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#liya writes
dulcesiabits · 2 years
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i’ve become the villain’s lover!
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summary: You have the worst luck in the entire world to be transmigrated into a novel as some faceless side character, where the most notorious villains in the story won’t leave you alone. (ft. Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus).
notes: 12k words, scenario, fluff, mentions of violence, reader gets injured once, heavily based on my love of cheesy isekai/reincarnation/villainess manhwa 
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All of your problems started with the book your friend lent you.
You didn’t even want to read it at first, but you took the copy because she wouldn’t stop pestering you and spamming you with texts. The title—I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!—was embossed gold, and the cover picture had seven beautiful men lounging around a woman with brown hair, the woman gazing wistfully into the distance. In short, it was so cheesy it sent chills down your back.
You really weren’t going to read it. But that summer night was hot and humid and you had nothing better to do than stare at the television and stir around your half-melted ice cream. So when you saw the book on the edge of the kitchen counter, you thought, why not? and opened it up.
If it was bad, you would stop after a few pages. But the television kept droning on as you read, and your forgotten ice cream was now melted slush in its bowl, and soon you were halfway through the story.
The premise itself was simple enough: the heroine, Hera Winn, was the treasured daughter of a down on his luck baron. He sent her to the city to make her debut, and after a series of mishaps, she ended up running into the crown prince, Malleus Draconia, who fell in love at first sight. However, the crown prince was feared by his subjects, and rumors swirled around about his fearsome power and his family. To make matters worse, six other men fall in love with Hera. The cherry on top? All seven men were notorious villains, feared by people far and wide for their cruelty.
You were still a few chapters away from the ending when your eyes started drooping; it was impossible to keep them open, even though you were dying to text your friend. It was deliciously bad, in an over-the-top and campy way, and you appreciated how self-indulgent the author was. Seriously, why would seven villains even fall for an ordinary person? It was way too contrived.
Whatever. You could call her tomorrow.
You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you found yourself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Oh no. No way. This wasn’t what you thought it was, was it?
Conveniently, there was a hand mirror next to you, and when you stared into the frame, the face of a stranger stared back at you.
Your worst fears had come true. You’d transmigrated into I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!
Shit. You were never going to read another book in your life.
Luckily (or unluckily), you’d become some no-name extra. You didn’t even show up in the story, so as long as you kept your head down and stayed away from the main characters and their messy love affairs, you’d have a nice, happy life. 
Hey, maybe you could even use your knowledge of the story to make some good cash. You might as well make the best of whatever had happened to you.
The extra you’d transmigrated as lived alone, and had a decently nice house. When you had the chance to dig around the items in the house, you found out that they didn’t really have any hobbies other than reading and gardening. They also had a job working at the local bakery, judging from their planner, so you wouldn’t be lacking in money for now. You settled around the house, and spent a week or two getting used to your new life.
One night, you were getting ready to prepare dinner when you heard a thunk against your back door. Picking up one of your pans to use as a weapon, you cautiously opened the door only to be greeted with the sight of a man bleeding out on your back porch, his eyes closed and face pale. Oh no. You had to help him-- and then you promptly slammed the door shut once you realized who it was: Riddle Rosehearts, the grand duke. But more importantly, he was one of the villainous love interests in the story, and you really had no interest in getting involved in any of that. But then again-- you would also get in trouble if you let someone so powerful bleed to death on your back porch. So with a tired sigh, you opened the door to figure out how to save Riddle’s life.
When Riddle woke up, he reacted about as well as you expected him to react to his savior. He demanded to know who you were, asking what happened and what you did to him, and his hand was curled to cast some nasty fire spells at you if he deemed you a threat: in short, it was a warm welcome, considering he didn’t immediately start with burning you to a crisp.
After you managed to convince him that you weren’t a threat, he settled back into bed with a groan, and you spent the next few days nursing him back to health. After all, he showed up with a stab wound in his abdomen, and you were surprised he even made it to your door. The first few times he flinched whenever you touched him, but he gradually grew used to your touch. In fact, you realized he unconsciously nuzzled into your hand when you checked his temperature, but you were saving that revelation for a day he particularly annoyed you.
Riddle was not the best patient in the world-- he kept track of his own symptoms and checked on his wounds without your help, and he made a list of very specific herbs he wanted you to get from the apothecary. You suspected he still had trouble trusting your intentions in the first few days. Still, that didn’t stop you from falling asleep by his bedside keeping a watch on him (hm? You’re sure you didn’t have a blanket covering your shoulders before you fell asleep) and feeding him spoonfuls of porridge (partly because you didn’t want to take any chances with his wounds, and partly because you thought it was cute how embarrassed he got).
When Riddle was well enough to stand up on his own, you expected him to leave and go back to his dukedom, so you could also continue on with your life. But then he announced he was going to use your house as a hideout from the dukedom traitors who tried to literally and figuratively stab him in the back. Oh, no way-- but then Riddle added that he’d reward you generously if you cooperated, and you’d never been more than happy to offer him your spare room (or offer for him to keep using it, in this case). Somehow the two of you settled into a familiar routine. You went out to work in the mornings, bringing home leftovers from the bakery that didn’t manage to get sold during the day. Riddle managed the finances and handled any paperwork you gave him. He insisted he couldn’t just sit around waiting for you at home with nothing to do, and, well, he was extremely adept with boring, complicated matters. The two of you also tried to cook and clean together. He was absolutely hopeless at it though, and you had to hide a laugh when he tried to dump salt instead of sugar in your cookies.
He was surprisingly sweet. Maybe it was because he was reliant on your goodwill, but in the story, Riddle was a strict, arrogant ruler who imposed his rules with an iron fist over his subjects. The slightest hint of disobedience would have him personally visiting the offending person and making an example out of them in public... which was what probably led to people rebelling against him and trying to oust him from power. You could see hints of that imperious man show through; when he ordered you to do something, he expected you to do it without hesitation. Whenever you refused or talked back, you could see a vein in his forehead twitch.
Still, he seemed to respect you enough to back down when you stood firm in your decisions. He was easy to tease and easy to fluster, though you hoped that wouldn’t come to bite you in the ass when Riddle went to take back the dukedom. He jumped when you stood too close to him, blushed when you casually placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was always at the door to welcome you home in the evenings. He’d become a lot more fond of you than you ever expected, and you had to admit you had a soft spot for him, too. His eyes lit up when you brought home new pastries for him to try, and you noticed that he’d sometimes watch you gently when you walked around the house, though he looked away when you tried to catch him in the act.
One time, he came downstairs when you were dozing on the couch, and his footsteps woke you up. You waited to see what Riddle would do as you pretended to be asleep, curious as to what he got up to when you weren’t around. What you didn’t expect was for him to pull a blanket over you, muttering about how careless you were as he smoothed it down. His hand lingered near your own, so close you can feel the heat emanating from it, and you heard the couch creak as he bent closer to you, his hair brushing your face... and then he left abruptly, leaving you to wonder what he had been planning on doing.
Your cohabitation came to an end abruptly when Riddle told you that he planned to go back to the dukedom. You sent him off with some provisions and a tart you sneaked from the bakery, but Riddle lingered at the door, his face puckered up as if he was conflicted on something. You were going to tease him for how wrinkled his forehead was when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, promising that he’d come back for you if everything went well. He ran off before you could give him a response, but you were too open-mouthed to even think of one, anyways.
Several weeks passed, and you were sure Riddle had forgotten you. It was none of your business if things went well for him or not (though you had read in the newspapers that he had miraculously returned and rather brutally dealt with the traitors). You were content to just spend the days peacefully between your house and the bakery. Of course, just when you thought everything was going well, Riddle’s top retainers—Cater, Trey, Ace and Deuce—showed up at your door with a letter from Riddle. They wouldn’t leave until you penned a response, but it took you several minutes to reorient yourself after reading what was basically a confession of love and an invitation to become Riddle’s spouse.
Okay. Okay, you had no idea how on earth this had happened; when had Riddle fallen in love with you? Had all the domestic shenanigans affected him more deeply than you thought? So you failed in your initial plan and had gotten involved with a villain, but you definitely were not going to get involved any farther than this. You liked Riddle more than you expected, but his list of enemies was a mile long, and you were not eager to get involved with any of the political maneuvering he did. Also, marriage seemed like a huge commitment after you had only known him for a few weeks. So you sent him a polite rejection, thinking that would be the end... only for Trey to conveniently be sent to “inspect” your town, or Ace to be waiting for you to walk you home when Riddle was too busy to accompany you himself. Riddle never stepped over any boundaries you set, but it was clear he had not lost an ounce of interest in you.
Still, you enjoyed your peaceful life and you were not in any hurry to change anything, not when you had made friends with a few regular customers and the store owners whose stores you frequented. Everything was seemingly going well until you ventured to the market one day to buy groceries. Unfortunately, just after you finished bargaining for some carrots, you heard some commotion from behind you. A hooded man was being chased by town guards, and passerby were either running out of their way or being mowed down if they were too slow, shopkeepers grumbling as they rearranged their broken wares. Well, that was unfortunate, but it was none of your business! At least it was none of your business until the hooded man ran straight at you and grabbed your arm, pulling you in front of him. He snarled at the guards to back off, or you were going to suffer the consequences. All you could think of were two things: one, your basket of food was now rolling across the cobblestones and you were pissed, and two, you had caught a flash of the man under the hood, and you knew who it was. Leona Kingscholar, the infamous second prince of the neighboring kingdom, and another villainous love interest.
Leona didn’t let you go until you were both far away from the guards, who were reluctant to let an innocent civilian get caught in the mix. When you were far from town, he unceremoniously tossed you aside and told you to scram. Maybe you should have just done what he said and let that be the last of your involvement with him, but god, you were starving and he just sent your dinner rolling across the market roads. So, because you were insane, you decided your best course of action would be to threaten him.
Out of all the love interests, Leona wasn’t the worst to deal with, he was just the most temperamental. Despite his strength and cunning, his indolent nature hindered him from being an asset to his kingdom... or so he led everyone to believe. Due to your knowledge of the story, you knew Leona actually desired the throne and had made numerous schemes and backhand deals in order to get the chance to steal it. No crime was off the table if it meant he got his hands on the one thing he’d always been denied. Well, well, wouldn’t it be a shame if someone who knew all the details of his plans were to leak it to someone, like, say, the local guards? You knew just where to find the evidence to back up your claims, too.
Reluctantly, Leona bought you dinner, and because he’s a prince, you milked his wallet for all it was worth. You didn’t doubt he’d send someone to watch you or potentially assassinate you if he deemed you a big enough risk, but that was okay, because you could count on your new buddy Duke Rosehearts to keep you safe. And you were sure to let Leona know that, too, because who wanted to mess with one of the most influential men in the kingdom? Could Leona really afford to start a diplomatic mess at this point?
That should be that, but of course your life wasn’t that easy. You had no one to blame but yourself for deciding to get involved with Leona. The very next day, you found Leona in your kitchen, casually demanding you make him some breakfast because he was hungry. Since you were such an unprecedented variable in his plans, he was going to be keeping a close eye on you before deciding whether he was going to let you live. Well, if Leona was going to be mooching off of you, the least he could do was pay rent and help with some of the chores.
It wasn’t easy living with him. He was worse than Riddle, because at least Riddle tried to help you once he warmed up to you. Leona expected you to do everything by yourself. Occasionally he would do the dishes once you made enough pointed comments about turning him in, or sweep the floors when you started waving the broom around like it was a deadly weapon. More often than not, he was passed out on the couch when you left for work and still passed out when you came home. He would wake up when you finished making dinner, getting up just in time to eat, which made you suspect he wasn’t as defenseless as he presented himself (and that meant you should probably toss your idea of drawing on his face out the window).
The two of you did not get along whatsoever. Neither of you could go several hours without making some sort of snide remark at each other, and every conversation felt like a battle of its own. Leona often commented that he wasn’t sure whether you were bold or stupid, but it wasn’t often someone tried to challenge him like this. He almost sounded like he enjoyed that fact. Maybe he found you entertaining, but it wasn’t like he was scary to you; you knew too much about the story for that.
Sometimes, he was gone for several days at a time, or came home at odd hours. Somehow, your house had turned into his unofficial hideout. You didn’t know what he was up to, and you didn’t care to find out. At the very least, he started walking you to places when your schedules coincided (something about being careful, because his enemies might have figured out his location? You were not going to ask about that). He would then watch as you bartered for groceries (you tended to get better discounts when he was around, because people were intimidated by his glare), or helped you pick up heavy ingredients for the bakery. Sometimes he would even hold your bags... only after you annoyed him with your loud, dramatic complaints over the weight of them.
After a while, the banter between the two of you turned from biting to something almost affectionate. You couldn’t pinpoint when things started to change, but perhaps living together for so long had softened the both of you up. You didn’t expect him to be nice, but he started to make things a bit easier for you. He gave you nice jewelry to either sell or keep for your personal use. And he started napping on your bed, pulling you in to cuddle him when you complained you needed to sleep for the night and he was in your way. He was a clingy sleeper and kept you in his arms until the morning. When the two of you went out together, he had a habit of reaching for your hand, because Leona claimed you looked like you’d get lost or tricked by some shady salesman otherwise.
And, well, when someone tried to threaten you on an evening walk with Leona, he pounced on them before they could so much as finish raising their knife at you. After Leona had finished, ah, dealing with that person, he turned to you tensely, looking you up and down and raising one hand to touch your cheek so gently you didn’t know what to do other than nod when he asked if you were okay. For the rest of the evening, Leona didn’t let you out of his sight and held you tighter than usual in bed that night.
One day, Ruggie and Jack, his trusted right-hand men, came to take him back to his kingdom for some scheme or another. Much like the first time Leona came over, they were standing in your kitchen when you woke up in the morning (maybe you should teach them how to knock on a door, or invest in stronger locks). Ruggie asked Leona what he planned to do with you, and Leona simply gave you a smirk, one arm possessively pulling you by the waist so you almost fell into his lap. Well, he was much too fond of you to let you go now, so he’d just have to take you back with him to his kingdom.
Your only question was: why? Sure, the two of you had been getting along recently, but you didn’t expect his feelings to take on a more romantic turn. And, sure, you were fond of him, too, but Leona had big plans, and you didn’t want to paint a target on your back. Besides, you weren’t ready to be a part of royalty and deal with all the responsibility that entailed. Leona listened to your reasoning with more grace than you expected... and then, on the spot, decided to conveniently create a hideout in town. He wouldn’t be living in your house anymore, but you were still going to be seeing a lot more of him than you did before. Leona never got rid of his habit of sneaking into your house, either, and sometimes you’d come home and find him napping on your bed. Also, you swore he sent Jack or Ruggie to shadow you whenever you’re out, though they were too smart to let you catch them.
Okay, whatever. So what if you had two villains who wouldn’t leave you alone? You could handle them just fine. Besides, what were the chances you’d get involved with another one? This time, you’d built a fence around your backyard to ward off any dukes in mortal peril, and you spent some extra money to get locks for your windows (though you doubted that would actually stop anyone, not with Ace and Ruggie’s nimble fingers). Also, you were going to keep your head down, and be a good law-abiding citizen, and-- okay, why were two tall men slapping a sign labeled “foreclosure” onto the bakery door? And did the owner just walk out with a man in an elegant suit, who gave you a slimy smile when he noticed you staring? No. No way. It couldn’t be, but it was: it was Azul Ashengrotto, head of the information guild, one of the villainous love interests, and the man who just put you out of a job.
Maybe you offended some powerful deity in your last life, because your luck was downright rotten. You really had no choice but to get involved with Azul this time, because you were not ready to go job-hunting just yet. Who else would be nice enough to give you free food, anyways?
Azul was your friend’s favorite character, and you only vaguely understood why. He was intelligent, handsome, and charming, sure, but he was also two-faced, manipulative and had committed numerous backdoor deals to achieve his position as head of the guild. He was one of the most dangerous men in the world, and someone not to be crossed at all costs. After all, he had eyes and ears all over the place, and was the man to go to if you wanted dirt on anyone. And while he could grant whatever wish you wanted, if you were unable to hold up your end of the deal, then you would end up in pieces at the bottom of the sea.
Underneath all of that, Azul was someone who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the social hierarchy, and would go to any lengths to cover up his past. While you briefly entertained the thought of blackmailing Azul with his secret, you figured it wasn’t worth it when Azul could just order Jade and Floyd, his favorite assistants and bodyguards, to toss you into the sea instead. Unfortunately, you didn’t hold the same leverage over him as you had with Leona. So, that only left you with one real choice: time to figure out why your employer was being put out of business.
Your boss, as it turned out, had signed a contract with Azul. In exchange for a generous loan to start the bakery, your boss was supposed to pay back the loan with a seemingly reasonable interest. Of course, it was actually a predatory deal where the amount of interest being charged was ridiculously high and guaranteed to sink your boss into a never-ending chain of debt. So, what real choice did you have but to try to make a deal with Azul yourself? If worse came to worse, you could probably throw Leona’s influence around, even if it meant Leona would demand some ridiculous fee from you in return.
That was how you found yourself working for Azul as his so-called secretary until you could pay off your boss’s loans. Though he acted generous and kind on the surface, he pushed you hard and expected you to put in overtime without complaint, dangling your precarious situation over your head any time you protested. You acted as the face of the organization, dealing with more normal customers (because, as Azul put it, you didn’t stand out whatsoever and would be perfect for the position) and helping sort through Azul’s less secretive contacts and papers. Eventually, you moved your way up to organizing his schedule, and sometimes he even let you talk with his clients in his place when he was particularly busy.
You couldn’t pin Azul down, but you knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t be able to trust him. You knew the deal you took was shady as hell, liable to blow up in your face at any time, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you tried to ask him a question that wasn’t directly related to work, he deflected. In the beginning of your time at his guild, the Leech twins would randomly pop in to check on you, watching you work with unnerving stares. Eventually, they got bored enough they would chat with you sometimes.
As loath as you were to admit it, Azul was not a bad boss. Sure, he expected a lot out of you, but if you rose to his expectations, then you were properly rewarded in return. Somewhere down the line, it felt like Azul started being more open with you... or as open as a man could be in his position. He never overworked you, and though his interest in your health started off as a logical investment, at some point, it started to take on a more... personal bent. He ensured you were eating enough (and maybe cooked you a meal himself), and even provided a room in his guild for when you stayed too late to be able to return home safely. He was always trying to convince you to sleep over instead of going back home, too.
You learned to toe the line with Azul, because if you got at least one reaction out of him, you might be closer to figuring him out. You sat on the edge of Azul’s desk as you delivered your reports, and sometimes it felt like he leaned closer to you. You teased and prodded at him verbally, but he always returned your remarks with a genial smile and brushed off your words. In fact, the closest you got to flustering him was when you told him he looked cute, which led to him dropping all the papers in his arms. Really, you wondered why he let you get away with provoking him, because your moves always got bolder the less he reprimanded you.
Sometimes you thought Azul was observing you as much as you were observing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch him staring at you, but whenever you turned around to check, he’d always be buried in one document or the other, though his ears were bright red. But hey, a great employee perk was that Azul had started inviting you out to dinner at fancy restaurants you’d normally never be able to afford, under the excuse of “observing some potential clients.” He’d even gifted you expensive jewelry, claiming he couldn’t let his employees look unprofessional, but he was always smiling whenever he saw you wearing his necklace around the guild. Floyd and Jade had even thanked you once for making “Azul even more entertaining to be around,” whatever that meant.
And then one afternoon, Jade and Floyd asked you to come to Azul’s office. You wondered if he’d finally grown tired of having you around and wanted to get rid of you (permanently), but instead, all Azul did was hold out the contract you made with him. If he forgave all of the bakery’s debt and annulled the current contract, would you be his lover? Sure, he was planning on using you at first, but now? He didn’t think he wanted to let you go.
