request #reader insert #nuada imagine #hellboy #hellboy imagine #hellboy x reader #writeblr #a world of whimsy writes

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beesmygod · 10 days

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today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 1: pre-gaming

webcomic day is a yearly celebration of the art form concocted by the screentones podcast team as a way for people to see how the sausage gets made. my webcomic "a ghost story" has been running for over 10 years, and yet i still don't think i can say i am good at making a webcomic. regardless, the comic is getting made because otherwise i become very, very sick in the head. today i would like to share with you the process of making a page of "A Ghost Story" from start to finish. either this demystifies the process or will make you think im so cool and strong for doing this 2x a week. instead of reblogging this one post until it gets very long, i will be posting individual updates that i will then compile and post on my personal website. block the tags now if you HATE comics and want them to EXPLODE.

if you have any questions, even things like "what the fuck are you even talking about" feel free to ask. i want to feel confident in what i make again and i think sometimes interrogation from an outside source is really

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that said, let's get started. wait just kidding i want a cup of coffee first, hold on.

ok now im ready. i have a big glass of water. i have coffee. i have a headset for the parts of work that don't involve typing words. i can't type words and listen to some streamer babble in my ear at the same time, so it has to be instrumental music or nothing. i just took my meds so they should kick in after about 30 mins. i woke up late today, which is weird and annoying. but maybe i can work late instead.

first off, i need to know where i'm going beyond this one page. if i dont know where im going with something, then i usually create something that sucks that i have to deal with later. hold on my internet died, i have to reset the router. ok, anyway.

what's rattling around in my brain is that not only do i have to deal with maxine's current predicament, i am also dealing with multiple plot elements i need to wrap back around to from the previous chapter. luckily, im about to put maxine down for a nap, which means i can get back to those other elements:

i need to finish the exposition from the three ankou characters for this story arc establishing their motivations as the oppositional force in the story. the "villain" is not these three specifically, but their boss. they need to have a loose understanding of what's going on in order to communicate this to the audience. god this started turning into a huge ass paragraph so i'll just keep it short there.

we've jumped back to before jack's horrible day from the first chapter of this storyline so we have to make our way back toward that and then lapping it, which means wrapping up his various open threads like:

feeding victoria and learning something new about her

finding out alice is a very exceptional employee who is getting many awards

watching valdo call lily while interrupting her during something personal to ask her for help with maxine's situation.

jack meeting with valdo and lily the day after they first met so jack can just tell them straight up that lily has 4 sisters she doesnt know about.

help that girl with her poltergeist problem. remember that. i've had jokes for this rattling in my head for like 4 years. im going insane.

and also the fucking tilberi!!! that has a point its going somewhere!!! there's a larger menace here!!!

other things to set up the climax of this storyline. sexual tensions, hints at larger emotional problems not immediately evident to the reader

lots of moving parts. and i feel like im moving in slow motion to get to them. i can see them all weaving together in my head, its the process of putting that onto paper that's proving difficult.

ok that took an hour starting and stopping. -_- let me write the next part as i keep brainstorming on how to approach this page. taking a "rubber duck" approach to this might help. heres an image from the last page i worked on (i have a 5 page buffer rn so the site does not match the finished pages) to get us semi-situated.

also because images will help people understand what skill level we're working with here. i need to be able to communicate an idea to the audience; if the art also looks good on top of that, then that's just an added bonus. but the ability to communicate my ideas is sometimes hampered by my lack of artistic skill or comics language ineptitude. like those speech bubbles kind of fucking suck but at a certain point you have to just hit print on what you're working on in order to keep your already glacial pace.

webcomics is a tightrope act where you're also spinning 4 plates at once. the trick is to keep the audience from realizing how many actually fall or how wobbly they all are. the act sucks but technically its not a failure.

#a ghost story #webcomics #webcomic #webcomic day

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arvandus · 10 months

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Touch Chapter 16 - A Night Out

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!AFAB!Reader

**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**

OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft!Dabi, Fem!AFAB!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events (I started this before the canon stuff dropped), manga spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal (with inaccuracies since it’s outside of my experience and relies on research and imagination), violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, pining, slow burn, eventual emotionally charged SMUT, all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Drinking. Lots of drinking (both Dabi and reader). Overall drug themes apply; bar scene/club scene (look, we get to have some FUN in the chapter, OK?? We deserve it!)

Chapter Songs: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys/All I Need by Radiohead

Part 1 Part 15

Chapter 16: A Night Out

You were in the hideout briefly. Dabi changed into his more preferred attire of his stitched jacket, matching pants, and boots. He was free of his mask and his sunglasses now, and you were grateful to finally be able to see his face again. His blue eyes looked at you with mirth when he showed up at your bedroom door. You handed him your pills and he downed them with water before crinkling the bottle and tossing it into your trash can.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Do you need me to touch up your scars first?” you asked, your brow furrowed with concern.

The ‘yes’ hung on the edge of Dabi’s tongue, the desire for relief always present, but this time he swallowed it. Wherever he was taking you, he didn’t want your sensory overload to be an issue.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Uh-huh... you know, that word doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“It means that I’ve got it under control.”

You pursed your lips and looked down at your attire. It was the same one you’d been wearing earlier: jeans, a shirt, and a jacket.

“Should I change...?” you asked.

Dabi shrugged. “Do you wanna change?”

“Depends. Where are you taking me?”

“Not sure yet.” Dabi looked you over, head to toe, his eyes leaving fire in their wake across your skin. “You look great. Let’s get outta here.”

You were too flustered to argue, so you followed him down the stairs and out the door into the night air. A gentle mist of rain was falling down slowly, coating everything in a diamond dust of dew drops.

“We might get soaked tonight...” you commented.

“You worry too much,” Dabi replied as he put his arm over your shoulder again.

A smirk played at your lips. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Your hand came up to interlock your fingers with his comfortably. Right now, you didn’t want to dwell on what it meant; you just wanted to enjoy the contact that he was suddenly offering so freely.

“Then we’re perfect for each other,” he teased.

Your skin burned hot at his flirting and he glanced at you, taking in the surprised look on your face that you struggled to bury. He smirked.

“Let’s get some dinner first,” he continued. “What d’ya want?”

“What can we afford?”

Dabi flashed the fat wad of cash nestled in the inner coat pocket against his chest. “Whatever we want. My treat.”

Your eyes bulged. “Dabi! Where did you get that??”

Dabi scoffed. “Did ya think I was just checking out your cute ass while I was walking behind you all day?”

“I— What??”

“Gotta make a living somehow, sweetheart. I’m an expert pickpocket, remember?”

You did remember. But right now, Dabi pickpocketing was the last thing on your mind. He was getting under your skin on purpose, and you were enjoying it. It felt like old times, before things had gotten... complicated.

“Pick your poison, doll. What’re ya feelin’?”

“Hmmm... how about sushi?” you suggested.

Dabi grimaced. “Uhhh, gotta confession. I hate fish.”