There had to be some sort of mistake. Azul had fallen in love with you? It had to be a record to have three villains chasing after you. Sure, you really enjoyed his company (and the great employee benefits he offered), but it didn’t feel right to enter a relationship like this. Wouldn’t it create a weird power imbalance? And again, like with Riddle and Leona, being his lover would make you a highly vulnerable target. When you explained all of this to Azul, he tore up your contract without a second thought and sent you home. You ended up back at your old job, all loans paid off, and things seemingly back to normal. However, Azul had decided to generously sponsor the bakery you worked in. He insisted on stopping by with Floyd and Jade to ensure everything was running smoothly, but all he ended up doing was finding every excuse to talk to you and stick by your side.
At this point, you’d decided to accept your fate. Every time you told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with another villain, the world would just throw one at you as if in mockery. So, fine. Since it was all out of your control, you decided you wouldn’t even worry about it anymore. One day, while you were out in town, you heard excited whispers around the square. Curious, you inquired what was happening from a group of giggly girls, and learned that Kalim Al-Asim, the richest merchant in town, was holding a party. Everyone was invited, and there was going to be free food and entertainment galore! There was no way you were going to pass up on this opportunity, especially since Kalim was one of your favorite characters in the original novel. There was one caveat, though: Jamil Viper, Kalim’s most competent advisor, was another villainous love interest. Still, you had promised yourself you were going to do whatever you wanted, and you weren’t passing up this chance to have some fun.
To call the party lavish would be an understatement. There was a veritable mountain of food, an entire orchestra, and it seemed like everyone in the country was invited. You were in the corner, sipping a drink and taking a break from dancing, when you saw Kalim laughing with some members of the nobility. You smiled at how animated he was... and then you saw it. Someone slipped something into his drink. Before you even knew what you were doing, you sprinted over and knocked the cup out of his hand as a crowd of people stared at you. Well, shit.
Honestly, what were you supposed to do? Let Kalim Al-Asim, your favorite character, die? You’d read the novel, so you knew he survived an attempted assassination at a party, but you hadn’t suspected the incident would take place here and now. You didn’t regret your decision, but you were certain one of those nobles was going to throw you into a dungeon for your disrespectful act. But then Kalim took your hands in his and asked why you did what you did. He looked earnest, and you told him the truth: you saw someone slip something into his drink.
There was an uproar following your announcement. Guards swarmed the floor, and people ran around in confusion, and at least one noble accused you of lying. You thought about escaping in the sudden disarray, because you’d already done whatever you could by telling Kalim what happened. Before you could even take one step, Kalim thrust you into the arms of someone behind you, yelling at them to take care of you while he handled the situation. You turned around... and met the face of Jamil Viper, who looked less than thrilled by Kalim’s words.
In the novel, Jamil was Kalim’s childhood friend, and his family had been a vassal to the Al-Asims since the founding of the kingdom. Though Kalim saw Jamil as his most trusted retainer and loyal friend, Jamil was less than pleased with his lot in life. He would be forced to work in the shadows forever, doing all of the dirty work that kept Kalim safe in the sunlight. You remembered how many fans had loved their complicated dynamic, and how Jamil struggled with his decision to betray Kalim, who was still his childhood friend. Still, it was something you’d rather read about than be caught in the middle of. Right now, Jamil was appraising you, trying to determine your potential value as a piece in his numerous plans. You wondered what he would do if he found you lacking.
Without another word, Jamil dragged you with him as he calmed people down and directed the guards. He was terrifyingly competent, but he kept an iron grip on your wrist the entire time. By the time the commotion died down, Jamil took you to meet Kalim, who was waiting for you in a lavish parlor. As Kalim explained it, you had luckily foiled some assassin’s plans, but now there was the possibility you could be in danger. He earnestly grasped your hands and asked if you’d stay in his manor until they caught whoever did this. It wasn’t like you were going to refuse, but with the way Jamil glared at you, you didn’t think you had a choice in the first place. Kalim may have wanted you to stay out of the goodness of his heart, but it was clear Jamil didn’t trust you at all.
Your life in the Asim manor wasn’t that bad, to be honest. Everyone was generally friendly, even though you were expected to wake up at the crack of dawn to follow Jamil around so he could “keep an eye on you.” You ended up helping him with his assignments, surprisingly enough. There was nothing else to do, the servants wouldn’t let you help out, and you felt an inkling of pity at the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk and the line of people who demanded his attention. Jamil tried to stop you, but it was clear he really did need the help, so he relented. It was a good thing your time with Azul prepared you for assistant work, so you were efficient at organizing papers and managing people, marking down any important meetings or documents that required his immediate attention. You heard more than one servant giggle about how Jamil didn’t let just anyone follow him, so you must be very special (yeah, special because he thought you were connected to the person threatening Kalim’s life).
Still, despite his apparent dislike of you, and the fact he was almost as much of a hardass as Azul, Jamil acknowledged when you did a good job with a hand on your head. He never told you that he appreciated your help, but you got the sense that he did when he told you to take a break or asked a servant to prepare your favorite drink. The two of you really started to grow closer after you saw him paralyzed in the corner of his office one afternoon when you were bringing in some reports. You thought something was wrong... only for Jamil to point at a caterpillar crawling on his desk. You brought it outside on a piece of paper, and Jamil swore you to secrecy on his phobia. After that, you were the one he went to when he needed someone to dispose of any insects flying too close to him. It was honestly pretty cute, and you weren’t above teasing him by pretending there was a bug on his shoulder when Jamil was being overbearing.
Sometimes, you caught him in the kitchen, whipping up meals for Kalim. This way, he explained, Kalim wouldn’t have to use a poison taster. Jamil would offer you a sip of the soup or wipe off a smear of flour that’d gotten on your face. You’d swing your legs as you sat on the counter and watched him work. The two of you chatted idly, and you were always surprised at how easily conversation flowed with him: you got the feeling Jamil never had the opportunity to take off his mask and reveal his meaner, conniving side very often. And, well, maybe you noticed that he laughed when he was with you, more often than he did with anyone else.
Despite your role as his temporary assistant, Jamil never let you attend any of his important meetings. You were then left to hang out with Kalim, who was more than happy to make room for you in his schedule, or to wait for Jamil to finish. Today, Jamil was meeting with a trade partner, so you opted to wait for him, because Kalim was busy entertaining the rest of the guest’s party. Everything had been so quiet, you’d forgotten that someone was targeting both your and Kalim’s lives. It wasn’t until you were waving your hand in greeting at Jamil, who’d just finished his meeting, and you saw a look of genuine fear pass over Jamil’s face as something sharp struck your back, that you realized, oh. This wasn’t just a novel anymore, was it? It was your life, and the last thing you saw before you passed out was Jamil running toward you.
In the infirmary, when you woke up, you realized Jamil was holding your hand tightly, sleeping on a chair next to your bed. Kalim was there too, his face streaked with tears as he whispered that he was glad you were okay. An assassin had shot you with a poisoned arrow, but they had caught him, and now they knew the location of the group who had been attempting to assassinate Kalim. Jamil had carried you in his arms to the infirmary and had refused to leave your side for even a moment. You were safe now, but Kalim had to take care of some more business, so rest up, and he’d come see you again.
When Kalim left and you turned to look at Jamil, you saw that he was awake now... or had he been awake the whole time Kalim was talking? Regardless, Jamil looked at you so tenderly it took your breath away. He asked if you would stay with him forever, so he could protect you and dispose of any fool who tried to hurt you, starting with the assassins who had dared to lay a hand on you.
Honestly, it was a lot to take in after you had just woken up from an attempt on your life. You really had grown to care for Jamil, but you weren’t ready for further near-death experiences, especially when you knew the treasonous thoughts Jamil harbored would put him in danger. And while Jamil may be a villain, he was not a terrible guy. When you refused his offer, he let you go with little fuss. Of course, that was not going to be the last you saw of him, because when had your life ever been easy? The very next morning, you found Jamil casually perusing the bakery’s goods, telling you that Kalim had suddenly become very, very fond of the pastries here, and that Jamil was going to be stopping by daily to pick up Kalim’s orders. He would appreciate it if you helped him with that. The way Jamil phrased it, though, made it sound like more of a date than an official visit.
Fortunately, the next few weeks went by smoothly (if you didn’t include the men that kept vying for your attention with increasingly convoluted plans). You were mostly just healing from your injuries while Riddle, Leona, Azul and Jamil used that as an excuse to visit you and lavish gifts upon you. One day, there was a knock on the bakery door as you were about to close up, and you found a very beautiful man around your age standing outside. His name was Epel, and he wanted to work for room and board. The name struck warning bells in your head. When you took a closer look, you noticed that underneath his worn cloak his clothes looked finely tailored; he was obviously a noble, but why would a noble want a job? When you pressed Epel for answers, he hesitated, before admitting that he’d run away from home, but he wasn’t originally a nobleman, so he wouldn’t be useless at all! And then it hit you all at once: Epel was the heir and protege of Vil Schoenheit, an infamously beautiful marquess, and the fifth villainous love interest. You could turn him away, but you couldn’t say no to his puppy dog eyes and the exhaustion plain on his face, could you? So Epel took the spare room in your house, and you braced yourself for the inevitable encounter with Vil.
A few days passed with no incidents. Epel was a wonderful roommate (far better than Riddle and Leona) as he knew how to cook and clean and did his fair share of chores. It was a bonus, you privately thought, that you had more customers than usual because of Epel’s pretty face. The two of you had become fast friends when one morning, a fancy carriage stopped outside your bakery, and in strode a hooded nobleman and his retainer. One toss of the nobleman’s hood revealed Vil Schoenheit, a scowl on his beautiful face as he stared Epel down. He’d come to take Epel home, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, even as Epel glared at him right back.
Despite the fact you knew the root of their antagonism, you still never wanted to be dropped right in the middle of it. The tension was so heavy you wanted to make excuses and leap for the break room. Still, it was hard to tear your gaze away from Vil’s face; a written description really couldn’t do justice to the most beautiful man you had ever seen, even though he barely spared you at glance.
It was almost funny that despite his appearance, Vil hadn’t been born into nobility; no, his father married into it, and despite all the gossip and rumors about their common origins (and Vil’s uncanny talent with poisons), he had clawed his way to the top of high society, bringing fame to the Schoenheit name. He had made it... until his seat was stolen by Neige LeBlanche, the new darling of the noble world. One day, while on a trip, Vil had spotted Epel working as a farmhand and, intrigued by the potential he saw in him, he made Epel his heir and protege. Epel was only several years younger than him, and accepted the offer on the condition that Vil would support his family. Epel, in return, was to help Vil overthrow Neige so Vil’s family could regain their previous prestige. It was supposed to be a foolproof plan, but was made impossible by their clashing personalities and stubbornness.
Really, you knew why Vil acted the way he did, but that didn’t mean you were just going to stand there and let him drag away Epel when your friend looked miserable. When you stepped in between the two of them, Vil finally took a look at you. You could see the gears turning in his head as Epel pulled you back and yelled at Vil not to do anything to you. You could hardly believe the words that came out when Vil opened his mouth: perhaps Epel would have an incentive to try harder at his various lessons on the nobility if he had a friend to accompany him in the manor. It sounded like an awful idea to you, but Epel’s eyes lit up immediately. You liked Epel, yeah, but you hadn’t even known him for that long, and you had a social (?) life-- Vil offered to reward you generously for your time and you immediately headed back home to pack.
When you got to the manor, you started to suspect Vil should have added ‘family counselor’ to the description of his initial offer. Most of the time it felt like you were acting as mediator in Epel and Vil’s relationship and trying to get the two to compromise on at least one thing before the manor burst into flames from their heated glares. You’ve had to deal with testy personalities before (getting your friends/suitors/villainous acquaintances not to strangle each other is a feat in and of itself), but whenever Epel gripped your arm and yelled that the two of you were going to run away, Vil would turn his disapproval in your direction, and you could see him considering whenever he should poison you or not.
Your relationship with Vil was... frosty, to say the least. You were only there to serve as motivation for Epel, and outside of that, he didn’t pay you any attention. You barely got to see him because he was so busy with his work. If you needed anything, then you would just have to talk to Rook, Vil’s right hand man and retainer. At least everyone in the manor was under the order to make your stay as comfortable as possible, so Vil was looking out for you in his own way... or he just didn’t want to ruin his reputation by being seen as a horrible host.
Really, you expected to wind up only distant acquaintances with Vil. At least you did until the evening Vil visited you with an envelope in his hand and asked you to accompany him to a party as his partner. Swarms of pesky suitors kept knocking on his door, and he was getting a headache dealing with all of them. So why not play the part of his lover while you stayed in the manor? He’d make sure you were properly compensated for this as well, of course. You had no reason to refuse after that, but the party ended up being a bit of a disaster. You couldn’t keep up with all of the nobles questioning you, and it was only due to Vil’s smooth-talking that you didn’t fall flat on your face. Vil had prepped you on what to say, but a bit of practice was nothing compared to all those judgemental eyes on you.
After that horrible first party, the two of you opted to spend more time getting to know each other in order to make the ruse a success. You ate dinner together every night and would spend at least an hour talking and getting to know each other. Something you hadn’t expected was how attentive Vil was. You only needed to vaguely mention you got cold at night and the next thing you knew there was a roaring fire and piles of fluffy blankets in your room. You didn’t even realize Vil knew anything about you until he had your favorite meals served during dinner, or your favorite flowers planted in the gardens when you went out on walks.
The two of you went around town on so-called dates to really reinforce the deception. You dined on a variety of fine foods you would normally never be able to afford, and Vil seemed to smile at your enthusiasm, even as he scolded you over your table manners. You held onto his arm, and he would point out nobles in the streets and all the pertinent information you should know about them. He was clever, and it was hard not to be swept up in his pace, not when you saw firsthand how hard he worked for his goals. He would gift you with clothing and tell you not to worry over the expense; Vil couldn’t have his so-called lover looking shabby, could he?
It didn’t stop there. When you popped up during Epel’s ballroom dancing lessons, Vil had you dance with him to show Epel how the steps looked, his grip on you secure the whole time. And he never put you in an uncomfortable situation; the second you showed any hesitation to keep mingling with pushy nobles, he left the ballroom early, or led you onto the balcony to catch your breath. When you were cold, he would pull his cloak around you without another word, his gloved hand warming yours. He played the part of lover so well, and looked at you so tenderly, there were times you forgot this was simply fake. When did the distance between the two of you shrink? When did you start enjoying your time together, and when did he start seeking you out during his every spare moment?
One morning, during a stroll in the gardens together, Vil took your hand in his and kissed the back of yours. You were so stunned you almost missed him asking if you wanted to make your engagement official. He hadn’t expected to fall for you this hard, and Epel adored you, so why not become a Schoenheit yourself?
It was funny to you that this was the second time you had been proposed to by a member of the nobility. And from two villains, no less, who hadn’t known you very long in the grand scheme of things. Still, you didn’t think you could handle staying in high society and fighting verbal battles for the rest of your life. When you turned Vil down (THE most eligible bachelor in high society), he only hummed and said he respected your decision. However, you discovered soon after that Vil had bought a vacation home close to your town in an effort to help Epel acclimate to urban life even though there were much bigger towns out there. You found yourself bumping into Vil far too often to be a coincidence, and you wondered if he asked his retainer, Rook, to keep tabs on you. Vil seemed to look more and more beautiful each time you saw him, to the point he might start blinding people if he wasn’t careful.
After your exhausting trip to Vil’s manor, all you wanted to do was rest and catch up with your friends. You had even missed your villainous associates/suitors, weirdly enough. You were sort of friends with them too, right? But that was beside the point. You had no doubt that another villain would stumble onto your path sooner or later. There were only two more you had yet to meet, and you wanted to enjoy what peace you had before the sixth one landed on your doorstep. Well, you should have known better by now than to jinx yourself, because the very next morning, you found a shivering, hooded man being pushed around by some local goons. After you scared them off by yelling for the guards, you went up to the man to see what you could do to help him... only to come face to face with Idia Shroud, magical genius and sixth villainous love interest. Oh, great.
You contemplated leaving Idia to his fate on the streets, but the way he looked so nervous and out of place tugged at your heart. He gave off the impression of a soaking wet cat, and you’d always been fond of animals. Besides, he had ‘easy mark’ written all over him, and despite his magical prowess, you were pretty sure he’d be targeted by another thief before long. So with a sigh, you started cleaning out your spare guest room for him (which had seen far too much use lately). Idia didn’t talk the whole time you walked home with him, and didn’t even give you a thanks when you offered him a mug of hot tea. Still, it didn’t bother you too much, not when you knew his past.
In the novel, Idia was a once in a century genius, born to a long line of talented mages, who’d practiced magic since the founding of the kingdom. It was pretty much guaranteed he would take over the magic tower, the central source of authority for mages all over the country, just like his parents before him. However, the Shrouds were infamous due to a curse on their family: no one was sure who first cast the curse (a god, some whispered), but the Shrouds were cursed with misfortune. Nothing ever went right for them, and they would never be happy. Idia was a prime example of this. His parents kept their distance from him, and Idia’s little brother, Ortho, died in an accident. In his grief, Idia created a homunculus using forbidden magic who looked and acted like Ortho. Ever since the original Ortho’s death, Idia had locked himself up in the tower to conduct research and stew in his grief. Of course, he was still a formidable mage who had no qualms about striking down anyone who got in his way, experimenting with dark magic and blatantly refusing any request unless it struck his interest.
For once, you were frustrated that you hadn’t finished the book before you were transmigrated. If you had, then you would know the solution to Idia’s curse. At any rate, you were certain the way to end the curse had to do with the heroine (wasn’t that how it always went with romance stories?) but... weirdly enough, you hadn’t seen her around anywhere, or even heard word of the crown prince being engaged. Well, you would try to keep an eye out for her, and hope that Hera meeting Idia would do something about his curse.
It didn’t surprise you one ounce that Idia basically holed himself up in your guest room as soon as possible. He refused to talk about what he was doing here, his past, or much of anything at all, for that matter. He only muttered that he would pay you for rent and his share of the food, and then kept the door firmly locked. Sometimes he would slide you some extra money along with a little note of magical ingredients he wanted you to pick up.
Idia wasn’t the worst roommate in the world; the two of you left each other well enough alone. Still, it got a little boring to sit by yourself in the living room when you heard him tinkering with some invention or the other in his room. You ended up sliding little notes to him under the door, sometimes accompanied by a doodle. You knew he read them, but you never got a response back. It became a habit, actually. You would slide a note under his door before work and then be on your way.
But one day, you got a response. You had simply asked what he wanted for dinner before you left for your shift in the morning, and in the evening, there was a reply waiting right outside his door. “Something sweet,” he had written. You smiled, a bit delighted that he finally replied. From then on, the two of you started exchanging notes. It gave you something to look forward to in the evenings; when you got home, there would be a piece of paper waiting for you outside Idia’s door. The notes eventually turned into letters, and it felt like you had a pen pal... even though he was only living several feet away from you.
Idia slowly opened up over the course of your correspondence. He was surprisingly blunt and even a bit smug, though you made sure to tease him in return for every snarky line he wrote. He had run away from home because he didn’t want to take over the family business. He appreciated you letting him stay here, but wasn’t it sort of foolish to house a random stranger in your own home? (You had to reply that wasn’t it foolish of him to just follow you home with no idea of your intentions?)