You laughed. “How can you be Japanese and hate fish? It’s like a cultural staple.”

Dabi wrinkled his nose. “It tastes... fishy. And slimy. And I hate the way it smells.”

You laughed again. “Okay, not sushi then. How about ramen?”

“Didn’t we have that recently? Twice?”

“Yeah, because it’s delicious. I could probably live off ramen, to be honest...”

“Hm.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, smartass, what do you want to eat?”

“I know just the spot. We gotta hop on the bus, though.”

“Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, you stepped off the bus to see a small little restaurant. Its entire front was a large window that was open to the street, with a counter and bar stools attached into the cement. An animated neon sign of a ramen bowl danced on its low roofline.

“I thought you didn’t want ramen?” you asked confused.

“Surpriiise.” Dabi singsonged. You began crossing the street together. “The owner is a bit rough around the edges, and a total alcoholic. But his ramen is the best I’ve had.”

A canopy overhang allowed for protection from the drizzling as the two of you sat down at the counter.

“Oy,” said a gruff voice. You looked up to see an old man with what remained of his hair pulled back into a ponytail and tattoos up to his jaw line. “You again.”

“Long time no see.” Dabi replied.

The man nodded at you. “Who’s this?”

“A friend.”

Your heart sank in your chest at the label, and then you cursed yourself for being an idiot. Of course you were friends. All of this – helping you through your panic attack, letting you lean on him on the ride home, taking you out to get your mind off things... it was Dabi being a good friend.

A friend who held your hand.

A friend who put his arm around your shoulder.

A friend who almost kissed you the night before...

You refocused your attention when Dabi nudged you with his elbow. “Huh??”

“What do you want?” Dabi repeated.

The old man waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing.” Then he set down a bowl of edamame for you to share and immediately began preparing the food.

“Wait, what just happened?” you asked.

Dabi laughed. “You took too long deciding so he decided for you.”

“Oh.”

“You want something to drink?”

You stared at the list of beverages. “Beer. Sapporo?”

Dabi’s grin widened. “Oh, loosening up now, are we?” He put the order in, holding up two of his fingers. A moment later, two tall, ice-cold beer cans were placed in front of you.

You took a sip, letting the carbonation and flavor play on your tongue. You didn’t answer right away, unease swimming in your chest. You took a few more sips.

“Dabi...” you finally probed. He looked at you sideways as he drank. “Why are you doing this?”

What is this to you?

Dabi set the can down and began to fiddle with it, his fingers wiping patterns into the condensation.

“Because I didn’t want to go back there either. We were both stir-crazy in that place. Figured it was time to stretch our legs a little. Tonight should just be about having fun.”

“Well...” you smiled. “If that’s the case, you know what I want?”

Dabi looked at you attentively, his eyes trying to pry the answer before your lips could give it. “What?” he replied.

“I want to get drunk.”

Dabi let out a surprised laugh.

Your grin widened. “Like, stupid drunk.”

“Wasted?”

“Absolutely shitfaced.” You grinned into your beer as you drank more of it down, letting it wash over the knot you felt in your gut.

Dabi laughed again. “I think we can manage that.” He took another swig of his beer. “This’ll be fun...” he muttered.

You didn’t want to think about anything tonight. You didn’t want to worry. And you didn’t want to rehash what had happened earlier during the day. All you wanted was a break, a night to feel like a normal person, to be able to feel like you were a part of the world again.

So, you drank, and laughed, and ate. Dabi was right. It was the best ramen you’d ever had. Thirty minutes later, your stomach was now full and happy, and your veins hummed warmly with the first beer you drank. Just as you finished your can, another took its place.

You stared at it. “What’s this?”

Dabi held up his new can in a toast. “You said you wanted to get wasted. Cheers.”

“Oh God...” you laughed. “But I’m so full...”

“Don’t worry, doll. We got all night.”

“Really?”

Dabi shrugged. “Not unless you got plans with someone else,” he teased.

You laughed. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about in that department.”

“Not even your dealer friend from earlier?” Dabi prodded curiously.

“Yatsu??”

“You two even have nicknames for each other. How cute.” he commented dryly, his stiff grin never reaching his eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “Uh, nooo.... I mean, there’s history there, but... it’s long past.”

The shop owner refilled the small bowl of edamame. Dabi grabbed one and skinned it with his teeth.

“Yeah?” he said, “I’d be curious to hear that story...”

You laughed. “Not much to it, really... Yatsumoto was interested but I wasn’t.”

“Really?” Dabi’s sarcasm dripped heavy. “An upstanding guy like that?”

“I wasn’t too interested in relationships back then. Very single focused on my research at the time. Besides,” — you took a swig of your drink and then leaned into Dabi, your voice dropping to a whisper — “he’s not really my type.”

You picked up an edamame shell and ate the soybeans from it.

“Oh yeah? What is your type then?”

‘Someone tall, dark, and handsome with the world’s biggest daddy issues.’

You thought it, but didn’t say it.

A grin started on Dabi’s lips, a mischievous glint in his half-lidded eyes. “Maybe someone who’s in horrible need of chapstick?”

Shigaraki instantly came to your mind, and you laughed. You threw the empty edamame shell at Dabi. “What?? No.”

Dabi’s grin widened. “Hmm, maybe someone with a wide variety of personalities...”

“You’re terrible.”

“Or maybe someone who knows magic tricks.”

“Oh my God, no. Compress is like a brother to me, that’s so weird.”

Instant elation filled Dabi’s veins, but he tamped it down, keeping his expression neutral. Instead, he grabbed another edamame. “Coulda fooled me; you two seem close.”

“That’s because he’s the one who recruited me into the League,” you replied. “He saved my life a while back.”

Dabi’s amusement fell apart at this new piece of information. His smirk was gone, his expression neutral.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Not long after I’d been kicked out of the university, my place got broken into. I came home when the robbers were still there, shuffling through my things.” You shuddered at the memory. “They saw me, I saw them, and I ran. They chased me down the stairs and outside... It was Compress who stopped them, popping up out of nowhere. I probably would have been killed if he didn’t show up...”

Dabi’s mind rolled over the information, filing it next to all the other little facts he’d gathered about you.

“Do you know what they were after?” he asked.

A half smile curled your lip that didn’t reach your eyes. “They weren’t going through my bathroom or bedroom looking for jewelry or digging through my bags for cash. One of them had my laptop, and the other was shuffling through papers.”

“They were after your research.”

You snapped finger guns at him. “Bingo.”

Dabi took a long draw of his beer and you followed suit. He stared into the can as he swirled its contents slowly. “So how does your brother fit into all of this?”

You had begun to raise your beer can to your lips, but you hesitated, then lowered it back down to the counter. “He was the reason for my research. I wanted to help him, figure out how to make it so that his quirk couldn’t hurt himself or anyone else ever again. And I needed to prove that he wasn’t a bad person. That it was his quirk manifesting itself, forcing itself to be expressed.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment. “What was his quirk?”

You hesitated again, and Dabi began to have second thoughts about his questioning. Tonight was supposed to be about having fun, and at this moment, you weren’t smiling. The gentle misting began to transition into heavier drops, the sound drumming on the canopy above you.

Dabi opened his mouth to rescind his question, but you answered before he could.

“Others called it Mind Flay, but he called it Tabula Rasa.”

“Blank Slate,” Dabi hummed. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It wasn’t,” you replied. “He had the ability to make people literally lose their minds. Like, one moment they’d be themselves, and the next moment, they’d be a dumb, drooling mess. Like he wiped them clean, basically turning them into vegetables.”

Dabi fell silent as his mind ran through the ramifications of such a quirk. “When did it manifest?”

You gave a sardonic laugh. “The same age it did for everyone else; at around 4 years old.”

Dabi let out a low whistle. Kids were small, emotional creatures. A child having that level of power...

Dabi wondered who the first victim was. A family member? A classmate? A teacher?

You drank more of your beer as if it helped you get the words out. “He was older than me,” you explained. “He was in and out of institutions for years, so I didn’t see him very much. My parents put him through every kind of therapy imaginable, every quirk suppression program. They’d think it worked, but then it’d happen all over again. Like he couldn’t help himself. It’d come out when he was angry... or when he was protective...”

You swallowed, and Dabi realized you had tears in your eyes.

“We don’t gotta talk about this.” he said.

You gave a small laugh and wiped at your eyes. “Sorry,” you replied.

Dabi gave a dry laugh. “You did it again.”

“What?”

“Apologized when you didn’t need to.”

“Oh,” you laughed.

Dabi cut you off before the words could fall from your lips again. “Don’t say it.”

You laughed and gave him a light shove. “Get out of my head.”

You were smiling again; and it made the pressure sitting on Dabi’s chest ease slightly.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said.

“I don’t mind. I just...” you stared into your beer can. “I might need more alcohol than this if you want to hear the rest.”

Dabi gave a small smile. “I know a place.”

He paid the bill, finished the last of his beer, and the two of you left the protection of the canopy to venture out into the rain. You held onto his arm and pressed yourself against his side against the cold as the two of you made your way down the street. He skipped the first bar, knowing they overcharged for their alcohol, and then ushered you quickly into the next one.

It was busy, a small dive bar packed with bodies, the sound of pool balls being struck at the opposite end of the room. Music played loudly over the speakers, blending in with the hum of multiple drunken conversations. Dabi managed to spot an open bar stool and squeezed you onto it. He remained standing next to you and had to put his mouth to your ear to ask you what you wanted. You had to do the same to answer him, and he leaned across the counter to give your orders to the bartender.

A moment later, your drinks were in front of you.

“Aren’t you worried about being recognized here?” you shouted into Dabi’s ear.

Dabi leaned close to speak. “Nah, not here. This side of town doesn’t give two shits. Half of the people here are wanted by the Hero Commission anyway.” You stared at him with uncertainty, and he leaned in even closer, his hand warm on your back. “You’re safe, doll. I promise.”

So, you sat and drank, the place too loud to carry a conversation. Eventually the seat next to you opened up and Dabi took it.

A couple of drinks later, and you were feeling the effects of the alcohol much more. You felt more liquid than person, and you swayed slightly to the thrumming of music that played over the speakers, barely audible over the din of the space. Dabi watched you silently with a half-lidded gaze, his eyes always observing. You didn’t bring up your brother again, and Dabi didn’t ask, determined to keep the smile on your face for as long as possible.

After a little while, he leaned over to speak to you.

“Do you play pool?” he asked.

“What?”

“Pool.” he repeated.

You looked over at the pool table and noticed it was empty. In fact, the entire bar had a little less people in it, some of the patrons deciding to continue their bar hopping elsewhere. Still, it remained plenty busy, and you knew the table would get snagged up immediately.

Before you could answer, Dabi grabbed your hand and yanked you off the bar stool. Before you got too far, you grabbed your drink from the counter and brought it with you.

You stared at the table in front of you as Dabi grabbed a couple of cue sticks from the wall.

“This is a bad idea,” you chuckled.

Dabi looked up at you as he began setting the balls into the triangle. “Why?”

“Because I’m fucking drunk, Dabi...” you laughed.

“You? Drunk?” he teased. He stepped closer to you and held up his fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You rolled your eyes. “Three.”

“Eh, you’re fine.”

“Wait, did I get it right??” you asked.

Dabi’s grin widened and he refused to answer. “Do you wanna break or should I?”

“Hm, you go first. I’m waiting for the room to stop spinning.”

“Suit yourself.” Dabi hit the cue ball and the triangle of balls burst in all directions. The purple ball fell into the corner pocket. “You’re stripes.”

You puffed air out of your cheeks and took a sip of your drink for courage. You stepped up to the table, lined up your cue stick, and missed horribly.

Dabi laughed, and you shot him a glare.

“I told you I was too drunk for this.”

“C’mon doll, you’re just a lil’ rusty,” he chided. Dabi lined up his next shot and sank another ball.

“How are you so good at this?” you complained. “And how am I drunker than you??”

“Experience,” he replied.

You mimicked his response with a bratty tone and a scrunched-up face. “Experience. Please.”

You lined up your shot, and this time you hit the ball, but barely, the cue stick sideswiping. It caused the ball to spin off at the wrong angle before bouncing off one of Dabi’s, causing his to roll into the side pocket.

“Hey, thanks for that.” he commented.

“I swear to God, Dabi. If you don’t stop with your commentary, it’s gonna be your balls next.”

Dabi burst into laughter at your empty threat. “Based on your hits tonight, I don’t think I’m too worried about it.”

You gave a shocked laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

“Oh, c’mon doll. Don’t be like that. Tell you what, I’ll give you a free shot.” He coaxed as he leaned on his cue stick.

You narrowed your eyes at him and took your position again. Just as you were about to strike, Dabi interrupted.

“Hold on.”

“What?”

“Your form is all wrong.”

“Shut up, no it’s not.”

Dabi put his hands up in defense. “Okay, sure. Go for it.”

You squinted at him, half to get your vision to focus and half to glare at him. You repositioned yourself again, but now doubt and two failures loomed over you. Finally, you cursed and stood up.

“Damn it. Okay, fine. Show me what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not holding your cue stick right,” he commented.

“What do you mean?”

Dabi modeled for you. You tried to imitate, but hand-eye coordination was getting more and more difficult. He chuckled at your attempt and leaned his cue stick against the table. Then he came up behind you, his hands on your hips.

His touch sent a shock of pleasure through you, and you sidestepped out of his hold. “What are you doing??” you demanded, your eyes wide.

“Relax, doll,” he laughed. “I’m gonna help you.”

You let him get in position behind you, his body lining up with yours. You could feel his breath on your ear, and it made every nerve sing at peak frequency. He placed his hands over yours, setting up your hand along your cue stick.