One day, when you came home, you found no note by his door. You knocked on it worriedly, before you heard Idia’s voice for the first time in ages: “come in.” And so you did. Idia was sitting on his bed, looking down, and began mumbling something so fast you couldn’t hear him. You got the gist of it, though; he had cast some spells on your house in order to fortify its protections. If anyone with ill intentions, like a thief, tried to set foot inside, they would immediately be frozen stiff. And there was now an alarm system in place, and... his voice trailed off, and you told him that you were grateful for what he had done, which caused his hair to flare bright and pink.
After that, though the two of you still passed notes, Idia started venturing outside of his room more often. You could find him on the couch reading when you got home from work, or skulking in the kitchen, tinkering with the appliances which he called “horrendously outdated.” You even started eating dinner together, and it was nice having company, though Idia always retreated back to his room afterwards. You were now allowed to come into his room and examine his makeshift workshop, though you had to give Idia advance warning.
One evening, there was a knock on your door. When you got up to answer it, Idia cowering in the kitchen, you found a little boy on your doorstep. His name was Ortho, and he had come to take Idia home. Idia refused on the spot, though when Ortho looked close to crying and asked if Idia wouldn’t come home because of him, Idia rushed over to hug and comfort him. It was decided that Ortho would stay with the two of you and function as Idia’s assistant. With the arrival of his little brother, Idia admitted his true identity to you. You pretended to be shocked and promised you wouldn’t think of Idia any differently.
Ortho was extremely helpful; he did Idia’s share of the chores, and even knew how to cook, though you refused to let him do too much work. Homunculus or not, he was still ten years old. Idia tended to venture outside of his room more now that Ortho was there, and sometimes the three of you would play games together after dinner. Ortho was adorable... but he also seemed determined to set you up with his big brother. He always found some method to get the two of you alone for extended periods of time, or kept very loudly and obviously talking up all of Idia’s good points.
It was cute, even if it was a little troublesome at times. One of Ortho’s attempts led to the two of you being locked out in the garden. You gave Idia your coat in case he got cold... and then he took your hand in his. He couldn’t even look you in the eye, and started speaking so fast you had to ask him to repeat several of his sentences. Still, what Idia ended up confessing was that he had fallen in love with you, and that he was planning on finding a way to end the curse because he didn’t want something bad to happen to you. Would you be willing to wait for him until then?
Really, what could you do, other than squeeze his hands and tell him not to be a stranger? You would help him however you could! Of course, you were open about the five other men who were very energetically vying for your attention, and the fact you were reluctant to get into a relationship. Idia seemed a bit relieved at that (though you swore you heard him mutter an insult or two about the other villains), and said that was fine. The two of you could sort out your business on your own time. So Idia moved back home with Ortho, though the two of you still kept in constant contact through letters. Sometimes, Idia would teleport himself directly on your doorstep because he got impatient to see you again.
So you had adopted another villain into your little group. However, now you had some time to consider what the hell was going on. Where was the heroine? You had been so distracted by the whirlwind of events around you, you had forgotten the story’s original premise. It was the heroine who was supposed to catch the eyes of all these villains, not you. What happened? She was supposed to be engaged to Malleus Draconia, but you hadn’t heard a single word about the crown prince being engaged. It was too much to think about; maybe you would try to do some research of your own instead of spinning around in circles. You decided to contact Azul for information, who promised to get back to you as soon as he could. One day, while waiting, you realized there was a new hooded customer in your bakery, someone who looked a little lost as he glanced around all the baked goods. You headed over to explain things to him, and as you did, your eyes froze on his. Green, with slit pupils... the only one who had eyes like that was... oh. Oh, no way. This was the final villainous love interest, and the male lead: Malleus Draconia, the crown prince.
What the heck was Malleus doing in your bakery? You racked your brain, and remembered that he had a habit of sneaking out of the castle in the story. It was funny that as soon as you had started to look into the heroine, he appeared in front of you. Maybe this could be a good way to look into where the heroine went. The story had already gone off course because of your presence, you knew that, but it didn’t explain why Hera hadn’t shown up.
Malleus, it turned out, was interested in the various goods you had on sale. His eyes sparkled when you told him it was all freshly baked daily, and he was eager to take the samples you offered him. It was cute how he tried to hand you a sack of gold coins for a loaf of bread, though you politely handed the entire stack back and told him only one would be enough. It made sense that he was out of touch with the world around him, though.
From the novel, you remembered that the Draconia family had founded the current kingdom, and were said to be descendants of a great dragon who once ruled the lands. They were the oldest family and had established most of the nobility, including the Rosehearts household. However, despite their legacy, the Draconias were feared precisely due to the draconic blood in their veins, which made them faster, stronger and longer-living than the average citizen. Malleus had been raised strictly in order to succeed the throne, and he rarely had time to himself. Surrounded by people with ill intentions, and always having to put his kingdom first, it was no wonder he had fallen so hard for Hera in the original story. She was the only one who treated him like a normal person, and you found their relationship surprisingly cute as they navigated the trials of being a couple. Of course, he was still a villain at the end of the day, and would have burned the world down to keep his beloved safe.
When you waved goodbye to Malleus that day, you had not expected that you would find him wandering around the markets the next evening. He looked as lost as ever, and seemed to cheer up when he noticed your presence. As you walked around to look at various goods, Malleus followed you and questioned you on the purpose of each stall. You ended up buying him some street food and a little gargoyle charm he had been eyeing. Before you parted ways for the night, Malleus grabbed your hand, asking if he could see you again. You told him to come to the bakery anytime, and that when you had an off day, you would take him around again.
Somehow, because of that, Malleus Draconia started visiting your bakery every morning, and he would even come to see you on your days off. He was a pleasant companion; the conversation between you two flowed naturally, and his naivete was charming. You would often spend time walking around, chatting idly about the town news, as Malleus drank up your every word. He was intensely curious about the mundane aspects of life in your town, but he was also curious as to your life, too. You found yourself opening up about memories from your original world, even if you were careful to phrase it in such a way that Malleus didn’t realize you were a transmigrator.
On other days, you would take him to town and watch his eyes light up at children’s toys, wandering musicians and even the cats that lazed in alleyways. You would always make sure to sample some new street food with him, which Malleus insisted on paying for (you felt your jaw drop at the mountain of gold he casually carried around on his person. It was lucky he was so strong or he would have been robbed in an instant). The stores the two of you liked perusing the most were antique shops. Malleus would wax poetic on their origins and you would make up silly stories about their past owners, which often made him laugh.
Once, it had started raining on one of your evening walks, so Malleus had to stay the night at your house. As you prepared some spare clothes and towels for him, he unexpectedly drew closer to you, telling you that he had a confession to make. You tensed, afraid that he was going to confess his love to you, as seemed to often happen to you these days... only for Malleus to lower his hood and reveal that he was the crown prince, which made you more than a little embarrassed at your assumption.
On his head, though, grew two pairs of horns. It was a physical reminder of his heritage, and what people tended to stare at whenever he appeared at official events. He had greatly enjoyed your company over these weeks, but he didn’t want your relationship to be founded on a lie. It didn’t feel right to hide such an important fact about himself anymore. You admitted to him that you had sort of figured out who he was from the start, so it wasn’t a big deal. The two of you were friends now, weren’t you?
Well, after that, Malleus started sending carriages to pick you up and take you to the palace. His best knights, Silver and Sebek, always accompanied you (though you swore Sebek threw you dirty looks when Malleus came running to greet you). Malleus insisted on spoiling you, too (his personal advisor, Lilia, whispered that Malleus was simply excited to have a friend to invite home for the first time). He would treat you to entire feasts and show you valuable historical artifacts, and even offered to throw a party in your name-- though you had to stop him before he actually went through with that plan.
He even offered to set up a room for you in the palace, and to give you a noble title if that was what you desired. You’d never have to work a day in your life again (which was tempting, honestly). You almost forgot Malleus was a villain-- at least, you did until you complained about a customer bothering you and he asked if you wanted to make it so that they were never heard from again. You had stumbled your way into his inner circle, and if anyone ever crossed you, he would be sure to deal with them appropriately.
During another one of your visits to Malleus’s palace, you get the sense that something was different. Sebek and Silver were more alert than usual, and even Lilia was throwing you an amused glance every now and then. It wasn’t until you reached the parlor and opened the door to Malleus handing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers that you realized what was going on. Malleus told you that you had become someone unbearably precious to him, and he would do anything to make you smile. Would you do the honor of becoming his spouse, and the next co-ruler of the kingdom?
Well, congratulations, you thought to yourself. Somehow you’d collected the full set of villains from the original novel. It took you a second to get your bearings, and you gave the same spiel to Malleus that you gave to the other villains: you weren’t ready for a relationship, being future royalty was too much pressure, and so on. You practically had it memorized at this point from how often you needed to say it. He accepted it with grace, and told you the offer would always be open to you. Life continued on for you in much the same way as it did before, except now the crown prince would invite you on luxurious outings or show up at your door so the two of you could go on walks around town.
That was it... or so you thought. A few days later, Azul contacted you with a full set of information on Hera Winn. You’d almost forgotten you’d requested him to look into her, what with the crown prince proposing to you and all. As soon as you got the information, you rushed to her location to figure things out.
You found Hera Winn lounging at a cafe, a pile of desserts piled high and several books open on the table before her. When she saw you, however, she got up immediately, tears in her eyes... and leaned in to hug you.
Huh?
Before you could get too confused, though, Hera explained that when she was born, she had memories of her past life, and of reading I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover! She really did not want to follow the plot of the original story and, using her knowledge of it, gained fabulous wealth from various gambling ventures and business investments. She offered you some pastries while she talked, and while your mouth was full, said that she was so, so happy that you had come along and basically caught everyone’s attention. Now she never had to deal with them again. Good luck! Maybe the two of you could reminisce over your old world together sometime, hm?
With that, she left you, and you buried your head in your hands with a groan. You wanted to beg her to come back, but it wasn’t like she could take your spot now, not with all the villains so thoroughly in love with you.
Really, what were you going to do? The villains seemed content to wait for your decision, even if they got into spats with each other here and there. You could choose one of them, you could choose all, or you could choose none: the decision was truly yours. It looked like you were now the main character of I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!, whether you liked it or not.
11K notes · View notes
marcskywalker · 5 months
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Wait I just thought of it.
Imagine au where after merlin confesses to his magic, at the end he was somehow able to save Arthur. They make it back to Camelot but there is some awkwardness between the two, like they've forgotten how to act around eo.
After years of hiding, Merlin is hesitant to show Arthur his magic, to make himself vulnerable to his King in that way. And Arthur takes longer to believe merlin's stories, there are more questions and double takes than there used to be.
Merlin tries to return the sigil one day, thinking that he doesn't deserve to have it since he doesn't have Arthur's full and unwavering trust any more (his words not the king's).
Arthur presses it back into his palms, "It's a gift, Merlin. You keep those."
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obviously inspired by:
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afterdulce · 1 month
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hold me until everything is ash on my tongue.
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summary: mhin hasn't shown up in town for a few days. concerned, you visit them, only to discover they're plagued by a certain infliction you can help them with.
notes: 1.7k words, literally just about mhin going into heat bc we have to put their monster affliction to good use yk, some marking, dry-humping, this is my sub mhin agenda
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Mhin hasn’t been in town for the past several days.
It shouldn’t be surprising; like an alley cat, they come and go as they please, too elusive to track down unless they want to be found. No one else seems particularly worried, either. When you ask Kuras, he simply gives you a gentle, inscrutable stare.
“They’ll be back before long,” he says.
But that’s not enough to abate your worries. There’s an odd feeling poking at the back of your brain, saying that something isn’t right. Mhin lives alone; if something were to happen to them, it would be too late by the time somebody noticed. They get into their fair share of scrapes, too. You’ve seen them wobbling into Kuras’s clinic, blood seeping through their clothes.
Besides, the truth is that you’re a little lonely when they’re not around. Who else is there to tease and bump elbows with at the bar? No one can take their place.
It’s with those thoughts swirling in your mind that you screw up your courage and head to the location of one of their hideouts.
They had given you the information about their various little hideouts on a strictly confidential basis– “I have several places around the city. This is one of them. We can talk in private here. Stop grinning, it doesn’t mean anything–” on the pain of death if you told anyone else. They might not even be there, but it would at least soothe some of your worries if you still tried to see if they were there.
Pocketing some oranges (if they were sick, fresh fruit would do wonders, even if it is a bit above your price range), you step through the streets, keeping your head down, heading through winding alleys and twisting streets until you reach a non-descript door, tucked into a cobblestoned corner.
You knock on the door. “Mhin?” you ask softly as you can.
Silence. Then, an odd thump.
They were there, after all! Your heart leaps. “Hey, it’s just me. No else is here,” you say quietly. “I was worried about you, and—”
“Go away.” Their voice is strained, which dulls the snarl in their voice. Something thumps against the door again.
You pause. “Hey, are you okay? You don’t sound like you’re doing so well.”
“You need to leave,” they hiss. How badly were they faring, to sound like his? Your pocketful of oranges are a poor remedy to whatever inflicts them, and it must be serious.
“I’m not going to leave if you’re sick,” you say. “It’s been days. How long have you been in there? Do you need Kuras? I’m not leaving until you’re okay. If you need help, then I want to help you–”
At your last words, the door wrenches open, and something snakes around your wrist and yanks you in. You stumble as the door closes behind you with a soft click. You squint in the soft darkness of the room– you can’t make anything out. It’s all smudges and blurs, with only the faintest edge of sunlight trickling through the curtained window.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Mhin says lowly. It sounds like their voice is right by your ear, but you can’t sense their presence at all. Where are they? “Why did you come?”
“I was worried,” you say. “I missed you, you know? I brought some fruit, in case it would help, but…”
Their breath hitches at your words. “You are so irritating. I don’t… need your help.”
“Then why did you let me in?” Your annoyance spikes at their tone. Even on their best days, they were prickly, but something feels different. There’s a fragile edge to their voice, like a thread stretching to the point of breaking. “I’m serious, Mhin. I want to help you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Then help me understand,” you say.
Something shoves you against the wall. It’s Mhin. Their hands are on your shoulders, grip as tight as a hawk with its prey, and you can barely breathe. They’re close– so close that you can almost make out their face in the darkness. There’s a sheen of sweat coating their reddened face, and their eyes are glassy. Their breath comes in short little pants.
“I… This is something you can’t help me with, do you understand? It’s not– it wouldn’t be fair,” they say, words spilling out of them like overflowing water from a cup. “Why are you always like this? Poking your nose where it doesn’t belong? How foolish are you? If you hadn’t come, I could have just– ridden it out. I could have just– thought of you– and it wouldn’t be so bad– but if you’re here in person, I… You ruin everything.”
Your heart thumps in your chest, a strange little tottering beat. Mhin leans in closer, their nose brushing against your neck. “Mhin…” you whisper tenderly, and they shudder.
The thumping of your heart isn’t because you’re not scared. You’re excited, and your neck burns where they nuzzle against you incoherently, as if they’re not aware of what they’re doing. You’ve read about this sort of thing before, and if you’re guessing right, you know precisely what’s ailing them. It’s no disease after all.
“Go back. Now,” they say.
“What if I don’t want to?” you say. “I said I want to help you, in any way possible. Including this. I mean that.”
They fall silent. There’s nothing but the sound of your rabbiting heart, and their little gasping breaths. Their nose traces cold trails along your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to grant them more purchase.
“You… This isn’t something you do lightly,” they warn. “This is your last time to take it back.”
“I don’t want to take it back,” you whisper. “I mean it. I mean, er– I would also feel bad if I was taking advantage of you, if you’re in this state. I’ve read about this before, and being in heat can befuddle some reasoning abilities–”
They laugh, a short, raspy sound. “Advantage? That’s ridiculous. You drive me insane. I’ve… dreamed about you fucking me ever since you first step foot in this stupid city.”
Your face heats at their words; it’s not like Mhin to be so straightforward, but any comments you can make are swallowed by their desperate lips on yours. You’re not sure you can call it a kiss, not when you’re pressing against you so urgently, nibbling and sucking on your lips. It’s hard to breathe when they won’t relent for even a second, as if they’re afraid you’ll slip away if you do. They run their tongue along the bottom of your lip, and your mouth parts. They slip their tongue inside your mouth, tasting you, tongue giving gentle licks that make your head spin. They could do this forever, you realize. But you can’t.
You slap their shoulders, pulling back for air. You’re gasping, but Mhin barely pauses before they press a string of kisses against the side of your neck like a choker. They suck, and your legs wobble.
Holy shit. Normally, you’re used to initiating everything with Mhin, so their sudden aggressiveness is… weird, to say the least. Not that you’re complaining at all. There’s something hot burning in your stomach at their reckless behavior, so uncharacteristically desperate and unreserved as they leave hickeys along your neck that are going to last for a while, judging from how hard they’re sucking.
They want you. They want you, and judging from what they’ve said, they’ve wanted you for so long you’re all they can think about during their heat. The knowledge makes you feel warm, and flattered, and very, very horny.
As if they notice your thoughts are drifting, Mhin bites onto the skin of your neck, and you moan, cheeks burning. Their bite borders on the edge between pleasure and pain.
“Pay attention,” they whine, jealousy lapping at the marks they’ve just made. “I’m… right here.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. They’re so cute. So cute, and needy. “Of course. Whatever you want,” you say. As much as you appreciate their forwardness, it wouldn’t be fun if they did all the work. You shift your leg between theirs, your thigh running along the warmth between their legs.
Their hands grip your shoulders again, fingers digging into your flesh as Mhin shamelessly grinds along your leg, chasing their release with abandon. It’s an instinctual shift, as if they need to be on you at all times, feeling every inch of your body.
“Mhin…” you whisper, running a hand through their hair. It flows like silver between your fingers, smooth and shining. “How often have you been thinking of me?”
“I…” They avert their eyes, even as they continue to rut along your thigh.
“Don’t get embarrassed,” you tease. “I think we’re past that.” You grind your thigh against their warmth for emphasis, which makes them let out a little breathy moan. Oh, you definitely need to hear that again.
“All the time,” they say, the truth spilling along with their pants and gasps. “All the damn time. When I touch myself, I pretend it’s you. It’s… never been this bad before. It’s all because of you. It’s all your fault. I… I thought it was… a dream, when you showed up. Like this. Offering to help.”
They shudder, and you grind your leg into them again, helping them ride you, and it’s not long before something sticky and wet soaks into your pants from the spot where Mhin is. Mhin looks hazy as they cum, mouth parted. Their cheeks are still red, and they barely wait a second to calm from their high before they’re trying to rub themselves against your thigh again. Their touch sends jolts of electricity along your skin; what you wouldn’t give to touch them directly, without your clothes in the way.
“Sorry, Mhin,” you tease, planting a kiss against their cheek that turns them into a vivid scarlet. “I didn’t realize I was affecting you that badly.”
“You’re… full of yourself.”
“Hey, hey.” You slip your hands alongside the belt holding up their pants, running a finger under the leather and snapping it slowly. “I promise I’ll help you out, okay? Like you said, it’s my fault. So I’ll make up for it.”
When they lift their eyes to meet yours, so needy, so desperate, your reflection the only thing you can see in their gaze, you let out an exhale. Oh, it’s going to be a long few days.
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liyawritesss · 4 months
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"I got it, I can handle it myself" gf 🫱🏻‍🫲🏼 "i know you got it, but still, let me cater to you" bf Basim Ibn Ishaq
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chouettecrivaine · 7 months
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dead woman walking
Fandom: @shepherds-of-haven ! A little drabble of my MC who I have grown unexpectedly attached to and now she dances around in my head all of the time
Characters: Trouble/OC
Notes: 1.6k, angst, depressing introspection, the world's most OVERDRAMATIC girl has the most OVERDRAMATIC kiss
Summary: Lark has decided that the best course of action is to go on the mission alone, even if fatality is certain. She plans to leave in the middle of the night when nobody can stop her, but first there are some feelings she needs to put to rest.