“You hold it like this, and...” -- Dabi slowly moved the stick back and forth within your hands -- “you hit it like this.” He pointed to the middle and the bottom of the cue ball. “You’ll want to hit the ball here or here. Got it?”

You glanced at him, and instantly realized how close his face was to yours, your nose practically brushing his when you turned your head to look him in the eye. His hand was on your waist, and all you could think about was closing the distance to kiss him. But he broke his gaze with you and nodded at the pool table.

“Give it a try.”

Dabi stayed next to you, his body lined up with yours as you lined up your shot and took it the way he showed you. This time, you hit the ball you wanted, but it bounced off the edge, and hit the eight ball.

“Wha... NO!” you yelled as the black ball rolled into a pocket.

That was it. That was the game. Dabi won.

“Wow. That was actually impressive how bad that was.”

You smacked his chest with the back of your hand. “I told you I was too drunk for this.”

“Hey, at least you hit the ball…”

You stuck your tongue out at him and took another sip of your drink. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at you.

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Good,” you replied with a smile.

“Good. Let’s try again.”

“Nooo,” you whined.

“C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. I thought you wanted to have fun,” he teased. “Besides, that was barely a game.”

“Ugh, fine. But don’t they have like... cards here or something?”

“I’d probably win at that too. Something tells me my poker face is better than yours.”

“You are so full of yourself, aren’t you?”

Dabi chuckled as he set up the balls again. “You break this time.”

You lined up your stick and hit the cue ball, sending the balls scattering.

Time passed as you played, Dabi refilling your drink when you asked as you bantered with him between turns. Your skills improved slightly, with Dabi giving you tips here and there. But the progress was hindered by the way you had difficulty focusing and the way your body didn’t always move the way you intended it to. You made it through two games, with Dabi beating you both times before you finally gave up, the floor beneath your feet pitching much more than it had before.

“I quit,” you finally said.

You leaned on your cue stick, your body swaying slightly. Dabi was next to you, so you took the opportunity to lean against his chest to ground yourself. But between the alcohol, stuffy bar, and his body heat, you pushed him away almost immediately.

“Ugh, you’re too hot,” you complained.

Dabi chuckled. “Come on…”

He took you back to the bar and you sat down onto the barstool with less grace than you’d had before. It wasn’t your fault; the damn thing seemed to move. There were no other seats again, so he stood next to you like before.

You laid your head on the counter, letting the cool, smooth surface soothe your forehead.

“She okay?” the bartender asked.

Dabi nudged you. “You okay?” he repeated.

With your head still down, you gave a thumbs up.

“She’s good,” he replied.

You zoned out to the sound of the bar noise and the music playing, your body swaying slightly to the beat. A moment later, a glass of water appeared in front of you.

“What’s this?” you demanded.

“Water, drink up,” Dabi ordered.

You shook your head. “Nuh-uh.”

“Your call... you’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow.”

“Where’s my drink?” you asked, looking around bleary-eyed.

“You finished it.”

“Oh. It was good, can I have another?”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment. Then he pushed the water glass towards you. “Drink, doll. You’ll thank me later. Then I’ll order more.”

You grumbled but drank it anyway. As promised, Dabi ordered you another drink, and you gave a happy wiggle as you began to drink it.

Dabi leaned against the bar counter with his head propped in his hand. He stared at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?”

“I like you like this.”

“What? Drunk?” you teased.

“Happy,” he corrected.

You stilled for a moment as you looked at him.

“It’s because I’m with you,” you confessed.

Your answer seemed to surprise him, his eyes widening slightly as his grin faltered. He gave a scoff. “I’m sure the alcohol is helping too.”

“Shut up and take the compliment,” you retorted. “I’m happy with you. You make me happy.”

Dabi’s cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were making him grin, the bruise and the torn skin thrumming low. “You’re repeating yourself now.”

“It’s so you’ll listen to me,” you replied adamantly as you took another sip. Your thoughts were more fluid now, your usual filters and reservations carried away on the current of booze in your system.

“I think…” you started thoughtfully, “I thought going back to the hide out would help me feel better. But...”

“But it didn’t.”

You shook your head. “I looked at that place and I just felt... lonely.”

“And you don’t feel lonely now?” Dabi asked.

You shook your head again and leaned against his shoulder. “I feel safe.”

Dabi froze under the contact as your confessions fought with his own denials. You weren’t safe with him. He was unstable and violent and he didn’t deserve your trust.

But you were smiling now, and he couldn’t say that.

He turned his body towards you slightly to put his arm around your shoulders, and you nuzzled comfortably against his chest.

“You ready to go back?” he asked.

“Not yet,” you whined.

“You sure? You’re looking awfully shiftfaced now.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Says the girl falling asleep over her glass...”

You sat up and pushed against his chest with your hands. “Shut up.” Then, your eyes lit up with an idea. “Oh! I know! You know what I want?”

Dabi quirked an eyebrow at you. “More alcohol?”

You pointed at him. “Yes. But also, I want to dance.”

Dabi’s grin vanished immediately. “What??”

“I want to go dancing!” you repeated. “C’mon Dabi, pleeaassee?”

Dabi stared at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

Dabi was familiar with the club scene. He used to visit it frequently before the League, chasing quick highs and whatever chick would spare him a passing glance in an effort to drown his pain in a few cheap hours of euphoria. He knew just the place to go, a place that was safe for people like him, where they didn’t really care about IDs or police records, where cash and drugs were the only currency that mattered.

But it’d been a long time since he’d been there, and the place was filled with temptations and potential dangers. It was no place for someone like you.

Besides, you already looked ready to fall over.

“I bet you can’t even walk straight.”

“Yes I can!”

“Okay, prove it. If you can walk out of here without help and without bumping into anyone, then I’ll take you dancing.”

It was a tall order as the world tilted on its axis around you, but you were stubborn and determined.

Dancing. To be able to finally move your body, to feel the freedom of music against your skin. You hadn’t realized how wound tight you’d been since you’d lost everything and joined the League. It’d been nonstop healing, and sneaking around, and hiding away. Dancing, even for a little bit, to lose yourself to movement and be just another face in the crowd, sounded like just what you needed.

With determination, you stood up from your stool. The motion instantly made you lightheaded, and you swayed on your feet, balance eluding you. Dabi’s arms were out in an instant, catching you, and you fell against his chest in a fit of giggles.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“No, no,” you giggled. “I can do this.”

“Doll, you already failed the test.”

“Shh!” you put a finger to his lips, but now the giggles had you and you couldn’t stop them.

Dabi’s arms were around your waist as your arms hung around his neck. You swayed in his hold, the motion soothing. Your vision focused on him, and for once you allowed yourself to blatantly stare at his beauty, at the shape of his jaw, the color of his eyes, even the staples along his cheeks. Your thoughts made their way seamlessly from your brain to your mouth.

“You’re really hot,” you cooed.

“Yeah, you told me earlier.”

“No, I mean, like... you’re hot. Like attractive, hot. It’s unfair how hot you are.”

Dabi, for all of his self-control, couldn’t stop the heat from warming his cheeks, and he forced a laugh as he began to untangle your fingers from his neck. The way your eyes were looking at him, the way your tongue peeked out to wet your lips...

“Okay, now I know you’re shitfaced.”

“Shut up, it’s true.”

“Everyone looks more attractive when you’re drunk.”

You looked around at all the other faces at the bar. “That’s not true...” you muttered.

Dabi laughed again while internally his mind was spinning. You were going to be the death of him. God, he wished you were saying this shit while you were sober... he wondered if you’d even remember any of it.

He sighed. “Let’s get you home.”

“But what about the dancing??”

“We’ll have to save it for another time.”

You pouted as Dabi began to lead you out of the bar. The realization that your evening of fun was coming to an end made the weight of dread return to your shoulders. Tears pricked your eyes as you began to leave.

You didn’t want this to end. You didn’t want to stop being with Dabi, spending time with him like this. You didn’t want to go back to that stuffy hotel with your medical bag and PTSD waiting for you.

Once you stepped outside, Dabi let go of your hand and walked ahead of you. The cold night air began to clear your head slightly. Everything was coated in rainwater now as the low, heavy clouds passed over you, painted in the yellowish-brown light of the city; but there was a lull in the rainfall that gave a much-needed reprieve and brought a heavy hush upon the quiet street compared to the boisterous bar inside.

You inhaled the air deep into your lungs, letting the damp crispness cool your blood. You stared ahead of you at Dabi, donned in his black coat, his black hair lit under the streetlamp. He turned to look at you, and for a moment you stood still and stared. He was picturesque, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“What?” he asked.

“I...” you swallowed, a million different responses piling onto your tongue at once.

I don’t want to go back.

I want to be with you a little longer.

I want you to kiss me.

I never should have left last night...

God, you cared for him. You cared for him more than you had let yourself realize. But now, here away from the chaos, with your worries subdued under liquor and fresh air, you understood just how incredibly head over heels you were for him. It scared you, because he was not someone you ever thought you’d fall for. He was self-destructive, broken, and single-minded in his obsession. It left little space in his heart for anything else. But he was also intelligent, highly self-aware, and surprisingly kind, in his own way. You’d begun to see a side to him that you hadn’t known existed before, and it was a side that only you ever seemed to witness, something that was reserved special for you. You felt protected by it, cared for. In a world that had tried to erase you, he somehow made you feel... wanted.

All you could think as you stood there unable to answer, was that you wanted to be with him always.

Dabi’s dark brows furrowed and he stepped close to you, his eyes looking over your face through his black bangs. His thumb came up and brushed fresh tears from your cheek.

“Why are you cryin’ again, doll?” His voice was deep, coating you like honey, and you closed your eyes to let it wash over you.

You hadn’t realized you were crying; you hadn’t felt the tears fall, too focused on your emotions as your skin hummed like an aura around you. You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your cheek, even though he’d already lowered his hand.

You shook your head in disbelief. So much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t say any of it. Not without scaring him away. If he learned how deeply you felt about him...

You’re not my type.

You understood those words more clearly, now. It wasn’t that you weren’t his type; it was that Dabi didn’t have a type. He wasn’t someone who would commit, who would settle down. He couldn’t even picture a future for himself beyond taking down his father.

But you didn’t want to face that either, because that train of thought only led to more heartache. What you wanted was to remember the way he put his arm over your shoulder, the way he wiped your tears from your cheeks, from the way he’d hovered over you the night before, his eyes drinking you in as if you were all he wanted. You wanted to hold his hand, to lean against him as you sat together, to bask in his attention a bit longer.

“I...” you started again. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready to go back.”

Dabi stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you could tell he was deciding on what to do next. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, and checked the time on his phone. It was late, but not terribly; there were at least another couple of hours before the public transportation systems shut down for the night.

“You wanna dance that badly?” he asked.

What you wanted was more time to pretend. To pretend that this was more than what it was, to pretend that you were two regular people enjoying each other’s company and seeing where things went without worry or consequence about what sat on the horizon.

“I... I just want a little more time,” you whispered, “to feel normal.”

Dabi stepped even closer, his body inches from yours. His long fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his eyes following his action.

“You’re the most normal girl I’ve ever known.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the odd compliment, and Dabi’s lips turned up at the corners slightly.

“If we stay out longer, I might need more of your pills. Do you have any on you?”

You anticipated this possibility and pulled the small Ziplock bag out of your pocket. Dabi took the pills you offered, noting the few remaining. You tried not to stare too intently at the way he placed them onto his tongue and swallowed them, but you were pretty sure you were failing at being discrete.

He put his arm over your shoulder. “Come on.”

Warmth swelled from his touch, and a great wave of euphoric victory washed over you. Your smile came back.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Dancing.”

Dabi led you towards the train station where he grabbed a quick snack from the vending machine and a drink. Once you were seated in the empty train car, you ate as you watched the city lights pass by. While you watched the city, Dabi watched you. He watched the way your eyes lit up, the longing in them as you looked out at what used to be your home, at a world that you’d been cut off from.

Normal. You wanted to be normal. And Dabi meant what he’d said. You were as normal as they came. You never belonged with the League, but you did it out of necessity. The way you talked about it made it sound like a cage, and the more Dabi thought about it, the more he realized that for you, it probably was.

He wondered what you would be like if you could have your freedom again. If you could exist without fear, without worry, without pain. How much brighter would your smile be? How much happier would you feel? He could picture it; you, successful and happy, with a career, a home, a family... you seemed like the type that would want a family.

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t picture himself there with you. His future didn’t hold the potential that yours did, and he didn’t want the things that he assumed you wanted. No matter which way he looked at it, he didn’t belong there, his dark shadow blocking out the light that you desperately needed to flourish.

And yet, for some reason, you always shined brightest when you were with him. You were happiest with him. You’d even said so with your own words. The safety that you’d been seeking before wasn’t at the hotel; it was with him.

His mind and his heart couldn’t reconcile the two realities. They co-existed in his consciousness, yet their edges never touched.

You wanted to feel normal, but Dabi knew that normal would no longer be possible for you. Not after what had happened to you, how they had tried to erase you. There was nothing for you to go back to, not with hero society being what it was, the status quo still locked in place and the people who hurt you still in power.

Dabi mourned his past while you mourned your future.

So, you wanted to pretend tonight. Dabi couldn’t blame you. That’s why he changed his mind, even though discomfort and warning bells nagged at the back of his consciousness. That was why he took your pills so that he could stave off any temptation he might feel once you both reached your new destination. It was the only option available that he had in order to give you want you wanted.

He’d let you pretend. And maybe... just for a little bit... Dabi could pretend too. He could set aside his identities of Dabi and Touya, stashing them away to a deep, dark place inside himself. They would never be gone from him entirely but, maybe tonight, he could quiet their screaming for just a little while. He could pretend, take on a third, unnamed identity. No one important, just some guy having a night out with a girl that he had a crush on.