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Even if the trip from her room to Trouble's was familiar, Lark couldn't help but slow her steps as reticence pulled against her on every step. The magelights lining the hallway, for once, didn't seem as warm and homey as before - instead, Lark could only focus on that one spot of darkness between each fixture. It didn't matter how far the warm light stretched; the shadows always made their way to her.
She stopped just outside the door to Trouble's room, standing perfectly still and taking a deep breath. In the stillness, time didn't exist to her. Lark could pretend that she wasn't heading off to her final battle, a one-woman army marching straight into extinction. Maybe this was the battle she was created for - or maybe she was damning everyone by throwing herself away when she knew her reality couldn't be remade. Either way, the thought hollowed out her body and filled it with ice, the way she had been before. Somehow, Lark always knew she was going to die alone. At least this way, she could save anybody that she had tricked into caring for her from riding straight into the maws of death for her sake.
Lark had made peace with it, as much as she could. Her time in the Shepherds had reminded her all too well how to want to live, but blind hope wasn't something she had been able to afford for a while. This was her last stand, and she could accept that. It was bound to happen eventually in this line of work. There was just one thing she needed to do - one box left to check - before she could leave her loose ends in the hands of others.
Finally composed, Lark turned and knocked on the solid door, each in rapid succession of the last. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage and rising into her throat with every beat. Her mouth went dry, though she couldn't figure out exactly why. She heard a soft shuffling on the other side of the door and forced herself to swallow, determined to keep up with her own façade. 
Trouble opened the door, more alert than Lark had expected, and gave her a friendly once-over. Despite not being bleary-eyed and half asleep, he still blinked a few times as if to make sure it was Lark in front of him. Easily, he smiled at her, unsuccessful in keeping his gaze covert as it lingered on her untied hair. During the day, Lark kept it in two braids circled around her head and pinned closely to her skull. She only ever kept her hair down when she was sleeping, and the few times Trouble had seen it, he'd been silently fascinated. Without fail, the attention would send a wave of excitement through her body, but now her apprehension was too strong for even that to shine through. Still, she smiled back at him.
"What're you doing here, Birdie?" Trouble asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. He only stood there for a moment before hurrying to make room for Lark. "Oh, I mean, you're welcome to come in. If you want."
Lark shook her head. "No, that's alright. I just needed to tell you something important."
Though he kept the mood light, Lark noticed how Trouble's face immediately softened. She noticed that when he was happy to see her - so, normally - his eyes seemed to sparkle as if the golden rings around his pupils were pure ore. Now, everything was warm seawater and honey. "Of course. You can tell me anything."
Lark's heart stopped beating, only to grow so quickly she thought it might burst out of her chest. God, she wanted to stay. An overwhelming affection flooded her senses, choking her up and forcing her feelings to well behind her eyes. Lark gripped at her nightshirt, trying to blink away the tears before they became too obvious. She thought heartbreak was supposed to be a shattering of glass as someone tossed her heart aside; maybe it could be your own heart tearing at the seams and spilling out all the love you were foolish enough to hide, too.
"Well, I have to tell you the second half later." At the end of her sentence, her voice trembled, and she covered it up with a shaky laugh. Trouble didn't seem to notice.
"Alright, then what's the first half?"
A beat of silence passed.
Then another.
Lark wasn't normally the type to be at a loss for words. She never felt comfortable unless she had a plan at hand to lie her way out of - or into - a situation. But Trouble made her honest, and the truth didn't seem survivable in that moment. Not if it was to be spoken aloud in a voice that would hurt Trouble the most.
So she stepped forward instead, brought her hands to his face, and pulled him down to her height so she could kiss him.
For a brief, terrifying second, Trouble went entirely rigid. Lark couldn't tell if he was staring at her, bewildered, or if his brow was furrowed as he tried to figure out how he got in that position. It didn't matter, because both were endearing, and neither would have stayed for long. His surprise melted away and his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close against his body. Lark almost sagged in relief.
Beneath her gentle hands, she felt his face gradually warm, certainly a few shades darker than before. In fact, she could feel his warmth all over, radiating from him and almost burning where their skin touched. In this moment, she could have anything she wanted, and she could delude herself into thinking it would last. In this moment, Lark was safe. Loved.
She wasn't ready for Trouble to pull away, yet he did. It was only an inch, and the many questions he undoubtedly had died on his tongue, but she could feel it. The ground was fracturing beneath her, and reality was swallowing her whole. Lark could only think of two things, and their certainty dug into her like claws: she loved him, and she was going to die.
So, even if it was selfish, she pressed her lips against his again, desperate and rough and scared. This kind of emotion, passionate and raw, was more up Trouble's alley. He kept her ferocity, yet held her with the care he'd give glass, like she was to be wrapped up and kept safe forever. Maybe he should've. Or maybe he should have kissed her breathless. It would have been a far kinder fate - but her fate was never meant to be kind.
Lark hoped that he could tell in the way she held his face, in the ease with which she leaned into him. If she was worth protecting, he was worth cherishing, and even if she never said it she hoped he knew. Trouble was always dense, but he had his moments. Now that she realized simply wanting him wasn't enough, had never been enough, there was nothing she could do but hope he was getting it now, and ignore her desire to stay ripping through her soul.
When they parted for a second time, neither of them said anything as they tried to catch their breath. Lark kept her lips parted, knowing that if she closed them it would be too obvious that she was trembling. Trouble didn't realize it,but even through his crimson fluster he was positively giddy. It was almost enough to convince Lark to stay.
But that was dangerous thinking. So she slowly untangled herself from him, her fingertips trailing down his shoulders and to his arms until there was nowhere left untouched. As he sorted his thoughts, Trouble's arms fell slack to his sides, a metal filament falling when the magnet attracting it moved away. Lark bit her tongue.
"So, uh…what does…this mean?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck if only for something to do. Bashfulness wasn’t something Trouble was well acquainted with, yet he couldn’t look Lark in the eyes all the same. 
“That’s the second half,” She answered quietly. “I’ll have to tell you later.”
Trouble narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he knew Lark was keeping something from him. Void of any heat or anger, it was more of a way to make her feel guilty than get her to actually admit anything. But he let it go. This was something they had been dancing around for a long time; a little while longer wouldn’t hurt.
Clearing her throat, Lark reluctantly backed away from Trouble and towards the door, keeping her eyes on him. It was difficult to swallow and even harder to breathe, yet she twisted the handle anyway. The hallway air rushed in, cold enough to send goosebumps down her arm. The moment she left this room, it’d be the beginning of the end.
Just before she turned around completely, Trouble interrupted her. Looking at him over her shoulder, Lark could tell that he was worried about her. “You can stay, if you want. You’ve done it before.”
An arrow of regret shot through her chest. “No thanks. I need some time to calm down.”
Trouble chuckled at that, muttering something small and proud about the effect he seemed to have on her. Then, lifting his head, he nodded once and let Lark take two steps backwards, his gaze undeniably fond. “I’ll collect you tomorrow, then. We can go to breakfast together.”
Lark nodded once, firmly, and put on her best, brightest smile. “I’d like that.”
It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. She would like that.
If only she’d be alive to do it.
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shardssystem · 6 months
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🍲🍥
🍲When did you start writing and why?
In general, it would’ve been maybe 1990 and because of a school assignment. Shameless ripoff of pop-culture elements at the time, but enough that teachers were minorly impressed.
A more relevant answer would have been 2015, when a random inspiration from a question of “Can MTG Planeswalkers become planeswalkers from positive experiences, or is it only trauma?”. This was the inception of Liya as a character, and I basically started writing and designing from that day on. (Also, I cheekily suspect it may have also inspired the creation of The Wanderer, so I fully accept credit for that 😅)
The post in question, from @dougbeyermtg’s blog:
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🍥What's your favorite fic you've written?
So while To Tame A Tiger is far and away the most popular work I’ve written, I consider Future Past my strongest writing to date. It’s really helped set up a number of plot elements, but beyond that, I don’t think it’s all that bad either.
Thanks for the ask, @yrael!
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stone-of-lozina · 2 months
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3
I packed as many necessities as I could into my bag and headed downstairs. 
Now, this, of course, is a wild morning, and I wasn’t prepared. If you are one of the unlucky few who think you will get selected, then pack a suitcase beforehand. You won’t be able to pack everything you need in a rush. 
I slipped out of my PJs to put on something to wear and headed downstairs to the basement. V was near the door, waiting for me. ‘Where are we going, again?’ I asked her.  
‘A place safe for you. A place where people like us can be safe,’. 
‘Us?’ I asked. 
V smiled and said, ‘I’m an ornacine too. I knew when I was 10. The same goes for your Mum’. She slung my bag to her shoulder and knelt down to my height. ‘I called your Dad about this. He’s an ornacine as well so it’s fine if he knows,’ she said as she tried to take something out of her pocket. A shiny opal-shaped obsidian with an electric blue wrist watch strap around it was on her hand. 
‘What’s this?’ I asked. 
‘This is a communicator. It’s like a mobile phone. You can call me or Dad if anything goes wrong, alright?’ she said as she was tying it around my wrist. ‘You tap this twice and your dad’s name and mine will pop up in a hologram,’ she said as an actual hologram of two names popped up on top of the device when she tapped it twice:
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‘You click the name which you want to call and it’ll shrink back. You’ll know when we pick up when it turns blue. You got it?’. I was unresponsive, ‘cause that was really cool, I’ve never seen anything like it. I tapped on the name “V”, and a buzzing noise came from her wrist. ‘See?,’ she said, pointing at her communicator. She answered it by tapping it once. Immediately after that, a horrible echo ensued when she tried to demonstrate how to speak to it (which was simply talking TO the obsidian). It went on and on, and my Lieges did we want it to stop. I yelled to her, ‘how the hell do you shut it off?,’ through the noise and she swiped the stone, from left to right. It finally stopped screaming. ‘How are your ears?,’ V asked me, scratching her ear. 
‘Well they aren’t bleeding, which is a good sign,’ I said, massaging the inner parts of my ears. 
She chuckled. ‘Sorry love, about that,’ she said, ‘answering communicators at this close of a range is never good. Should’ve known better…,’.
‘Hey, we all make mistakes,’ I reassured her, ‘so it’s fine, yeah?,’. 
She looked at me as if those words jogged up a painful memory, but she tried to hide it by simply nodding. ‘Ready to go?,’ she asked me, to which I shrugged. 
‘This already seems like one of my dreams, so why not?,’ I said, shoving my hands inside my jacket. V looked at me with pity. 
‘Darling, this is not a dream. Trust me,’ she said and opened the door. 
It was pitch black, I couldn’t see anything. I backed away from the door in fear. 
‘You know,’ I said, pointing at the door,  ‘this is the part of the dream where if I go inside, I get sucked into a nightmare and get chased by Pennywise,’. V dropped her head. 
‘This leads to a place called Hornac’s Inn. From there we can get to Zorndis Castle,’ she said calmly. I looked at her blankly, because this is seriously looking like a dream. 
I get some of the weirdest dreams in existence. At one point I’m Spiderman, swinging around Queens, and then when I crash into a building, I get sucked into a class where Snape tells us to turn to page 394. This looked like a dream, but it didn’t… feel like one. Normally I’d do something stupid at this stage, like actually going inside the door, but I had my senses here. 
So what was going on? 
At this stage, I just had to accept that all of this was real, which scared me. But one look at V’s worried face made me realise that… I wasn’t alone. 
That’s something I want you to remember, reader, is that you are not alone. 
However, I was still doubtful. ‘Prove to me that this isn’t a dream, then I’ll consider,’ I said, inching towards the stairs. She shook her head in amusement. ‘Ah mate, you’re just like your grandfather,’ she said, ‘stubborn,’. I just noticed that she had a belt around her waist, with a circle in the middle. The whole thing was made out of leather. She took the circle out of the belt as if it was magnetically attached to it. There was a leather band behind, so she slipped her hand inside it. She faced it towards me to reveal that the leather was a case to a navy blue disk-like object. ‘This is a mereindus. It’s used to transmit the energy from our body to the outside world,’ she said. 
‘Prove it,’ I said, crossing my hands with a determined look on my face. 
She took a water bottle out of her duffle bag. ‘I’m a Xantosus’ ornacine, which means I can control water,’ she said. Aunt V pointed her qant to the bottle and made the water dance. Then it started to overflow and it unscrewed the bottle cap. Then it floated to the top and turned into a ball. Finally, it launched itself into my face. ‘Woke up yet?,’ asked V with a smug smile on her face. 
‘N-no, I was awake already,’ I said, wiping my face. She let out a chuckle as she tossed me a towel.  ‘Uh, one question,’ I asked her, ‘will I be able to do that? You know, when I get mine?,’. 
‘Uhh, maybe,’ she said, putting the bottle back inside. ‘You could be a Xantosus’ ornacine, like me and your mum, or you couldn’t. You could be, I don’t know, Quontus’ or Zorndus’ or..,’ 
‘Vondus’?,’ I asked in fear. She scoffed and started to give a hearty laugh. 
‘Nah. You wouldn’t be his. Our family line is clean enough for Vondus’ ornacines to not appear. You’ll be fine,’ she said while she put her hand inside the door. 
‘W-wait what are you doing….?,’ I asked, but I didn’t need to. She rang a bell, an actual coffee house bell, and called out for a guy named Frank. ‘Mate you asleep? Sorry for being a bother but, my niece got chosen,’. 
There was clashing and clanging, a cat screeching, and a heavy Scottish voice which sounded like it has been smoking for fifty years saying ‘eh?’ to my aunt. ‘She got chosen eh? Bi’ skinny tho,’. 
‘She'll shapen up from the serum,’ she said with a smirk. 
The Scot looked like he had been drinking heavily, with sunken eyes and a red nose. He had a lion mane of hair and a wild beard, and every single one of his hairs were bright orange. He was large, of course, with a beer belly so big that it can put my P.E teacher’s to shame. He gave me the impression of a Viking who did not step foot on the battlefield for a long time. 
‘Liya, this is Frank Alfson. He is the current owner of Hornac’s Inn. Frank, this is my niece, Liya Morgan,’. 
‘Heyo,’ he said while he stretched out an arm. I regrettably shook it; he reeked of alcohol. ‘Where are your bags, lass? I could take 'em,’ he said and I pointed towards my bag of clothes. He stepped out of the door, swooped the bags into his hands, and stepped back into the door. 
‘You coming Lis?,’ V asked me. I shrugged, speechless at what is happening right now, but then I just took her extended hand and went inside.
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Text
love- a feeling that scares me
no I can't let you in
I want to keep you a secret,
locked, buried, deep down
in the pits on my heart,
never let the feelings re-surface
a mirage of hope in my ill fate,
I wont hope on it, a stupid pipe dream,
because the truth is
I am not meant to be loved,
cannot wish for something out of reach
so I wont say it ever again,
or let it grow,
I will keep you a secret
'cause, what if it crumbles into ruins
when I say it out loud that
I am sorry, I am so in love, again.
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the-steambird · 4 months
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[ 011223 EDITION ]
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GENSHINBLR — NOVEMBER, 2023 EDITORIAL
EXTRA! EXTRA! Over here, dear reader! As we enter the twelfth month of the year, read up on what’s happened this past month of November on Genshin Tumblr!
From your Editors: Crow and Ely.
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COLLECTIVES — November Events !
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TRENDING! || From Journalist @meidnightrain
1989 Event — 21 songs to 21 fics with the Genshin characters; A celebration to the release of Taylor Swift’s 1989 album, with fluff, angst, and hurt / comfort galore! Our journalist Meisha takes us through the re-recorded album with various Genshin characters X GN! Reader ranging from Aether, to Furina, and many more in between!
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NEWS FLASH! || From Editor @yuellii
Fontaine : Dark Blood — A supernatural-themed event to continue off the spirit of Halloween in November; Dark Blood follows three separate one shots of vampire Neuvillette, werewolf Wriothesley, and puppet Lyney X GN! Reader. Our editor Ely executes horror through her writing, so readers, please heed her warnings carefully in each fic!
COLUMN — Individual Spotlight !
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LET TWO EYES BE UNDECEIVED, Lyney / By Editor @rainswept
Summary from the editor: Growing up with you by his side, falsities were always something Lyney could see through. He preferred not to use them, not for a long time — but once you were gone and he and Lynette were left without someone to do the group’s dirty work, he forced himself to inherit the way of living you left behind.
“So excited for this one! Editor Crow’s been showing me their progress—honestly such a must-read for Lyney fans when it comes out, teehee.” — Editor Ely.
YOU’RE SO RED, ARE YOU OKAY?, Furina / By Journalist @definitelynotaneulasimp
A comedic review by Journalist Henry, in which the Archon of Hydro attempts at a date, but all goes wrong when she develops a terrible case of hiccups. Rumor has it: This fic is a part of Henry’s 1.5k Followers Event!
Want more Genshin women content? Definitely check out Henry’s own blog for characters like Ei, Navia, and more!
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GOODNIGHT, Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @strawberrylabs
Did you know: Lyney, Freminet, Kazuha, Venti, Cyno and Childe have voice lines about you, dear reader?! If you’re having trouble falling asleep, hear what these characters have to say all about you!
A SIMPLE MISSION, Neuvillette / By Journalist @alaboadoa
Rumor has it: The Duke and the Iudex were caught whispering privately about you?! Read as Journalist Soph gossips all the juicy details about their conversation—it seems Monsieur Neuvillette might have a crush on you!
Just recently released: Journalist Soph also just recently released a new entry for Ayato, “INK TO PAPER.” Both of these works are featured in her 1k milestone event!
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ONE CHANCE (PT.2), Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @ayaboba
“You give them one chance. How do they use it?” Journalist Anya returns with Kazuha, Lyney, Wanderer, and Zhongli—all who have just one last chance with you. Be sure to also check our her part one of this entry with Alhaitham, Diluc, Neuvillette, and Wriothesley, linked in her entry!
WHEN THEY LOSE YOU, Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @yrbladie
Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya, Neuvillette, Zhongli — ever in the mood for angst and no comfort? Then Journalist Naeris delivered us painful excepts on five different Genshin men and how they act after ( spoiler! ) losing you.
With Journalist Naeris also being on the rise and joining the writing train, be sure to check out all the other works she has published this month, as well!
FEATURE — The Editors’ Favorites !
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YOUR SHADOW UNDER THE ILLUSORY MOON., Lyney / By Journalist @dulcesiabits
“this piece genuinely moved me. journalist liya’s writing is beautiful, and out of hundreds — maybe even thousands — of works that i have read, this has remained my favorite. it had me hanging on every word and i could genuinely feel the emotion put into it — her word choices and the way she conveys the scenes are profound in a way i cannot hope to describe. the ties and parallels part one has with PART TWO are so smart, too. hands down the most immersive and touching writing i’ve ever had the pleasure to read.” — Editor Crow.
JEALOUS-!, Ayato / By Journalist @jinxlixir
“LOVED this one! Takes place in a modern school AU with Ayato as the student council prez, and reader as his vice prez! The concept is every hopeful cliché, and Journalist Jinx did an amazing job characterizing Ayato so well—this one definitely stayed in my head for a while!”
“Not to mention: This little snippet is a continued concept of Jinx’s OTHER AYATO PIECE, one that’s much longer and written excellently!! I was practically squealing the whole time I read it… Ignore my tags if you decide to scroll through the notes.” — Editor Ely.
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THE-STEAMBIRD is a Genshinblr Newspaper that posts news on the latest fanfiction and fanart! Editorials are published on the 1st day of every month, compiling your favorite works, featuring sections for journalists (writers) and photographers (artists).