You stepped off the train with Dabi into a different neighborhood. More bars lined the streets here, more people walked the sidewalks. The heavy thrums of music spilled out of open club doors into the streets where people lined up for entry.

Dabi led you along with his arm over your shoulder, keeping you close to him. It was as if he were making sure you didn’t get separated from him, lost in the throngs of drunken passersby. And it was a good call, too... you were still very much tipsy, your balance uneven as you followed along. Your eyes kept getting distracted by the things around you, and Dabi had to guide you around oncoming strangers more than once.

“Careful, doll,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you said off-handedly. His hand gave your shoulder a small squeeze.

You were looking around, trying to guess which club he would take you to. Instead, he turned down a dark alley.

“Wait, what...?”

“Just trust me.”

So you did, letting him guide you until you found a back door entrance with a line of strangers waiting.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a special place for people like us,” he replied. Then he grinned down at you. “What, do you think villains are just constantly fighting and stealing all the time?”

You smiled and leaned against him as you waited. The closer you got, the more anxious you felt, a mixture of fear and excitement. You could feel the music in your feet now, could hear how the building seemed to vibrate from the bass that spilled out of the open door.

“You still got those extra pills on you?” Dabi asked, his eyes ahead.

“Yeah, why?”

“Hand ‘em over.”

You hesitated, and Dabi looked down at you.

“They’re not for me, doll. Money’s not the only currency here, and that stack of cash I had is gonna dry up if we’re not careful. We still gotta be able to get back later.”

Discomfort stirred across your skin, but you pulled out the pills and handed the bag to him anyway.

“Good girl,” he muttered as he pocketed them.

The reaction your body had to those two simple words was astronomical, heat washing over you and moisture pooling between your legs. It took you by surprise, and you bit your lip to keep yourself composed as you took another step forward in the line.

It wasn’t long before it was your turn to go in. You had expected them to check ID, but instead, Dabi talked to the man guarding the door in low whispers. A few words and an exchange of bills and the pills and you were finally in.

The atmosphere smothered you instantly, invading all of your senses. The noise, the smell, the heat, the vibrations, the flashing lights and smoke... It was overwhelming at first, but Dabi kept his arm over you, guiding you through it. Your eyes took it all in, watching people dancing, grinding, making out. You averted your eyes, realizing exactly what you’d gotten yourself into and who you were with.

You turned your attention back ahead when Dabi stopped, and you realized he’d found the bar.

“I’m gonna need a drink before we do this,” he commented, his voice loud to override the noise. “You want one?”

Yes. Yes, you definitely needed another drink.

You nodded at him.

“Whad’ya want? Better make it strong, this is probably our last one for tonight,” he replied as he checked the money left in his hand. The stack was significantly thinner than when you first started.

You gave him your order, picking something that would taste awful but be highly effective. He grinned at you and gave the order to the bartender. A minute later, you both had your own drinks. You took a sip of yours and grimaced.

“You’re not gonna scold me?” he teased, holding his drink up for emphasis.

You scoffed. “Would it make a difference?” you asked.

Dabi laughed. “Not really.”

“Exactly.”

Dabi’s shoulder bumped yours playfully. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll get you home safe.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I know you will,” you replied.

You watched the people on the dance floor with longing as you sipped at your drink, waiting for the effects to kick in. You needed to be drunk enough to not care about how you danced or who was watching. You need to be drunk enough to be able to nearly forget yourself and all your troubles.

While you watched the dance floor, Dabi kept an eye out for any potential trouble. His eyes caught a couple popping pills in their mouths and chasing it with alcohol. Further away, a group of girls bent over a table, snorting white powder into their noses off their makeup mirrors. In this place, no one cared what anyone else did, as long as they didn’t start any fights.

Dabi’s arm around your shoulder tightened as he looked away, angling you slightly so the groups were behind you. He didn’t want you to see it. He didn’t want you to see any of it. Because as soon as you did, he knew you’d want to leave, your worry over him greater than your desire for freedom.

And Dabi understood why. He could feel the pull of it, the drag of the old familiar behaviors brought forth by old memories of a time when he didn’t care about consequences. If he were by himself, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist it, the temptation too great. But this time, he had you with him, and it was you that kept him grounded.

It was excruciating waiting; he finished his drink long before yours, knowing the sooner he finished it, the sooner it would hit, and the sooner he’d be able to sober up later. It mixed with your pills in his gut and he could feel the lightheadedness, could feel the numbness settle over him comfortably. His scars didn’t hurt, and the headaches and nausea that came and went each time your medication wore off was once again silent.

But he still had enough awareness to realize how stupid he was being, the risk he was taking by bringing you here. He was being a damn idiot just to make you happy and keep you smiling. What if he fucked up again? What if he couldn’t stop himself? What if he got caught up in something and you ended up getting hurt tonight?

That single possibility lingered in his mind, and he used it to shackle himself to you, using your presence as a lifeline. He refused to let it happen. He’d never be able to forgive himself if it did.

He watched as you finally finished the last of your drink. Your body was loose and untethered again, and you swayed subconsciously to the music.

“You ready?” he asked.

The sooner he could get you out onto the dance floor, the easier all of this would be for him. He’d let you dance, you’d get what you needed out of your system, and then he’d take you home.

He just needed to not see it. He needed to be distracted. He needed to stay focused on you.

You stared at him, eyes wide with hesitancy. But there was longing there as well, hidden behind the glassiness of your eyes.

“Yeah,” you finally answered.

He let you lead the way, allowing you to pick your way through the crowd to find a space where you could squeeze in. Dabi followed behind you, his hand on your waist to make sure you didn’t get lost and to make sure no one else tried to approach you.

The music was upbeat and fast paced, the kind that made people want to jump and sway and sing. Your body fell into it naturally, carried along on the beat.

Dabi stood, his body frozen to distraction as he watched you move. Your eyes were closed, every part of you in motion, and he could tell that you were happy as your mouth sang the lyrics. It was as if he weren’t even there, or more like you weren’t there anymore, just a vessel through which the music moved through. It was a tide that you ebbed and flowed with, and Dabi was the rock.

You loved to dance. Dabi had never even thought about it before; he’d never once asked himself what it was that you liked, what you enjoyed. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he really knew about you. It only made the curiosity burn brighter, hotter.

What else made you happy?

You pulled him back to reality with a tug of your hand, your eyes and face alight with joy.

“Dance with me!” you pleaded.

So, he did, his body coming up to fit behind yours. He let you set the motions, let your hips lead his as his arm wrapped around your waist. His body burned like fire everywhere your bodies touched, and he let it consume him, let himself get lost between you and the music, finding solace in a place where time had no meaning and all that mattered was the movement, the rhythm, the feel and smell of your skin.

The songs changed, blending from one to the next as you danced together, heady from alcohol and arousal. You stopped thinking, you stopped worrying. You let yourself drift in happiness with Dabi pressed against you, his body like a brand against your skin that burned itself into your soul. You were tingling, your skin singing everywhere.