Every month, from the 2nd-24th, we are in the nomination process. Writers and artists can nominate works they would like to see featured on The-Steambird for the month using our form!
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srbachchan · 5 days
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DAY 5879
Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 23/24, 2024 Sat/Sun 10:23 AM
🪔 ,
March 24 .. birthday greetings to Ef AMIT Trivedi .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️
..
March 24 .. World TB Day .. prayers .. 🙏🏻
Spending the time with the words of Babuji is not just an education but a revelation of a poet's mind and soul .. a mind that wanders in the visionary hemisphere unknown and unseen in a relative World, but yet possessing the intelligence of the probability of a higher philosophy ..
For it all to come to me now , is a shame .. a shame of lost opportunity and time to have been spent in the research and his presence to be able to understand the deeper meanings in his thought ..
I did on the odd occasion give intent of his interpretation and reason for many of his thoughts .. and they were most revealing .. but then .. time passed away .. as did his presence ..
It is a known and accepted fact that genius of creative art, writing, painting, music or whatever form, has always been overlooked and never given its due during the lifetime of the artist .. and it has been recognised fact of this phenomena that coerces me to, yet again , mention here for consumption of the mass ..
A pity ..
But the efforts of time , or whatever is left in it for me , shall endeavour to give some exposure to Babuji's works and his incredible genius ..
The World has very seldom seen or experienced the greatness of such ..
Last night I spent time on one such random thought of his from a published work :
नई से नई, पुरानी से पुरानी
it contains works of his in short verses, or abstract from , blank verse - short and expressive , but of immense value for us all to think and wonder of how certain thoughts and the express of them , do get created ..
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The title of the Poem :
KAVI KA RAKT .. A POETS’ BLOOD
meri band mutthiyaan dekhkar .. seeing my closed fists jis-jis ne mujhse poocha, .. all those that asked me “ismein kya hai” ? .. ‘what is inside them’ ? maine imaandaari se bataya , .. i told them with all honesty “ismein kya hai ? .. ‘what is in them ismein kadamb ka phool hai “ .. in them is the kadamb flower ? "(Neolamarckia cadamba, with English common names burflower-tree, laran, and Leichhardt pine,[2] and called kadam or cadamba[2]) aur logon ne is par .. and the people on this sahaj vishwaas kar liya .. did keep their instinctive believe
vo to jab .. that is, when meri mutthiyaan se .. from my clenched fists rakt ki boondein choone lagein .. drops of blood did start to drop tab logon ne mujhe avishwaas ki nazaron se ghoora, .. then, did the people did stare at me in disbelief mujhse kaha .. and they told me “mutthiyaan to kholo ।” "at least open your fists" aur jab maine mutthiyaan kholein .. and when I did open my clenched fists to unmein .. in them kantkeela dhature ka pahal nikala । .. did come out the thorn laden datura fruit !
(Datura is a genus of nine species of highly poisonous, vespertine-flowering plants belonging to the nightshade family. They are commonly known as thornapples or jimsonweeds, but are also known as devil's trumpets. Other English common names include moonflower, devil's weed, and hell's bells.)
main sharmaya, .. I was ashamed mera jhoot pakda gaya ,.. my lie was caught mujhe apne par aashcharya hua, .. I was filled with wonder , kyunki maine apni ankhein kholkar .. because I had with my open eyes kadamb ka phool apni mutthiyon mein liya tha । .. taken the kadamb flower in my clenched fists !
shayad mai apni bhavatishayata mein ।.. perhaps in the belief of my aatma , the self , the soul kante ko phool samjha, .. I thought the thorns to be a flower par kaanta , kaanta hi kaise reh gaya , .. but how did the thorn , remain a thorn phool kyun nahin bana , .. why did it not become a flower usnein toh ek kavi ka rakt piya tha । .. it had consumed the blood of a poet !!
the word भावा ति शय यता , bhavatishayyata seems to have been taken from a form of the mention in the scriptures of Hindu philosophy, saints and religion , which is why i believe it refers to his aatma, his soul , his inner .. perhaps a more 'cultured way' 😁 of expressing his thoughts ..
DATURA
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KADAMB .. CADAMBA 👆🏼
My love and more ..
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Amitabh Bachchan
115 notes · View notes
dulcesiabits · 3 months
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you arrive like a dream.
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summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?
notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together
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“I want to take a break from us.”
It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.
Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest. 
Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent. 
By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious. 
The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back. 
As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him. 
In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.
Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly. 
You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”
“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”
“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”
Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Thomas says.
Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return. 
Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country. 
By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”
Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.” 
You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.
Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.
“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone. 
“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”
“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.
“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.
“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”
“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”
“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?” 
“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.
You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”
You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”
You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”
“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”
“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.
“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”
There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.
“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it? 
“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”
“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”
“Okay. Love you!”
With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.
You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.
You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.
In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old. 
You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.
Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.
Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.
You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.
You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.
“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest. 
“But what do you want?” you persisted. 
“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”
And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory. 
You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.
Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door. 
“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”
The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.
“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”
Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”
“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced. 
Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.
“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.
“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”
“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”
You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”
“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”
“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.
A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”
You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.
You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”
How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.
“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”
The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.
You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.
“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”
“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor. 
He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”
“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said. 
“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor. 
“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”
The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly. 
During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.
“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly. 
“What are these for?” you asked.
“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!” 
“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.
“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”
 “Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”
“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”
“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.
“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”
He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school? 
But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.
You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.
There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.
Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.
But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.
You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.
Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.
You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”
“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge. 
The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”
“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”
“Dinner?”
“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.
“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”
“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”
You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”
“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”
The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.
It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.
When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.
Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”
You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.
The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.
You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.
“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.
You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.
“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.
Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.
She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”
“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”
Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”
You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”
And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”
You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.
Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.
“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”
“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”
“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”
Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.
You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.
“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”
“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru. 
You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.
You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.
Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.
It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.
“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?
“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of. 
“I–”
“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”
“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”
“Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.
“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.
You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.
“I want to talk to you again,” he says. 
“I don’t care,” you say again.
“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”
“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”
“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”
You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.
“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”
“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”
“Go back where?”
“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”
It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.
“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.
At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”
“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.
Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.
Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.
But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.
At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.
So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.
Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.
“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.
“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level. 
“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee. 
“I’ll try,” you said. 
“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”
And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.
Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.
“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”
“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”
And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.
Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.
“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.
“What is that?” you asked him.
“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”
“Can I come, too?”
“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.
Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”
“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.
“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands. 
“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you. 
“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.
Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru. 
“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.
“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”
“I saved it for you, though.”
Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”
There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams. 
Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.
“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”
“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”
“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”
“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”
“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”
You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked. 
“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.
“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.
She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”
You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”
“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.
Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”
Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”
“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”
Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.” 
However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.
It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.
“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”
Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.” 
“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!” 
Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint. 
“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself. 
“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids. 
“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked. 
“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?” 
Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint. 
“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?” 
“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.” 
“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs. 
“So we can be together forever,” you explained. 
Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”
You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding. 
“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?” 
Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?” 
You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”
Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain. 
It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart. 
When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.
You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that. 
But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.
You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message. 
Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.
Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.
yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3
Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances. 
Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well. 
You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?
You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.
Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.
You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on. 
The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life. 
“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face. 
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!” 
You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.
“I missed you,” Bachira says.
“We met a few days ago.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”
You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”
“Did you think I hated you?” you say. 
“You didn’t?” he says quietly.
“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”
Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.
“I was mad, Bachira. I…”
“You said we were best friends.”
You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”
“Then are we still best friends?”
“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.” 
“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.” 
“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek. 
When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze. 
“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”
A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.
“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.
You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.
“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions. 
“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice. 
“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that. 
“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds. 
“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.
Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?” 
“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.” 
He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky. 
You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you. 
By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation. 
“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.” 
Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”
“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?” 
You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!” 
“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues. 
“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender. 
When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.
“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”
She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.” 
Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.
You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly. 
It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye. 
You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed. 
“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!” 
“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”
He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently. 
The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.” 
“Because of Meguru?” you repeated. 
The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”
You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend. 
But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.
You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team. 
Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world. 
He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.
It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head. 
“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”
When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you. 
“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.
As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.
He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.
You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now. 
You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year. 
During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.
It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself. 
You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.
When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.
“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”
“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”
“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”
“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly. 
You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.
“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”
“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”
He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”
Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”
“Uh…”
“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”
“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.
“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.
“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”
“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”
A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.
Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”
You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic.  I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”
Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor. 
“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze. 
You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”
You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you. 
Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”
You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.
“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.
 It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”
“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met. 
Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?
“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”
You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”
“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.
“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”
Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.
“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”
“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”
When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.
You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.
Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. 
Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.
When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.
“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.” 
You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”
“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”
“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”
She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.” 
For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school. 
No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.
A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.
When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all. 
For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.
In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience. 
You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira. 
Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis. 
The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers. 
The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase. 
“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.
“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.
“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”
“Okay.”
“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.” 
“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose. 
“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”
“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.” 
She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.” 
“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree. 
“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?” 
You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.” 
She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.” 
She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.
How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.
Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.
About our relationship…
You pick up your phone, skimming the email.
Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.
How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy. 
Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”
“What?”
“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”
“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding. 
“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”
“Bachira…”
“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”
You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”
You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There’s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.
Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.
“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.
“You’re going back to America?” he says.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
“When will you come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”
“Why do you want to know about him?”
“Do you like him?”
“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.
“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”
“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.” 
Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles. 
“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.
“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football. 
“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.” 
No response. What did you expect? 
“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”
Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out. 
“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”
You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say. 
“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.
“I guess it wasn’t.” 
“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?” 
“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”
“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.” 
“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”
“I can’t.” 
“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”
“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.
It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.” 
“Stop it.”
“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.” 
“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?” 
I’m sorry,” he says. 
“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.” 
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.” 
You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”
“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.
You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back. 
“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.
“You piss me off,” you say. 
“Uh?”
You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”
“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck. 
“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” 
“Sort of!”
“Pay attention!” 
“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.
“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”
“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him. 
“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”
Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”
“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”
“You did,” he says nonchalantly. 
“From when we were kids,” you point out. 
“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”
“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”
“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”
“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?” 
“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?” 
You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.
“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”
“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.
It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.
“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.
“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”
“What?”
Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”
“Obviously not!”
You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now? 
You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.
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marcskywalker · 5 months
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au where arthur first catches merlin using magic is when Arthur is injured come up with deep plot points here it's just the two of them out in forest, he's bleeding and slightly feverish, both getting increasingly desperate to find help.
Merlin tries his usual "perform magic while I distract arthur with a stick cause he is a 5 year old child" to heal/reduce pain for arthur he gets caught.
EXCEPTTT arthur thinks that it's the first time merlin is resorting to magic, and it's only because arthur himself is gravely hurt. He's oddly very touched by it and concerned about what this means for Merlin's heart, so he pretends and turns a blind eye (it's just one time nothing is going to come out of it. It's his bubbling fool, probably learned a trick or two from the druids or his sorcerer friend. He's not going around doing magic all day)
But, once he's seen it, he can't un-see it. The next time he's fighting off a bunch of bandits, he keeps track of merlin whose golden eyes are barely barely hidden behind a tree to stop a rogue 6 foot man from plunging his sword into arthur. Doing magic twice is dangerous territory, someone needs to warn his merlin about the dangers he's exposing himself to. And since he's doing all of this to protect arthur (and isn't that a thought!), it should be arthur's responsibility to have this talk with merlin.
"You've had your fun, Merlin. You can stop doing it now." "What?" "I know you get a kick off of breaking the law but magic is serious business-" "I have NEVER done-" "AND I appreciate you doing it for me. Truly, I do. But this needs to stop before we put ourselves in more danger. Alright?" "??????????????" "Good talk."
ofc merlin instead starts to see how much magic he can get away with (always saying that's a new trick he learned instead of something he knew from birth) since arthur doesn't seem keen on murdering/reporting him for it. except every time he does something, arthur looks like he's about to hyperventilate and pass out.
This continues for a while; Arthur will catch Merlin doing some magic mostly to protect him and he'll resort to giving a stern talk or begging or yelling at merlin to stop doing it. The longer this goes on, the cheekier Merlin gets and Arthur just gets more miserable.
He starts having nightmares of Merlin dying; sometimes caught by Uther, sometimes caught by one of his enemies. Other nights, he has nightmares of the magic corrupting merlin so much that the man beside him is unrecognizable (these are the ones that has arthur waking up gasping for breath with red rimmed eyes but you won't hear that from him).
something happens that pushes arthur over the edge to have a full blown breakdown in front of merlin
"I don't want you to corrupt your heart, Merlin. Not for anyone" the words are muffled between his sobs but Merlin hears them as though they're shouted from the rooftop, "Least of all for me. I'm not worth it. Please stop. I'm not worth it. Please. Please. I want you to be you. please... "
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afterdulce · 8 months
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desire.
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summary: a repost of an older piece, featuring La Signora, Childe, and Scaramouche and how they act with you in the bedroom.
notes: 1k words, drabbles, nsft, afab but otherwise gn reader, a mention of reader in lingerie in La Signora's part, ft. devotion and introspection
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La Signora
Maybe it would have been better if her heart had died all those years ago, if she had forgotten how to love. Then La Signora would not be at the mercy of your smile, igniting within her a flame she had thought long extinguished. 
She teases you mercilessly, buys you expensive lingerie just so she can have the pleasure of ripping it off of you. She adorns you with a black diamond choker, tugs it sharply so she can see your breath catch. This is her mark, a sign so that everyone knows you are the only one who is allowed to stand beside her.
She takes you in her office, your thighs wrapped around her face as she torturously licks your clit in slow strips. She brings you close to orgasm and each time, you beg her to let you cum whenever she stills. The sound of your pleading is so lovely, and she rips it from you over and over, drunk on your voice. When La Signora finally relents, she sucks at your clit until you’re overstimulated and shaking, only able to cry from the constant pleasure as she brings an unrelenting orgasm from your spasming body. You are the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted.
(This is what bringing down Celestia will feel like: the triumph of having you come undone from her fingers, of ruining you with her own two hands.)
She will kiss away each of your tears, carry you in arms to her room when you are too exhausted to walk. La Signora will draw a bath for you, gently wash every inch of your body, as familiar to her as her own. In bed, she always falls asleep last; she needs to hear your quiet breathing to remind herself that you are still here, and that she will slaughter anyone who keeps you from her.
(This is the most dangerous part of loving you, she thinks. Touching you like this makes her so afraid. A stroke of your hair, a kiss to your forehead: she is more naked now than when she is between your legs.)
Childe
It feels like a betrayal that he touches you so gently. Childe wants to love you until he breaks, to drown in you until there is nothing left of himself but the thought of you. Love, after all, is the most beautiful sort of violence.
Pull his hair, scratch his back. Place hickeys in every area he can’t hide to mark him as yours. It delights him when you push his face into the mattress, when you look down at him coldly and make him beg to even touch your body. Childe doesn’t know what he likes better: when you come undone from his fingers alone, or the way you look with your hands around his throat. 
His favorite position is against the wall, if only so he could show off how he can still pound into you with your legs wrapped around his waist. Childe leans his forehead against yours, each thrust making your words more incoherent, your walls tightening wonderfully around him. In his most selfish moments, he thinks about a family, of asking you to let him cum in you over and over until it drips down your legs, but always pulls out at the last minute.
(The though of a life with you is too much to bear. Maybe once the two of you rip down the archons from their thrones will he allow himself to dream.)
He likes to talk, afterwards, with you in his arms, about anything at all, while stroking idle circles on your back, nuzzling his face in your hair. Sometimes, you are too sleepy to reply, but he is content just to feel your warmth. In the mornings, he’ll make you your favorite foods, and calculate if you’ll let him go for another round before work.
(He wants to be destroyed by you, to destroy you in return. It is simple as that.)
Scaramouche
Every act of intimacy is a battle. Scaramouche, after all, does not know how to love gently. His touch is rough, awkward, clumsy. He has always scoffed at the idea of letting anyone close, but here you are, his greatest weakness.
He leaves deep purple hickey blooming on your skin, kisses you like he will die of hunger if he stops. He holds you tightly, because there is the lingering fear you will slip away if he lets go. For all his bluster and bravado, there is a special sort of pleasure when you straddle him and tie back his hands so he can’t touch you, when you start stroking his cock during a meeting, and he grips his pen so hard it snaps. How has it come to the point where he is at your mercy?
But this is still a pleasure reserved for him alone. No one else will ever see you like this, hair tousled, eyes half lidded, moaning his name like a prayer as he thrusts into you. Scaramouche holds your thighs apart, his pace uneven and his breath ragged. His love is worship, and your body is a temple. You are the closest to touching the divine he will get.
(He needs you so much it disgusts him how much power you hold. One word and he will come undone at your hands.)
Scaramouche prefers it when you hold him when all is done, irritated as he asks you to put your arms around him so he can lean back against your chest. There is no need for words; he despises idle chatter, and your presence alone is enough. In the mornings, everyone knows not to disturb your time together, not unless they wish to suffer his wrath.
(Tell him you love him. Tell him you love him, so he can know he is alive, that he is real, that he is more than what he was made to be: a shell of a god, an imitation of a human.)
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liyawritesss · 6 months
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i hate that school as put me in a writers block man
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babyboiboyega · 1 year
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Title: touchin’, lovin’, fuckin’
Relationship: HBCU!Shuri x Black!Fem!Reader x HBCU!Emerald Haywood
Word Count: 12.8k
In Collaboration with @shinsousliya​
Synopsis: Emerald and Shuri finally meet for the first time, and when coming to the realization that you’ve been keeping yourself away from them deliberately, the two women plan to give you exactly what you want.
Content: profanity, smut, use of drugs (cannabis), smut, mentions of greening out, and uhhhh more smut :)
A/N: let me preface this by saying that if you are not 18+...getcho ass off of this fic right neow. Not tryna catch any type of case, and neither one of us are responsible for you reading something you weren’t supposed to.
This fic first started out with Liya and I’s headcanons about the differences  between how Shuri would treat you and then how Em would treat you. Then our thirst got the better of us, and well...here we are LMAO
NOW...this is my first time writing smut. First ever. With that being said...we hope you enjoy this, and Happy Valentines Day <3
Today is the day.
There’s a pool of anxiety forming in your tummy, and you’re not sure why. Not even your music can sway you into calmer waters, which tells you that the feeling in your tummy is nothing to play off.
You’re standing in the mirror, going over your figure once more. The three-piece cream lounge set you wore, complete with fuzzy shorts, cropped tank and long flow-y cardigan contrasted beautifully against your honey brown skin. Your braids had been pulled into a half-up ponytail, with two on each side left down in the front to frame your face. It was the set Emerald had bought you for your birthday, knowing that you’d love the fabric used. Ironically Shuri bought you the exact same one, color and all, saying that the color of it reminded her of you.
God, how did you manage to have Emerald Haywood and Shuri Udaku wrapped around your dainty little finger? Even you couldn't answer that question.
Looking at the both of them, who’s polaroid pictures had been taped lovingly on the fringe of your full length mirror, anyone could tell that you had a type. Dark skin, brown eyes, curly hair - the only thing making them different were their origins and occupations. And the one thing tying these two women of completely different worlds together, was you.
You remember the day you first met Emerald. You’d been shopping at Best Buy trying to find a new camera to take better pictures with for your photography class. Emerald was there, and from the moment she saw you, she knew she had to have you. Sparking up a conversation was easy, and the laughter that was shared in that camera aisle was one you’d never experienced before. Despite her brother cockblocking, as she would recall it, urging for them to go, Emerald took her sweet time typing her number into your phone. The wink she sent you had butterflies dancing in your stomach, and til this day, it still does.
Then, two weeks later, you met Shuri Udaku. Despite her wanting to keep her social status under tight lock and key, the air of regality and confidence she held did little to help her keep her identity under wraps. Not to mention, she’d seen you in her African American Literature class, and was immediately captivated by your intelligence. After class, Shuri didn’t hesitate to pull you aside, apologize for her abruptness, and ask you out on a date. She wanted to court you properly, and, if things went well, she would propose the option of making things official.
Suddenly, you found yourself catching feelings for both women, who wanted you just as much as you wanted them. And what made it harder to choose was that they not only said how much they wanted you, they thoroughly showed it in acts of service, giving you gifts, and taking on roles that previous partners of yours had never done before, and could never compare to.
At first, you believed you had to choose, but then the thought came to you; why choose, when you could have both?
You’d since begun your plot of making them both yours, and only yours, and step one had been to slowly introduce the idea of polygamy to each woman. Shuri was more susceptible to the concept, having grown up in an environment where queer relationships and polygamy were just as normal as heterosexual relationships and monogamy were. She verbally told you that she would be more than willing to give polygamy a shot, and you were more than happy that she accepted the idea.
Then, there was Emerald, who you had to put in a bit more work when talking about polygamy. She is in no way a stranger to queerness, but polygamy as a concept was something she found a bit hard to grasp. But after explaining it a few times, using a few analogies that pertained to her and her interests to better help her understand the concept, she, too, was all in for it.
Emerald and Shuri had met before, only over the phone via Facetime and in your shared group chat. The two got along swimmingly, becoming the fastest friends and soon enough shooting flirtatious words at each other within the month after confirming that they’d each be willing to give this three-person relationship a shot. The last part of this scheme, to absolutely make sure that all three of you were willing to put in the effort to make this work, was for Shuri and Emerald to meet in person.
And today was the day that Shuri and Emerald could be coming to your apartment to do just that.
You’d taken special care in your attire today, hence the lounge set you’d chosen to put on, as well as the purple diamond studded necklace with panther claws that Shuri had gifted you a while ago, and Emerald’s favorite scent on you - sage and vanilla bean, as the scent drove the woman insane.
A knock sounded at your door, breaking you from your daze and making you jog to the door to answer. It was none other than Shuri, who had also gotten the memo about loungewear, since this would be a pretty laid back and chill day. Sporting a simple dark gray sweat pant and hoodie set, and her hair in a fresh twist out letting her curls hand low on her forehead, and her ears sporting the same kimoyo earrings she always wore; Shuri looked so fucking attractive.
“Hi, usana,” She says, immediately reaching out to pull your frame against hers. Her arms instinctively snaking around your waist, her warm, slightly calloused hands feeling so warm against the small of your back as she pulled you in. Your arms instinctively went to wrap around her neck, embracing her back, and if it wasn’t in the doorway of your apartment, you’d stay there in that embrace forever.
“Hi, baby,” you whisper against her neck, the similar smell of sage and lavender ticking your nose, making you smile against her skin. You brung Shuri into your apartment, taking notice of the backpack she’d brought with her and ignoring the heat that trickled down your legs. Shuri knows your apartment by heart, and once she tucks her bag away in the storage closet, she makes her way to the couch with you.
“Where’s Em?” Shuri questions, noticing the missing presence in the apartment.
“She got held up with her brother on something, she should be here in, like, an hour.” You reply, to which Shuri acknowledges with a hum as she takes a seat on the couch. Her body sinks into the cushions, her legs spread, and she stretches, and you catch the tiniest glimpse of her toned tummy. The little sound she makes from stretching makes you giggle a bit, as you walk over to take your place on her lap.
Shuri’s hands are instinctive and skillful, positioning your body so you’re sitting across her lap, and her hands are on any bare skin she can get in contact with. She’s clingy, she normally gets like this after a long day of classes or doing her science projects. You go to embrace her once more, and her head finds comfort in your breasts, inhaling your scent, bringing her comfort.
“Missed you, my love,” she whispers against you.
“Missed you too, baby,” you reply, pressing a kiss to her temple.
The next hour is spent with the two of you just talking about your day. Your hand dances on Shuri’s undercut as she speaks, your nude acrylics creating soothing friction against the nape of her neck and the design in her undercut. It’s one of the mundane, completely normal things that turns her on the most, and while Shuri tries to keep her composure, you notice how her breath hitches ever so slightly, and the subtle shifts she makes under you.
There’s another knock at your door, and the only person it could be is Emerald. The anxious pool from before finds its way back into your stomach, as you quickly stand up to answer the door. Shuri follows after, albeit keeping a few feet of distance away to allow Emerald easy passage into the humble abode.
There in the doorway stands the last addition to your trio, in all her glory. She sports an oversized graphic t-shirt, baggy jeans and her signature Doc Martens. She has a chain dangling from her neck, and her curls also dance along her forehead beautifully.
Similar to Shuri, Emerald greets you with a “Hey, mamas,” as she brings you in by the waist, and you by her neck. After your embrace, you rush her inside, and you turn to see Emerald and Shuri greet each other warmly, with Em initiating a hand shake that Shuri gladly reciprocates, and it ends in the two women embracing each other.
“Man, you don’t know how good it is to finally meet you!” Emerald beams, showing off her killer smile to the young royal. “Wait- I ain’t gotta curtsy or none of that right? We cool off that?”
“It is good to see you, too, Em.” Shuri replies, her own smile, brighter than any sunrise you’ve ever witnessed, adorning her face. “And no, no curtsy needed. I’m just Shuri here.”
The anxiety that once pooled in your stomach disappeared the moment you saw them embrace each other. The two women took their positions on your couch (Emerald had also discarded the backpack she brought in your storage closet, and again, the heat that pooled in your core came back, more intense than before), and the two immediately made space for you between them.
“Ain’t you comin’ to sit, ma?” Emerald asked.
You shook your head, bringing the two confusion. “As much as I’d love to be in between my two favorite people - dinner isn’t gonna cook itself.” you replied, instead making your way into the kitchen, “But please, talk, get to know each other! I’m not even here!”
Your little chime brings laughter from both Emerald and Shuri, and they do as you wish, conversating amongst themselves and entertaining each other while you focus on dinner.
It’s sometime in the evening, determined by the way the pretty golden beams of the setting sun shine into your apartment through the large floor to ceiling bay windows.
Emerald had gone to fetch your bottle of wine from the kitchen, planting a quick kiss to your forehead and an even quicker swat at your butt, causing you to gasp in surprise. You shoo her out of the kitchen as she grabs two wine glasses for her and Shuri. As she approaches the couch once more, she catches sight of the way the sun does wonders to Shuri’s skin, making glow effortlessly, and damn, Emerald finds herself enraptured by this princess. And Shuri takes note of it, a small smirk plastering itself on her face.
“Something catch your eye, my gem?” Shuri asks innocently, using the nickname she had given to Emerald the moment the other became comfortable with the concept of polygamy, using it as a stepping stone to further the attraction.
Emerald scrunches her nose as she places a glass in front of Shuri, pouring the red alcoholic beverage into it, as she replies, “Shut up, princess.”
Her reply gains a chuckle from Shuri, who takes a sip of the wine when Emerald finishes pouring. She immediately recognizes the taste as the fruity bitterness slips down her throat, “Barefoot?”
“Aww, you know your liquor, aye?” Emerald sings, pouring her own class.
“It's the only thing I can keep down,” Shuri explains, “anything other than wine and I go bat-shit crazy. Learned that at my first college party.”
“Don’t tell me they gave you Henny right off the bat? No chaser?”
“Man, they didn’t even give me a warning of what would happen!” Of course, Shuri’s experience was not a laughable one, but the way she spoke of it brought a rumble of laughter from the other brown skinned woman.
“They did you wrong, princess. Don’t worry though, I ain’t gon’ set you up like that,” Emerald hums, “Besides wine, I only fucks with light liquor anyway, so that dark shit don’t even be up my alley.”
Shuri rests back on the couch as she takes in Emerald’s side profile. The sun that once shone on her skin now hit Emerald’s beautifully. The hoop earrings that hung from her ears, her fresh, shiny curls, her sharp jawline - Shuri couldn’t help but feel something warm pool into her stomach from the sight of such a beautiful woman. It’s a miracle she’s even able to be here now - her schedule had been hectic as of late, which is why the meeting between the two had been postponed until now - but she’s now grateful to be in the presence of both the women she loved.
“You look beautiful, Emerald,” Shuri suddenly blurts out, albeit confidently and not ashamed in the slightest. It catches Emerald off guard, not used to verbally hearing Shuri’s straightforwardness, but nonetheless, it excites her.
“You not bad lookin’ yourself, ‘ri,” Emerald replies, but she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t heat creeping up her neck from the sudden compliment. “Aye, do you smoke?”
“Not really, no,” Shuri replied, “I’ve only ever gotten contact high, thanks to that one in there,” she continued, gesturing to your figure in the kitchen, still cooking.
“You wanna? I got a couple of blunts on me.” Emerald offers. Shuri takes a moment to think, before shrugging her shoulders in indifference. “Wouldn’t hurt, I don’t think.”
With that confirmation, Emerald fishes out a blunt from her front pocket, as well as a lighter, and with swiftness and expertise, she lights the brown roll up and takes a pull from it. Soon after it leaves her lips, she emits a puff of smoke from them. Shuri watches intently, more so the other woman’s lips than the actions she took to pull the intoxicating smoke from the blunt.
“Aight, so, it's simple shit,” Emerald begins, turning her body to face Shuri, and the princess does the same, “you just put to your lips and inhale. Don't do it too deep, though, just do it a lil’ bit, and once you feel like you got enough, you just blow out. Aight?”
Shuri nodded in confirmations, as Emerald handed Shuri the blunt. Shuri took it, examining the roll quizzingly, before raising it up to her lips and doing as she was instructed. Her lungs took a slight burn from the intake of smoke, and when she released it from behind her lips, a cough also escaped as a form of relief to her stinging lungs.
“Aye, good job, princess!” Emerald praised, raising a hand to pat Shuri’s back to aid in her slight coughing fit. She took the blunt from Shuri’s hand, seeing that she may be good for another few puffs before it was handed back to her.
“Why did it taste fruity?” Shuri inquires, intrigued by the taste of grape being left on her lips.
“Oh, the roll is flavored. This is white grape.” Emerald explains as she takes another pull of the blunt.
Shuri could feel the effects of the cannabis already taking hold, or at least, feel the smoke beginning to muddle her mind. It was an interesting feeling, made her feel light and airy, and oddly clingy. The next couple of pulls from Shuri had her fishing for Emerald’s hand to hold, of which the other woman found adorable and endearing. It reminded her of the first time she got high with you, and how incredibly touchy and clingy you were, desperate for her touch. The first night you got high together was forever emblazoned in Emerald’s mind.
“You good, princess?” Emerald asked, to which Shuri nodded, her voice becoming non-existent as the cannabis took control over her mind. She now laid her head against the couch, still fiddling with Emerald’s hand, and an idea came to Emerald’s mind. “Sit up for me, baby.”
Shuri obliged eagerly, curious to what Emerald was doing. The smoker took a deep pull from the blunt, took Shuri gently by the throat, and brought the princess’s face closer to hers. Slowly, Emerald blew the stream of smoke right into Shuri’s lips, which had already formed an ‘o’ shape to receive it. Their lips were agonizingly close, and if it wasn’t for Emerald’s hand keeping her in place, Shuri would have leaned in to kiss Emerald.
Shuri withstood the smoke, feeling her mind becoming even more muddled by the drug. And as if her mind had been read, Emerald leaned in and connected her soft lips onto Shuri’s. Immediately, the princess melted into it, following Emerald’s guiding hand.
Emerald is the first to pull away, a smirk gracing her lips once she sees just how hooked Shuri is.
“Fuck, that was hot,” Emerald mutters, and Shuri couldn’t agree more.
A voice - your voice - calls from the kitchen, your tone amused and slightly worried by Emerald’s antics. “Are you done corrupting my baby? The food is almost ready.”
“We comin’, we comin’,!” Emerald says back, putting out her blunt and setting it on the ashtray on your coffee table, moving to stand up. Now that her mind isn't consumed with how pretty Shuri looks high and intaking the smoke from the shotgun, she notices that the princess is a bit too quiet for her liking. Giving Shuri’s figure a once over, Emerald’s expert eyes ntoice the slight tremble that’s overtaking Shuri’s body.
“A-Are you my hands suppose to be shaking, Emerald?”
“Shit-”
“Em, what’s wrong?”
Emerald is no stranger to green outs, witnessing and experiencing them alike, but the idea that she was too fast and too much for the princess to handle made a pang of guilt spring in her chest.
“Nothin’! Bring Shuri a glass of water, bae!”
Perplexed, you complied, reaching into the fridge for a bottle water and bringing it to the couch where Emerald and Shuri had made themselves at home, and you soon saw why Emerald requested the clear beverege.
“What the hell- Did you green her out?!”
“It was an accident, I swear!”
It takes a split second for you to take Emerald’s previous spot on the couch, immediately going into nurturing mode and examining the extent of Shuri’s trembles. It’s only her hands and legs that are shaking, not violently but also not slightly either.
“Em, help me take her sweatshirt off, she’s sweating,” you instruct, and in another swift motion, Emerald takes a seat behind Shuri on the couch. With care you strip the princess of her sweatshirt, leaving her in her black sports bra, her skin damn with a thin layer of sweat.
“Hey, baby, look at me,” you whisper softly to Shuri, who’s blown out eyes find yours with ease despite her current state, “you’re alright, okay? Just take some deep breaths, and drink this-” your hand gently pushes the small bottle of water into her own hands, which seemed to have calmed down from their light tremors, “-and I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?”
Shuri nods, taking in your words, though her mind is too foggy to comprehend much of anything else. Emerald embraces her from behind, and Shuri graciously finds comfort in leaning back into Emerald’s chest. The cotton fabric of her shirt is cool and refreshing against Shuri’s heated skin. As you stepped away to make your two lovers their plates, Emerald assists in bringing the water to Shuri’s lips to drink. The woman downed the liquid feverishly, and returns to her previous behavior of reaching for Emerald’s hand to ground her.
Once the bottle is done and discarded, Shuri goes to her wrist, pulling off the bracelet Emerald had been eying for its simple beauty. The princess places the beads on her chest, and before Emerald has a chance to ask what she’s doing, Shuri speakds;
“Griot, read me my vitals, please.”
“Hello, princess.” a male voice sounds out, spiraling Emerald further into confusion.
“Hol’ on, is your bracelet talkin’-?”
“Your blood pressure is 80/120. Your heart rate is 102 beats per minute, slightly higher than your average 90 beats per minute. All organ and artery functions are good. You seem to be experiencing Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) overdose, specifically due to a potent strand of cannabis known as Indica. This can cause nausea, abdominal pain, and dehydration. Would you like me to recommend foods and beverages to counteract the Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) overdose?”
“No, that is all, thank you-”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Emerald’s voice interjects, “your bracelet just fucking talked-!”
In Emerald’s astonishment, Shuri directs the AI to introduce itself to Emerald, as she’s still a bit far gone in her mind to fully concentrate on explaining her invention.
“Hello. May I register your name into my memory stores, so I know how to address you?”
“Uh….Em..-Emerald Haywood?”
“Hello ‘Em’. Is it alright if I address you as such?”
“Uh…sure?”
“Okay, Em. My name is Griot. I am an artificial intelligence designed by and to assist Princess Shuri in her scientific and engineering endeavors. My primary functions outside of laboratory duties are to read the Princess her daily vitals, generate answers to the Princess’s questions based on searches through the World Wide Web, and set and read out reminders for the Princess throughout her day.”
Emerald is too shocked to speak - never in her life had she encountered a piece of technology so advanced. She knew that Shuri was a pretty important person, and a literal genius, so it’s no surprise she would come in contact with one of her creations, but nothing like this ever crossed her mind.
“Thank you for the vital read, Griot,” you say, as you come from the kitchen holding two plates of food in your hand. You set them on the coffee table, one for each woman.
“Hello Ms. (Y/N). You are welcome for the vital read.”
“Does Shuri have any important messages from home?”
The AI beeps, stalls for a second, before responding, “No new messages, Ms. (Y/N).”
“Good, you can go on standby, then. We’ll take care of Shuri’s green out.”
The AI bids you farewell and beeps off, and Shuri sends you a look that says ‘thank you’ in reference to you checking her messages, something she’d been bad on doing as of late. You turn to Emerald’ who is still staring at the silver beads resting on her partners chest, then shoots a look back up to you.
“She got a talkin’ bracelet-”
“They’re called kimoyo beads, babe. And it’s an AI installed in it-”
“Do you got a talkin’ bracelet I don't know about?!”
You shake your head, instead bringing attention to a pair of earrings similar to Shuri’s. “I have earrings instead. They’re more discreet this way.”
“....so when can I get a talkin’ bracelet, or earrings, or whatever?”
“Oh my god, Em, just help Shuri eat something so the THC don’t eat away at her more than it already has.”
At that, Shuri makes a move to sit up on her own, slow and albeit a bit wobbly, still coming down from the unpleasant experience from the THC overdose. “I’m-I’m okay. I can eat on my own….I think.”
After you’ve gotten your food, the next hour is spent with Emerald and you practically doting on the princess as she recovers miraculously fast from her green out. Perhaps it is due to the vibranium herbal stores in the kimoyo beads, of which would have been released onto the skin and penetrate the surface level when Shuri’s body began displaying signals of distress. Or, it could be the enhancement the heart-shaped herb gave Shuri’s immune system when ingested long ago. The cause of her recovery didn’t matter as much as the fact that she was better, and was able to function without tremors disrupting her movements.
The three of you ate in peace while a movie played - Emerald’s commentary being more of the star of the show than the actual characters in the movie. In that time, you were able to take in both women in all their glory. Their warm, sun kissed skin which now glowed from the warm white light your LED’s were shining, the way they were so trained on the television, the way they interacted with each other. You couldn’t believe that earlier you had any doubts of the two not getting along once they’d met each other in person. If anything, they seemed like they’d already known each other their whole lives.
Once dinner was finished and another round of wine was shared, you took the dirty dishes in the kitchen and prepared to clean up what little mess was left from your cooking. Emerald watched your figure shrink away into the kitchen area, thinking of something.
“Hey, princess,” she calls to the other woman, who responds with a hum, as her lips were currently occupied with the red alcoholic beverage in her cup.
“You’re around here more, right? Cuz you go to the same college bae-bae does right?” Emerald asks, using her nickname for you. Shuri nods, confirming Emerald’s suspicions with another hum.
“So have y’all, like, fucked recently?”
The question takes Shuri off guard, but gets her to think as well. After a moment, the princess shakes her head. “I think the last time we were intimate was…a month ago?”
“Damn, a month?”
“Yes - but I believe she had a lot of important projects coming up for that one photography class of hers.”
“Hm. Interesting.”
Emerald peers over her shoulder to take a glance at you, still scrubbing away in the kitchen. Shuri follows her gaze, slowly catching on to what Emerald was insinuating.
“And you two? How long has it been, I mean?”
“Shit, probably like a month and a half. I been dealing with shit with my brother, but normally she goes crazy if she don’t get it, y’know?”
“Indeed, I do know. The longest we’ve ever gone without sex would have been two weeks. I was away at home, and when I came back…for lack of better words, she was quite feral.”
There’s another pause, and Shuri and Emerald share a look.
“You don’t think…it was deliberate, her making us wait this long?”
“I think that she thinks shit is sweet, tryna play us like this.”