The palms of Dabi’s hands grazed the curve of your shoulders and down your arms until they found their home on your hips, his fingers curling around and bringing you flush against him as you danced. The movement of your bodies were different now, changing, evolving. And faintly, you realized that a threshold was being crossed, a line drawn in the sand that was being etched away with each hot breath across the shell of your ear. You could feel Dabi’s belt buckle against your lower back, could feel the denim of his jeans and the firmness beneath it that had made itself at home against the curve of your ass, and all you could think of was how you wanted more, more, more.

Every inch of you began to tighten like a coil, and you weren’t the only one. Dabi lowered his head until his nose was brushing the crook of your neck, his lips ghosting over your shoulder but never quite touching, never actually reaching out and...

Your movements together slowed to a standstill as people continued to dance around you. Dabi tucked his nose behind the shell of your ear, the breath from his lips tickling your neck in ragged gusts.

He was holding back. Every fiber of Dabi’s being was pulled tight as he fought every natural urge that coursed through his veins.

Your hand reached up to tangle your fingers into his hair soothingly. It was hot and sweaty, the strands sticking between your fingers. You scratched at his scalp, and he hummed, the vibration echoing in your own chest.

“You okay?” you said just loud enough for him to hear.

He growled low and his grip tightened, fingers digging into the plush of your hips, causing your breath to hitch.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

You turned in his arms to look at him, and he stared back, his ocean eyes glowing with hunger. You put your arms around his neck, and you moved in a gentle sway, even as the music continued to pound loudly and quickly around you.

“Am I now?” you grinned.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed at you.

His hands gripped your ass and pushed you tight against him until there was no mistaking just how crazy you were making him, just how badly he wanted you.

“Yeah. You are.”

His action stole a little gasp from your lips, and he grinned devilishly. It only emboldened you, eager to finally rip away the thin, false veneer of a boundary that no longer existed between you.

“So...” you said as you put your forehead to his, your noses bumping gently, “what’re you gonna do about it?”

He could feel your hot breath, could smell the alcohol on your tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, his brows furrowed. You were drunk, he was drunk and slightly high, and none of this was supposed to be happening.

He shouldn’t do this, he shouldn’t...

He didn’t want you to wake up in the morning and regret this, to write this off as a mistake. He wanted this to mean something.

But then you whined his name, the same way you did last night, with that needy, pleading tone that made his heart drop in his chest and his cock throb against his jeans.

“Dabi...”

Fuck it.

Dabi’s resolve shattered into a million pieces, and he kissed you.

Pleasure erupted like wildfire and you gasped against his lips. Your hands behind his neck instantly tightened around him as you slotted against his body like a magnet. His arms tightened around you, his hands following up and down the curve of your back before returning to cup your ass and push you tight against his groin where his need was heaviest. Your need was heavy too, pulsing in your veins and throbbing between your legs until you were sure you’d drown.

Your mouth opened hungrily, and Dabi was done for, his tongue meeting yours as he kissed you fiercely. His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close, preventing you from pulling away as he drank you in.

You were lightheaded, on the brink of fainting, when your lips finally parted. Dabi stared at you, his pupils dilated, his lips wet.

“Wanna get outta here?” he finally asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Dabi grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the club into the night air. The cold chilled the sweat on your skin, your hearing muffled from the aftereffects of the club music. Everything held a strange lucidity now, despite the alcohol still rampant in your veins. It was as if a heavy veil had finally been lifted and you could see the beauty of the world around you, all of its edges in crystal clear clarity, and at the center of it was him.

You practically had to jog to keep up, your head still swimming. You turned the corner and managed to find yourself on a quieter street, with less people. He led you down it, making another turn into another nondistinct alleyway, much quieter than the last without any back entrances to clubs or bars.

You needed to kiss him again. You needed it like you needed air.

You tugged on his arm, yanking him back toward you. You met the incoming momentum of his body with your hand on his cheek and your lips on his, hot and eager.

He kissed you back instantly, his tongue opening your mouth again and he backed you up against the wet brick wall, his palms exploring your body. Your hips, your thighs... he pressed himself against you, and you moaned at the feeling of his thigh pressing between your legs, your hips rolling.

Dabi’s mouth broke from yours to trail wet kisses to your jawline and down your neck. Your fingers gripped his hair, your body moving of its own accord, finally cut loose of its strings.

But suddenly, a wave of unpleasant heat began to wash over you, and the lightheadedness from before evolved into full-on spinning.

“Dabi...” you warned.

“Hm?” he hummed, too engrossed in the feel of you to hear the shift in your tone.

You could feel it, the way your stomach rolled. All that drinking, and dancing, and running...

You were going to be sick.

“Dabi stop –”

You shoved him away just in time to bend over to the side and vomit your alcohol all over the ground.

“Oh shit.” Dabi’s arm was around you in an instant, holding you up as you emptied your stomach, his other hand brushing your hair back and out of your face. “It’s okay, doll. I gotcha.”

The lust in Dabi’s veins evaporated immediately, his mental fog receding as he held you while your body convulsed.

Realization crashed over him on all that had just happened.

He shouldn’t have done any of this.

He shouldn’t have taken you that club, he shouldn’t have danced with you, he shouldn’t have touched you like that...

And he definitely shouldn’t have kissed you. Not while you were both drunk off your asses, where you couldn’t tell where the alcohol ended and your feelings began.

Fuck, you were too important to him to fuck this up.

It was too late now. He could still taste you on his tongue, could recall in stunning clarity the feel of your body beneath his palms, the way it had bent to his will. He’d finally had a taste of you and he craved more. He’d unlocked something within himself that couldn’t be put back, had given away something that couldn’t be returned.

You moaned miserably once you were done and wiped your mouth. You propped yourself against the wall with your body bent and your hands on your legs.

“Ughh...” you groaned.

Dabi crouched in front of you so he could look up into your face. “You okay?”

You looked at him with tired eyes and shook your head. “Nnnnope. Everything’s...” – you whirled your finger in a circular motion – “ssspinning.” You lowered your head again. “Oh, God. That last drink hit hard.”

Dabi took your hand in his. “Let’s get you home.”

“Yyyup,” you replied. You made to stand up, but the nausea came back. “Woah, woah... hang on... I’mmm gonna... need another m-minute.” Your words were slurred and your movements slow. You bent back over, your head low again as you breathed deep breaths in and out.

Dabi crouched in front of you again. He placed his hands on your calves and rubbed his thumbs in small circles into the denim.

You glanced up at him and a drunk giggle escaped your lips. “Totally sexy right now, aren’t I?”

Dabi smirked. “You’re always sexy.”

You straightened up slightly and breathed in through your nose and out your mouth as the nausea began to subside and the spinning slowed. You leaned your head back against the wall, your eyes closed.

“I thought I wasn’t your type,” you joked.

Dabi stood up and brushed your hair away from your face. “Obviously that was a fuckin’ lie.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

You were spiraling now, all the alcohol you didn’t throw up running amok in your system, and it was late. Dabi put his arm around your shoulder to keep you steady.