Emerald takes a swig of wine from her glass, swirling the red liquid inside. Then, abruptly, she stops. A lightbulb goes off in her head, and it’s evident by the smirk that grows on her lips. Shuri catches this, and has an idea of what Emerald’s mind is already concocting.
“What’re you planning, my gem?” Shuri questions with a knowing look, a crooked smile of anticipation gracing her lips.
“Just thinkin’...we should give her what she wants…” Emerald replies, placing her glass back on the coffee table, her smirk increasing, “...or not.”
Shuri’s eyebrows raise, though not with surprise; more out of anticipation…excitement. Admittedly, as soon as she had caught onto what Em was insinuating, she had felt that bud of excitement slowly unfurl in her stomach, only furthered by the attraction she had quickly grown towards Em and the attraction she already had for you.
“Oh, we’ll give her something. Who knew our girl could be so schemeful?”
The sound of the sink turning off interrupts Em before she canspeak. They both hear you rummaging around, tidying up whatever you had used before presumably joining them. Em takes the chance to connect her gaze with Shuri’s, nodding subtly to the storage closet where they both had placed their bags…the bags that contained the items that would surely make you think twice about doing something like this again.
Shuri, her smile widening, stands and quietly makes her way over, opening it and grabbing both bags. Ever since she had seen Em walk in and deposit the bag in your storage, a small part of her had been constantly thinking about what could be in; now, her heart speeds up slightly at the thought of finding out soon enough.
The silence in the other room makes you pause, as only a few seconds ago you had heard their voices, slightly drowned out by the running water, but there nonetheless. Now…it was silent. Almost abruptly so.
You quickly wipe your hands on the nearest towel before turning and making your way back into the main room, your eyes instantly flickering between your two favorite women. The sight that you meet makes you pause in your tracks, your heart seeming to know what was going before you did as it speeds up slightly.
“Is everything okay?”
Shuri sets the bags her and Em brought on the ground, her gaze landing on you afterwards. There’s a knowing look in her eye paired with something you could only liken to the look she adopted whenever you did something that amused her or made her proud. Your body reacted on its own, the same ball of heat from earlier slowly gaining size where it rested in your core. Though, as soon as you turn your gaze to Em, that heat turns into something you can just barely contain.
Her eyes narrow as she gazes at you from her spot on the couch, the dark pools of brown harboring a look that you recognize immediately.
“You think you slick, don’t you?”.
The question paired with the smug tone in Em’s voice has your body clenching around nothing, the ball of eat moving to envelop your entire body. The next breath you take in is shaky as your eyes move to Shuri. She only cocks her head, her eyes appraising you from where she stood.
“Em, baby, what are you talking about-”
Emerald sets her wine glass down with a sigh, leaning forward and pulling herself to the edge of her seat. Her eyes connect with yours with an intensity that’s so strong that it practically has you shaking as she motions for you to walk closer. It's so intense and so heady that you don’t realize you’re being surrounded until you feel a solid line of heat against your back, effectively trapping you in front of Em’s sitting form in front of you.
A small gasp leaves your mouth as Shuri’s hands snake around your waist. One is pressed open-palmed against your stomach, holding you in place, while the other raises and presses right against the space beneath your breasts. Her hands are gentle, but firm enough to tell you that you aren’t going anywhere unless she lets you. Her hands don’t move an inch as she lowers her head, placing a kiss against the shell of your hair only to continue placing them down the length of your neck. Her actions make your eyes flutter slightly, every other breath of yours hitched and shaky.
“Don’t play that. You know exactly what we talkin’ about- tryna play us like we wouldn’t figure it out.” There's a hint of authority in Em’s tone as she speaks, and you’re no stranger to it, as you had heard it more than once. But if it isn’t her voice and her words that make the insides of your thighs slick with arousal, then its the way she suddenly grabs your hips and pulls you down, right onto the apex of her thigh. The feeling of her thigh against your clothed core is consuming enough to make you shiver, your hands raising and landing on her shoulder to give yourself more leverage.
“Keeping us away from you…makin’ up those excuses ‘bout being busy…and then gettin’ us to come here?” Every sentence is emphasized by her hands rocking your hips with a precision that's almost deadly. With every rock, the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs brushes perfectly against hers, making you curse.
“Thought you were doin’ somethin, huh?”
Shuri’s hands had shifted as you straddled Em’s leg, one raising to cup the underside of your jaw while the other slipped deftly under the cropped tank top adorning your top half. She cupped one of your bra-clad breasts, her thumb rubbing over the underside of it. The waves of pleasure emitting from your top and bottom half makes your eyes flutter until they close, your head falling back slightly to rest on Shuri’s chest.
“We’ll give you what you want, what you schemed so hard for…”
Shuri’s voice is almost raspy as she speaks into your ear, her lips brushing against your skin. The hand placed on your jaw reaches around until her slender fingers cover the expanse of your neck. Her hand presses into the diamond and vibranium encrusted necklace she had given you, the points of the panther claws digging slightly into your skin and only adding on another layer of pleasure.
EM’s hands tighten, increasing the speed with which she maneuvers your hips until you’re panting slightly, your throat bobbing with each breath under Shuri’s hand.
“But we’ll do it on our terms, now.”
Her sentence is almost close to a reprimand, making your eyes snap open right as Em’s hands stop, holding you in place. The pleasure that had been building quickly comes to a stand still, making a whine leave your mouth as you try rocking your hips once more. Em’s hands are unrelenting in their strength, not letting you move an inch as she stares up at you, a smirk slowly raising the corner of her mouth.
Any and all words you think of die on the tip of your tongue as Shuri’s hands pull you backwards, prompting you to stand on your feet once more. Your core throbbed as the pressure made by Em’s thigh disappeared.
Emerald watches as Shuri pulls you against her, one hand still on your neck while the other is placed on your hip. With a sound of frustration in your ear, Shuri quickly reaches for the cardigan hanging off your shoulders, pulling it until she all but rips it off your frame, and leaving you in the matching cotton shorts and cropped tank top.
“An entire month of nothing, and now you want to act shy. Why is that, usana? Hm?”
Emerald leans forward, blindly reaching for one of the bags that had been brought out, and the mere sight of her reaching in before pulling out the strap you had grown very comfortable with has your thighs clenching together and a whine crawling up your throat. It makes itself known as you breathlessly speak,
“Please. I just wanted-”
“We know what you want.”
Her movements are quick as her fingers wrap beneath the necklace adorning your neck, tightening it slightly. Every coherent thought of yours flies out of the window as Shuri’s hand suddenly delves beneath the waistband of your shorts, cupping your clothed core. The sudden sensation makes you jump, your ass pressing firmly into the front of her body as you bend over slightly.
“Shit-!”
She doesn’t give you time to recover or even catch your breath before her fingers are moving in tight circles over your clit, her other arm pulling you up until your back is pressed against her chest.
The feeling of Shuri’s fingers working you over while the other gently squeezes your neck makes your eyes roll back in pleasure, a drawn out moan leaving your lips. Her arm across your chest is strong enough to keep you standing on your shaky legs, as with each pass of her skilled fingers across the most sensitive part of you makes it harder to function.
It makes a tightness build in the pit of your stomach, one that only threatens to send out waves of pure pleasure and make you lose your bearings. One hand lands on her wrist where it disappears beneath your shorts, fingers wrapping around it while you soundlessly plead for her to keep going, while the other raises and grabs the back of her neck.
You can feel it building, the urge to let go and let Shuri’s hand alone work you through the orgasm cresting like a wave over your consciousness. Your mouth falls open and your breaths come quicker, pleas being mingled in with small cries…
And then Shuri wrenches her hand away, and the sound that leaves your mouth is borderline mournful as your orgasm is stopped abruptly.
Maybe you should’ve thought more about your little scheme and what would happen if they found out. You had been banking on them both being too worked up after a month or so to punish you like this, but that was obviously a mistake.
“Shuri, please…”
“You waited an entire month for this moment…I think you can wait a little longer.”
Her words make a whimper leave your mouth because…how much longer would you have to wait?
“Which one you want, princess?”
It's the sound of mischievousness and anticipation in Em’s honey smooth voice that makes your eyes snap open…and its the sight of the strap dangling from one hand while her go-to vibrator is in the other that makes your pussy clench around nothing.
This is it, this is how you die.
Em had at some point taken off her shirt and her pants, leaving her in a sports bra and a pair of boxers that hugged her hips. You swallow hard as she walks towards you, the toys in her hands taunting you with how much pleasure and punishment they could bring.
“I want something that’ll make her beg.”
Shuri’s words are emphasized by her hands turning you around before pushing you onto the couch, her and Em’s eyes appraising you as you lean back.
You wanted to tell them to hurry up and get on with it. You had been waiting for an entire month, albeit by your own willingness; but that entire month had been filled with you having to physically restrain yourself from jumping them whenever you saw them.
You weren’t in any position to make demands, though. You were completely and utterly at the mercy of both of your lovers…and it made you nervous and excited.
“We gon make her beg, alright.”
Sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, you watch with hooded eyes as Em drops the vibrator in its protective case on the table. She wraps her arms around Shuri’s waist from behind, her eyes holding yours as she lowers her lips to press a lingering, open mouthed kiss to where Shuri’s neck and shoulder meet.
Her hands spread Shuri’s legs slightly before hooking into the waistband of her sweatpants and pulling them down, all while continuing to press her lips against any skin she could reach. The sight of Shuri’s head falling back against Em’s shoulder, her strong jawline in perfect view as it clenches makes your hand act on its own accord. It slides down, running over your breasts and the tips of your hardened nipples before continuing its path to your leaking pussy. The warning in Em’s eyes makes your actions halt, your eyes instantly focusing on the sight of her hands skillfully wrapping the buckles around Shuri’s thighs before fastening them in the back. Her hand picks up a bottle that had been placed on the table, opening it and squeezing a generous amount of the lube into her hand.
“Look at her, ‘Ri.”
Shuri’s eyes follow Em’s words, connecting with yours right as Em’s hand closes over the shaft of the silicone dildo hanging between Shuri’s legs. She glides her hand up and down the length of it as the corner of her lips curve into a smile you know all too well; one that says she knows exactly what's about to happen but you don’t.
“Look how needy she is...after a month of playin, now she wanna act impatient.”
It only takes a few steps for Em to step around Shuri and make her way around the couch you’re on, your eyes following her until they physically can’t anymore. You crane your neck to try and get a glimpse of where she disappeared behind you, but your attention is quickly pulled back when you feel your necklace being grabbed.
Shuri’s eyes are hard when you look back, and she’s closer than she had been mere seconds ago. You rarely forget about the Black Panther’s abilities she had adopted, but her speed, agility, and endurance whenever you two fucked had always served as a good reminder.
“Take these off before I rip them off.” Her hands fist into the material of the cotton shorts adorning your bottom half, and you eagerly and quickly move to follow her directions, knowing full well that she could.
Your hips lift off of the couch and your hands scramble to pull them off, something you’ve been waiting to do ever since they both showed up, but your movements aren’t fast enough for the princess; that much is obvious in the way she growls before grabbing your hips, pulling them to the edge of the couch and quickly wrenching your shorts and underwear down.
The startled yelp that leaves your mouth quickly turns into a gasp as the air hits your pussy, the slickness making the air colder than it is as Shuri pushes your legs further apart. The sound of your folds separating with a squelch has a hissed breath leaving Shuri’s mouth, her eyes focusing on the part of you that she loved to bury her face into; the part of you that fed her when she was thirsting for you and gave her life while simultaneously making her want to stay until she could no longer breathe.
“How’s our girl looking, ‘Ri?”
Em’s question comes right before her hands abruptly pull your shirt up and reach beneath the cups of your bra, replacing them with her cold, firm hands. In a single motion, she has them spilling out, the straps of your bra falling down your shoulders. She rolls them in the palms of her hands, your back arching as her fingers tweak your nipples, rolling them between her fingers and gently pulling on them.
Shuri presses the pad of her thumb right onto your clit, the pressure making you jerk slightly. She drags it down between your folds, collecting the slick that’s gathered and just spreading it more, taking special care to spread it around your entrance. Your eyes threaten to close at her actions, your jaw becoming slack as heavy breaths leave your mouth; but you’re hellbent on watching everything they do to you. You had been waiting for this moment; you’d be damned if you didn't see everything.
Shuri’s voice is rough but proud as she answers Em’s question. She slows her motions, drawing out the sounds that come from her thumb swirling through your folds.
“She’s practically dripping, and its all for us.”
“And we not wasting a drop of it, are we?”
Instead of answering, Shuri separates her thumb from your clit before lifting it. Before she can get far, Em’s hand is reaching forward to grab it, lowering her head until she can wrap her lips around Shuri’s thumb. She’s positioned right over you, giving you the perfect view of how her jaw works as she swirls her tongue around Shuri’s fingers, collecting every inch of your arousal she could.
Em hums as she pulls back, the sound coming from low in her throat and shooting straight to your center.
“Oh, we not wastin’ that.”
Shuri lets go of your necklace, but its only to grab the backs of your knees and hike them into the air. She places a knee on the edge of the couch, pushing your knees towards your ears and just about folding you in half. As if they had communicated without speaking, Em’s hands replaced Shuri’s, keeping your legs suspended.
Needless to say, your flexibility had improved greatly after fucking around with Emerald Haywood and Shuri.
The position has your pussy bared to Shuri in its entirety, clenching around nothing in anticipation for the slight burn of being stretched.
Shuri’s eyes take it all in, dark and half lidded as if intoxicated from the sight, the smell, and the sound alone.
“What's your safe word?”
You can barely get the word out, your breath trembling. Her question only tells you that what's about to happen to you may warrant a safe word. It isn’t surprising, as it was a regular occurrence for both of them to ask for your safe word in separate settings…but being reminded of it while being in the clutches of both Emerald and Shuri had you trembling.
You have the nerve to think that she’ll continue even without you answering the question, but when her eyes, questioning and demanding at the same time, raise and meet yours…you know that it's in your better interest to answer.
“B-button.”
The word is barely out of your mouth before Shuri is wrapping a hand around the dildo and lining it up at your entrance, her eyes not straying from yours for a second.
“You good, ‘bae?”
Em’s voice is soft as she whispers into your ear, placing a kiss on your earlobe where your kimoyo earring sits. She shifts so that the crook of her elbow holds your leg, freeing her hand and letting it go back to your breast. She firmly cups your breast in one hand, her fingers rubbing over your nipple slowly. You can only nod in silence, your lips parting and your breath leaving you quickly. Shuri’s eyes meet Em’s as she braces her hands against the back of the couch.
A cry tears from your throat as Shuri snaps her hips forward, burying herself until the base of the strap brushes slightly against your skin. The burn is familiar, as well is the feeling of being stretched close to your breaking point…but it's welcomed.
There’s a slight burn in your legs as they start shaking already, but you don’t have to worry about them moving.
“Open your eyes, babygirl.”
“Look at me.”
Both Em and Shuri’s voices ring out at the same time and your eyes open, not wanting to disobey either one of them. You hadn’t even noticed that they had closed, too engrossed in the feeling of Shuri firmly situated between your walls while Em’s hands worked you over, adding a layer of pleasure that penetrated your entire consciousness.
Your lips move soundlessly, your breath being stolen by the waves of pleasure wracking your body and lighting every nerve of yours on fire. You want to beg Shuri to just move- you want to feel the length of her hitting every spot it could reach inside you…but she just stays still, buried fully inside of you.
“Use your words, mamas.”
Emerald’s voice reminds you that you answer to both of them tonight, and its with great difficulty that you find your voice.
“I want you. Fuck, use me. Use me, use me-”
That was evidently all Shuri needed to hear.
Her fingers close around the necklace she gifted you, pulling you forward just enough for you to have the perfect view of her disappearing into you before pulling out and slamming back in. Every stroke makes you jerk slightly, though you can’t go far due to both of their grips on you.
The desperation and lust in your voice makes a quick breath leave Em, her own pussy throbbing slightly as she watches her princess drill into her babygirl. She can hear her own breaths, slightly louder than usual, as she quickly raises her fingers to her mouth, quickly swiping her tongue over them.
She only has to lean forward slightly to reach what she’s been wanting to touch all day.
Your legs threaten to close as her fingers land on your clit, but Shuri’s hand grabbing your ankle stops that from happening. In doing so, it only allows her to hit a different angle…a different spot; one that has black spots entering your vision.
Incoherent words leave your mouth at the overstimulation that's quickly building, forming a ball of heat in your stomach. It’s almost too much, having that one spot hit over and over, relentlessly, while Em worships your clit with only her fingers.
“Oooh, baby. I’m bout…I can’t. Em, please, I can’t hold it…”
Your words are slurred as your head lolls back. It lands in the crook of Em’s neck and she takes the chance to wrap her slender fingers around your jaw, tilting your head back more to where she can whisper directly into your ear. Her breath is hot as it brushes against your skin, and the small sensation makes another whine leave your throat.
“Yes, you can. Take it. Take it, babygirl.”
Her words only push you closer to the edge, making your moans rise in volume until…well, until you’re sure you’ll have to apologize to your neighbors in the morning.
There are a multitude of sounds echoing through the space around you; the sound of Shuri’s thighs slapping against your ass, the soft squelching that comes from her strap entering your pussy, her heavy breaths that she emphasizes each stroke with, Em’s whispered words that alternated between demands and words of praise.
Shuri can’t stop the sounds of pure lust from leaving her own lips as she drills into you. Her eyes rake down your body, lingering on the way your bare chest heaves and how the thin layer of sweat reflects the lights above you. They zero in on the way Em’s fingers rub relentlessly at your clit, slipping slightly because of how wet you are.
They zero in on how your hand lands on the back of Em’s neck, your acrylics digging slightly into her skin to hold her closer…and they zero in on the look of pure adoration, love, and lust in your half-lidded eyes as you look at her.
She can tell by the way you’re mumbling incoherently, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, that your orgasm is close to washing completely over you. While she loves to hear you whimper and plead for sweet release, knowing that she had you right under her thumb, she has to admit that the sight of you cumming is a sight that she’ll never grow tired of. Its the desire to see exactly that which makes her push your leg back further, opening you up even more and drilling almost impossibly deeper.
“Shuri, ‘m bout to cum. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-”
“You gon cum? Hm?”
Em’s fingers speed up, enough to make your bottom half tremble with how fast her motions are.
“Didn’t we say you have to beg for it?”
Shuri’s words don’t affect her motions at all; if anything, they only intensify. It makes the cry that had slowly been building in the base of your throat leave your mouth, hoarse and full of pleasure.
“Please! Please, can I cum- please, let me, I can’t-”
There are tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as they shut tightly, making you miss the look shared between Emerald and Shuri.
Its easy for the both of them to share in a feeling of desire, as they both harbored a need to take care of you…and to fuck you so well you wouldn’t be able to remember your own name.
They communicated silently, only talking to you after they both gave subtle nods to each other.
“Let go. Let go, usana.”
Almost immediately, your orgasm washes over you, stealing your breath and making your body lock up. Your back arches off of the couch as your hand scrambles to grab something, eventually landing on Shuri’s wrist. It feels like it lasts for a few minutes, at least, and the entire time, you have to focus on not passing out. Its so intense that you can barely hear both Shuri and Em as they talk you through it.
You can feel Shuri as she continues to slowly pump into you, every detail on the strap rubbing deliciously against your walls, and you can still feel Em as she slows her movements down, only slightly, as she continues rubbing at your overstimulated clit.
It’s only after your body sags against the couch once again, breaths heavy and hard to control, that they both stop their movements. Shuri slowly slides out of you, making a small noise leave your mouth at the empty feeling that follows.
She lowers herself onto the couch beside you, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort or dissatisfaction only to find nothing but something she would liken to ecstasy.