“C’mon, doll... I think we’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

“Mmm... I like when you call me doll,” you hummed.

“I know you do.”

“And sweetheart.”

“Yep.”

Dabi started to help you out of the alley, but you stumbled, your steps wobbly. You broke out into a fit of giggles but had to pause again as another wave of nausea washed over you.

“You gonna throw up again?” he asked.

“I dunno. I mean... I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left to throw up.” You looked around you, the surroundings unfamiliar. “How far away is home?”

“We gotta get to the train.”

“Ugghhh... too far,” you whined. Exhaustion was coming on fast and hard. You wanted to lay down on the ground and sleep.

A raindrop struck the top of your head, then another. More and more began to fall.

Dabi cursed. “Ah, shit...”

You held your hand out, watching as they landed on your palm, your fingers. You opened your mouth and caught a couple drops on your tongue.

Dabi stared at you, his breath stuck in his chest.

You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And, for at least a little while tonight, you were his. He watched, memorizing the nuances of you, your laugh, your smile, the color of your eyes, your hair, every beauty and every imperfection locked away into a safe place on the possibility that tomorrow everything would be different.

Tomorrow you may not want him at all.

So, for now, he’d enjoy however much was left of the night, even if all that was left was laughing, stumbling, and dancing in the rain.

The drops began to fall faster, heavier. It began to flatten his hair and soak into his clothes. You were oblivious, your face tilted up towards the falling rain, as you held your arms out. You did a small spin but stumbled, and Dabi caught you in his arms before you could hit the pavement.

“Whoops!” You giggled.

“Shitfaced,” he teased.

“Happy,” you replied. You put your arms around his torso, your head resting against his chest. “Happy.” You repeated again, your voice softer.

Dabi allowed his arms to wrap around you, allowed his quirk to warm his body slightly to stave off the cold for the both of you.

He had to get you back, before the trains shut down.

“Come on doll, we gotta hurry.” Dabi grabbed your hand and began dragging you down the street. You followed him, your feet barely able to keep up.

As the rain soaked through your clothes, you began to shiver. Puddles formed in the street, small streams trickling down the gutters. By the time you’d managed to reach the train station, you were both soaked. Dabi managed to get you onto the last train for the night. You sat down together and you began rubbing your arms, your teeth chattering slightly.

Dabi took off his stitched coat and draped it over your shoulders. “Here.”

You wrapped it around you gratefully and snuggled against him, your arms wrapped around his.

As the train began to move, it rocked ever so slightly, back and forth. Dabi allowed his cheek to rest against your wet head as he watched the city pass outside. He felt an unusual sense of quiet in this moment, a peace that he’d never felt before. The usual darkness in him was always there, lurking, but for once, he didn’t care about it, didn’t look at it. He knew this night was wrought with impermanence, and he told himself that he would pretend.

After a silence that lasted for eternity, Dabi allowed himself to speak from a place that he usually kept quiet, a place he’d never before given credence to.

“I hope you remember this...” he whispered against your hair.

You didn’t answer. The mixture of alcohol, exhaustion, warmth, and the movement of the train had lulled you to sleep. It forced a small loneliness to settle on Dabi’s shoulders.

It had been fun while it lasted.

He had to shake you awake once the train reached your stop. You were half asleep as you followed him off and leaned against him the entire walk home. Dabi had half a mind to give you a piggyback ride to save time, but the healing wound on his back itched as a reminder. His scars didn’t hurt terribly yet, but he remained cautious, aware that your quirk had burned off long ago. Now it was only your pills that were keeping the excruciating pain at bay. He could feel them lurking beneath the surface, waiting to wreak havoc on his body again.

It was an ordeal getting you in and up the stairs. You’d gravitated towards the couch in the common room as soon as you saw it, and whined at him when he redirected you to the stairs.

“Elevator,” you whined.

The old machinery squeaked and rattled, and Dabi didn’t want to wake the others just to deal with curious looks and even more curious questions.

“Too noisy.” Dabi replied.

So, he helped you up the steps of the stairwell, catching you when you faltered.

By the third stumble, your giggles returned.

“Shh, shut up,” he whispered.

Your giggle turned into a cackle, unable to control yourself, and Dabi put his hand over your mouth to try to quiet you. Your tongue stuck out and licked his palm, running across his staples.

He yanked his hand away, repulsed. “Ugh! You’re disgusting.”

You cackled some more, and your voice echoed off the stairwell. You clamped your own hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter as your eyes squeezed shut, tears stinging the corners.

Dabi couldn’t help but chuckle at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered. “Come on, you idiot.”

He finally had to put your arm around his shoulder and his arm around your waist, and your giggles finally subsided, the occasional chuckle escaping your lips.

Dabi managed to get you through your bedroom door and plopped you down on top of your bed, where you lay sprawled out, your eyelids heavy.

“Dabi...” you slurred.

Dabi began helping you out of your shoes. “Yeah?”

“Did we kiss?”

Dabi froze, his hands in the middle of peeling off your wet socks. It was as if like you’d shot a bullet through his chest, and now his heart was bleeding out, leaving nothing but emptiness inside.

You didn’t remember.

You already forgot.

Dabi stared at you for a moment as you laid back with your arm over your eyes to block the light. His jaw clenched.

“No, doll.”

“Aww...” you pouted. “I thought we did...”

“You must’ve been dreaming on the train.”

“Mmm, it was a really good dream...”

You rolled to your side and curled in on yourself, tears in your eyes as you stared at your bedside lamp. You were still wrapped up in his coat, with your own soaked jacket underneath.

“C’mon, doll.”

Dabi made you sit up and began taking his coat off you. You rubbed at your eyes sleepily. As soon as he got your own jacket off, you fell back sideways into the bed. Dabi grabbed your blanket and laid it over you.

“I wish I were your type...” you whispered.

Dabi froze for a moment, his eyes on you. But you didn’t look at him; it was almost as if you were talking to yourself.

It stung him how little you remembered from your night together. But Dabi accepted it bitterly, playing along. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe tomorrow you wouldn’t hate him.

“No you don’t,” he replied quietly.

“Yes I do....”

Your eyes closed, and Dabi watched and waited. But they didn’t open again, and your breaths fell soft and even. You’d fallen asleep.

A heavy sigh escaped out of his nose, and he crouched at the edge of your bed, his arms on your mattress with his chin in his fist as he watched you sleep.

His type. It was the second time you’d brought it up that night, even though you didn’t remember. He remembered the jab he’d thrown at you ages ago; he remembered how you reacted. It was his first real hint that showed him you were interested in him.

But then everything fell apart and you put him back together piece by piece. And it was all different after that. Dabi had assumed that his little comment no longer mattered; that it had become a thing of the past, once you’d gotten to know him and all of his problems. After all, why the hell would you even want to be his type anyway?

But you did, and now his careless words from before were back to bite him in the ass. Because now he had only one type, and it was you.

And you weren’t going to remember a thing.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 17

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