Em slowly brings her fingers to a stop, reveling in how slick they are, and reveling in the fact that it all belonged to you. She lets her wet fingers brush over any skin they come across as she drags her hand up your sweat covered body before gently lowering your legs . She uses the same hand to turn your face towards hers, your eyes fluttering as you tried to find her through your blurry vision.
“You good, ‘ma?”
You can only nod, an affirming tone escaping your throat. Ignoring the fact that your limbs are so heavy you can’t exactly move them yet and the realization that your legs will most definitely be nonfunctional tomorrow, you’d say that you were in a blissful state.
“How is she?”
Your vision clears just enough for you to see the satisfied smile on Em’s face as she looks at you, and it makes a groggy, tired grin appear on your face. She leans in, connecting her lips with yours for a few seconds before pulling back and planting another kiss on your forehead.
“She’s good. A lil out of it…but she’s good.”
‘Out of it’ is probably an understatement.
A soft laugh leaves Shuri’s mouth as her hand fixes your necklace around your neck, her fingers running gently over the small marks the necklace made in your skin. The sensation makes your head loll to the side to find her eyes, and when you do, her smile widens.
“What do you need, usana?”
You were coherent enough to recognize both of their questions as the same ones they asked after fucking you separately. The realization that you really had the best of both worlds within this relationship made your grin widen and made your heart soar.
“I’m okay. Just…stay here, both of you.”
That was something they both were eager to do, and it was evident in their actions. Shuri reaches down, grabbing her discarded sweatshirt before helping you sit up and pull it over your body. Em stands, making her way to the bathroom and grabbing a washcloth on the way only to quickly come back with it soaked in warm water.
She sits on the other side of you, taking notice of how quickly Shuri had unfastened the strap and set it to the side. The princess looks up and at Em, a fond and loving look on her face that’s undoubtedly a result of seeing the dopey smile on your face. Em shakes her head in amusement as she lowers herself onto the couch before using the wash cloth and cleaning between your legs. The feeling makes you jump slightly as it brushes against your sensitive bundle of nerves, Em gently reassuring you that she’s basically done before she even started.
The wash cloth is set somewhere, but you can only focus on the feeling of pure relaxation that's taking over your limbs, making a small yawn escape your mouth and your eyes close.
Your limbs are maneuvered by two sets of hands until you’re laying on someone’s chest, your body pressing along the line of theirs with their arm around your shoulders. The light scent of sage and lavender tells you that you’re laying on top of Shuri, and you look forward to the feeling of Em joining you, but a few seconds pass without that happening.
“How the hell we all gon fit on this couch?”
“We’ll figure it out. Come, my gem. You know you want to join.”
There’s a teasing tone in Shuri’s voice as she addresses Em, and you can feel one of her arms lift to presumably beckon her closer. Without even lifting your head, you reach out blindly until you grab onto her hand. You pull until her legs hit the couch, and only then do you scoot until you’re pressed against the back of the couch, making room for her to join.
“If I fall, I’m gettin on both of y’all’s asses.”
Your lips curve into a smile at her words and at the feeling of the couch dipping further. An arm is thrown around your waist, and the feeling of comfort intensifies as you’re embraced by the two people who hold your heart between them.
Shuri loves the early morning sunrise that your studio apartment gets in the morning. The floor to ceiling windows does wonders for allowing natural lighting into your space, and she’s found herself sitting in the space right in front of the clear glass, where the wooden floor of the main room meets the little one-two steps that lead into the tiled kitchen area. It’s where the light shines the brightest, where the heat of the suns beams is strongest.
Shuri communes with herself here, whenever she visits you. Early in the morning while you're still fast asleep, curled in your blankets and pillows just like you were now, Shuri takes the time to sneak away into the warm little spot on the floor, to meditate, to ground herself, to just think.
But sometimes, Shuri thinks too much.
She thinks of everything, and she thinks of nothing. Millions of thoughts plague her mind every day and every night, even protruding into her dreams, on the rare occasions she does have. It’s only in your arms that the thoughts quiet down, and the voices are held at bay, but they aren’t kept away for long. Because at some point, she’ll have to face them again, and they will consume her, and you aren’t always in her corner when she needs you to take them away.
So, she’s learned to sit with them. Let them overwhelm her brain like static. Eventually, they calm down, and she can breathe again. And it's mornings like these, where she sits in the glow of the morning sun, where the thoughts aren’t so loud, and Shuri’s mind is at ease, that she enjoys the most.
“What’chu doin’ up this early, princess?”
Her voice comes first - rich, smooth, slightly raspy from sleep, and for a moment. It’s addictive, especially now that she’s had the pleasure of hearing it in person, and not from her holographic screen next to her bed from the three of you falling asleep on call together.
Then, comes the gentle touch of her hand - short french-tipped nails brush against Shuri’s cheek and the warmth of her open palm causes the princess’s head to lean into it. She stands behind Shuri, and it takes all of her to not lean back into the other woman’s legs.
“Nothing, my gem,” Shuri assures Emerald, as she opens her eyes, greeted by the reflection of her lover caressing her face lovingly, “just thinking.”
Emerald is a sight to see in the morning. Sweats that hang dangerously low on her hips revealing the band of her boxers that are snug on her pelvis, and a loose cropped shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair hangs low, curls obscuring her eyes, and it only makes her look more tempting to the princess.
“Thinkin’ ‘bout what?” Emerald asks, moving to take a seat next to you, her body pointed to Shuri’s, which faces the window.
The princess shrugs, not really knowing the answer herself. “I don’t know, really.”
“Do you think a lot?”
“Unfortunately.”
Emerald hums in response, her hand still resting on Shuri’s cheek. “What about?”
“A lot of things,” Shuri answers, “a lot of things that would certainly overwhelm you, or (Y/N).”
“So, princess things?”
“Princess things…and then some.”
A soft chuckle escapes both of their lips, with a smile that stays on Emerald’s as she takes in Shuri’s appearance. She still had on the same sweatpants as yesterday, as well as the sports bra, but the sight couldn’t be any more delicious to the dark skinned woman. It didn’t help that her eyes were half-lidden and her curls were a mess, a sure sign that the princess was still riddled with sleep.
“I don’t like thinking sometimes,” Shuri mutters after a moment. Emerald hums once more, urging her to continue.
“It’s too much to think, sometimes. People expect me to, though. To think, to have all the answers. I do- well, not all the answers to everything, but I do get answers. But I also get overwhelmed. Sometimes…I wish someone else could do the thinking for a while. Let my brain get quiet for a bit. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to think, but I’m sure, compared to now, it was pleasant.”
Shuri mumbles on, and Emerald takes into account her body language as she speaks - she’s relaxed, but still slightly rigid. She can see it in the way Shuri’s stomach is tense, possibly with anxiousness. Emerald understands why, even though she jokes about it often; she knows the job of a royal isn’t easy, especially for Shuri. She think’s for everyone and has no outlet of her own to turn to.
“You don’t wanna think for a while, right?”
Shuri pauses for a moment, before nodding her head ‘yes’ in response.
“I can make that happen for you, princess.”
Before Shuri has a chance to question Emerald’s statement, she feels her other hand gliding against her midsection in a soothing, almost sultry motion. The low octave of which she spoke made warmth pool into Shuri’s stomach, into her core. Chocolate brown irises bore into each other deeply, tempting each other to lean in.
“I can help you stop thinkin’, is that what you want, baby?”
Shuri nods, this time her reaction is almost immediate. Emerald leans in and captures Shuri’s lips in a breathtaking kiss. It soon turns passionate; Emerald is on Shuri’s lap, and the princess’s grip on her hips is deadly as she whines into the kiss, heat pooling into Shuri's core, begging for attention.
Once the need for oxygen becomes too great, Emerald is the first to pull away, lips swollen and chest heaving from the intensity of the kiss. She stands, pulling Shuri up with her, and places a quick kiss onto the princess’s lips while tugging at her bottoms.
“Bed. Now.” Emerald demands. “And take these off, too. I’ma be right back.”
Shuri is quick to follow instructions - as Emerald goes to retrieve her strap from her bag in the storage closet, Shuri makes quick work at discarding her clothes and takes back her place on the bed, of which the three of you had retreated to at some point during the night after your previous lovemaking session.
It’s only when she’s back on the bed that she remembers your presence there, too, her eyebrows furrowed together. Although you were a deep sleeper, and can - and have - slept through violent storms and countless other loud actions, was Emerald seriously about to fuck her right next to you?
Out of her peripheral, Shuri sees Emerald return, her sweats discarded and now replaced with the boxer briefs needed for her strap. She makes a trek for the coffee table, grabbing the vibrator case that was discarded there the night prior, and from it, she produces one of the two vibrators from the set. A tiny bullet vibrator, and the sight of it alone forces Shuri to swallow the whine she desperately wants to emit, while she can feel her pussy leaking with anticipation.
Emerald climbs onto the bed, her presence demanding Shuri’s attention, knowing what the princess beneath her is thinking.
“Don’t think ‘bout her,” Emerald says, referencing your sleeping figure, your back turned to them as you snoozed soundly, deep in slumber, “don’t think, baby, just feel, can you do that for me?”
Fuck, Emerald is too good at this. Too good at taking command, too good at picking apart Shuri’s mind.
“Need you to let me in that pretty head of yours, princess. Let me take control,” Emerald leans down onto Shuri’s body, leaving kisses from her lips, trailing down her jawline, into the dip of her neck. It leaves the princess breathless, so much so that she doesn’t even hear when Emerald activates the vibrator.
“You gon’ let me in there, Princess?”
Shuri nods eagerly, but it’s nothing compared to the gasp that leaves her lips when Emerald presses the tiny bullet right onto Shuri’s dripping heat, the unholy noises that come from the vibrations and her slick meeting. The metal of the device is cold at first, but with Emerald’s skillful hands circling the device around Shuri’s clit in agonizingly slow motions, it’s not long before Shuri’s brain becomes muddled and weak.
“Fuck, fuck, Em, please…” Shuri whines when the device is place right onto her clit, which is only encouragement for the other woman to continue. There’s a slight tremble in Shuri’s legs already, and it gets Emerald excited.
“Princess is already goin’ dumb,” she hums affectionately right into Shuri’s ear, and the statement awakens something deep within her that she wasn’t aware was even present, “goin’ dumb over a lil’ vibe?”
Shuri’s ability to speak was stripped from her with Em’s words, even more so when she slipped a digit in between her seeping folds. A silent moan left Shuri’s lips at the added pressure, her head began shifting from side to side, overwhelmed from the littlest of contact.
Emerald pressed soothing kisses onto Shuri’s neck while her digit pumped in and out of Shuri’s folds, a gasp of her own slipping past her lips once she actually got a feel for how wet the princess was. Shuri’s pussy was practically sopping with slick, making her in and out motions seem effortless. There was so much, she was surprised her entire hand wasn’t covered with it. It was too tempting - Emerald had to have a taste.
Shuri’s eyes were closed, too caught up in the feeling of pleasure. The sudden absence of Emerald’s face in her neck made the princess whine, but it was soon replaced with a silent scream when the vibrator that had been abusing her clit for the past few minutes was removed, and replaced with Emerald’s tongue.
“Oh, fuck, n-no, Em, please-” but it was too late. The vibrator deactivated and discarded, Emerald’s now free hand went to place itself on top of Shuri’s abdomen, steadying the princess’s desperate attempts at shying away, but Emerald wasn’t having it. She added another digit, picked up the pace, and started curling her fingers inside Shuri’s velvety walls, trying to pinpoint the spot that would have her legs trembling. And when Emerald did find it, and started brushing it mercilessly while her tongue did wonders on Shuri’s clit, the princess couldn’t control the volume of her voice anymore.
“Em, em, I’m cumming-” Shuri whines, her eyes beginning to swell with tears of overwhelming pleasure, “please- please, I can’t- oh, Bast, I’m cumming, I’m cumming-!”
Emerald’s assault on Shuri’s pussy remained ruthless as the princess rode out her high, the blinding pleasure being taken out on the poor sheets and Emerald’s poor curls, but the sting only edged Emerald on further. It took everything in Shuri to not let the Black Panther strength overtake her as her legs closed around Emerald’s head, tremors racking through her limbs in waves. IT’s only when Shuri is coming down that Emerald’s actions begin to slow to a halt.
Emerald lifts her head to see Shuri, spent and breathless, her chest heaving from the intensity of her climax. She’s so effortlessly beautiful, it drives Emerald insane. She slowly pulls her fingers from Shuri’s fluttering core, making the princess’s legs close once again and her core clench around nothing. The lack of presence inside of her makes her whine, but Emerald has plans to fix that soon.
When Shuri opens her eyes once again, the sight before has the slick between her legs pooling once again. Emerald has brung the fingers which were previously buried deep inside of her to her lips, relishing in Shuri’s delectable taste. It’s a sight that has Shuri’s head falling back onto the pillow, desperate for Emerald’s touch once again.
Said woman climbs her way back up to Shuri’s face, taking care to glance at your figure to make sure you were still sleeping. Once your figure is confirmed to be still fast asleep, Emerald plants a series of kisses onto Shuri’s lips, of which the princess returns just as eagerly. “You good, princess?”
Shuri is too breathless to speak, so all that comes out in response is a nod and a short whine, which makes Emerald chuckle. “Got you so dumb, can’t even speak.”
Her words have an intense heat creep up Shuri’s neck, because she knew part of it was true. “That’s fine. I’ll just learn your body instead.”
Shuri jumps when the tip of the cool silicone brushes against her sensitive clit, another whine emitting from her lips. She’s about to question when did Emerald have time to slip the strap into place in her boxers, but the other woman is already a step ahead of her. She’s stroking Shuri’s thighs as she gets them into position, helping the princess relax, even though the events of her previous orgasm are still present in the light trembles that run through Shuri’s legs.
“Hold ‘em back for me baby,” it’s so embarrassing, but Shuri complies, holding the back of her knees in the crevice of her elbow, bearing her sopping wet heat to Emerald, and she all but gasps at the sight of such a pretty pussy on display just for her. It’s nothing compared to the pictures and videos she was blessed with until now, and Emerald takes her time drinking in the sight. Though it’s not long before Shuri gets needy again, and Emerald has to shush the princess with promises of taking care of her soon enough.
“Need you to do somethin’ for me, princess,” Emerald says, as she aligns the strap to Shuri’s entrance, lubricating the silicone with the other woman’s cum and slick, “Need you to focus on my strap, okay? Don’t think ‘bout nothin’ else, you hear me?”
Emerald’s hand rubs soothing strokes along Shuri’s inner thigh; the princess nods with a hum, but it’s not enough for Emerald this time. “Use your words for me, baby.”
“I will,” Shuri chokes out, “I’ll focus on the- oohh my god-!”
In the midst of Shuri’s response, Emerald pressed the silicone strap between Shuri’s folds, and she and Shuri watch as it disappears into the princess. Shuri wants to shout, scream, but nothing comes out of her throat, so she’s left in a silent scream as the overwhelming feeling of being filled by Emerald consumes her entire being.
Emerald buries herself to the base, her stomach brushing ever so gently against Shuri’s sensitive clit, and it makes the princess jerk and the strap inside of her to move ever so slightly, and Shuri is seeing stars.
She feels it, everything in its entirety. The veins that run the length of Emerald’s strap, the tip of it that is oh so close to brushing against that spongy spot of pleasure. And she’s full, so incredibly full and stuffed that there’s nothing else her mind can even begin to think about. Her brain has been emptied of everything else, and the only thing in it is Emerald, and how deliciously she's filling her.
Shuri can’t speak, and Emerald doesn’t force her to. Instead, she takes note of Shuri’s body language, allowing that to be her guide on how to proceed. Once Shuri has calmed down from the overwhelming sensation, and she begins to release noises of desperation, Emerald begins to move.
Her pace is slow and steady, but even so, it has Shuri belting out mewls of pleasure, incoherent babbles spewing from her lips, and it’s here that Emerald confirms she has officially made Shuri dumb for her dick, and the thought alone boosts her ego to incredible heights.
Though Emerald is enraptured by the pants and moans that are spilling out from Shuri’s lips, she can’t help but notice that there’s another spill of them, and when she turns to check on your supposedly sleeping figure, she finds you, in fact, not sleeping, but very much caught up in your own pleasure, with one hand fondling your breast, and the other rubbing circles into your own clit.
It causes her to chuckle, seeing you so easily worked up out of your sleep, and while she maintains her long, languid strokes into Shuri, she reaches over to you, surprising you when her two digits slip right into your slippery heat with ease.
Soon you and Shuri are moaning messes, so close to coming undone together, when Emerald has the best idea she’s ever had in her life.
“Shuri, baby, open your eyes for me,” and Shuri obliges, being met with the delicious sight of Emerald looking down at her with so much love and desire, and in following down her outstretched arm, she sees you, utterly lost on Emerald’s fingers pumping in and out of you as well.
“Can my princess come pleasure my babygirl? While I fuck you from behind? Can you do that for me?”
Emerald doesn’t even have to ask, because the minute she retracts her strap and her hands from both you and Shuri’s core, the princess makes quick work to settle herself between your legs, immediately dipping down to lick and suck at your clit, and you release a desperate, “Haaa, fuck, please…-!” when Shuri’s long fingers slip into your core to replace Emerald’s.
Not a moment passes before Emerald is right behind Shuri, once again aligning herself with the other woman's entrance, and Shuri releases a long, drawn out, “Fuuucckk,” when Emerald slips back inside of her with ease. She picks up her pace, her strokes causing the princess to jerk forward with every thrust, which in turn causes delicious friction against your clit as Shuri’s tongue laps and sucks as it with hunger. Heavy moans and high-pitched whines fill the tiny yet luxurious studio apartment, and as Shuri was still reeling from her last orgasm, it’s only natural that she’s also the first to feel the knot in her stomach tightening once again.
“Shuri, Shuri please, I wanna cum…!” you beg, which only insights her own spiel of whimpering for release, “fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Em, I’m cumming again!”
And Emerald would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling one coming for herself, too, because delivering these back shots to Shuri had the edge of the base of the strap brushing against her own clit just right in these boxers. She couldn’t hold out for long. None of them could.
“You gon’ cum for me, princess?” Emerald slurs, and Shuri’s hums of response in such a beautiful, lust filled voice has the dark skinned woman drunk, desperate to hear more. “You gonna make babygirl cum, too?”
“Pleeaaseee, wanna cum, wanna cum so bad, please!” Your squeal of desperation doesn’t go unnoticed by either woman, and it’s Emerald’s whispers of praise - ‘make us cum, princess’, ‘you’re doin’ so good, baby’, ‘fuck, you makin’ me feel that shit, baby’ - that drive Shuri over the edge.
Shuri cums once more, no, she squirts this time, her orgasm spraying all across the sheets and Emerald’s bottom half. You’re soon to follow, releasing right into Shuri’s mouth, and the princess drinks every last of your release. And Emerald is the last, her strokes becoming uncoordinated and unsteady as a sign of her impending climax, and it’s with one last thrust that she stills inside of Shuri, allowing herself to be overwhelmed by the intensity of her own orgasm.
It takes a moment, but all three of you collapse back onto your respective places on the bed - Shuri in the middle, you on the right, and Emerald on the left, closest to the wall. In synchronized heaving and shared glances of love and adoration for one another, a smile graces on each of your faces.
“Well, if I ain’t know any better, I’d say this is a great morning,” hums Emerald, who is the first to recover. You and Shuri, still spent - Shuri more so, as she endured not one, but two earth shattering orgasms - release breathless laughs of agreement to the dark skinned woman.
“Goodmorning, my love,” Shuri hums, “and yes, great morning, my gem.”
“G’morning…” you yawn.
And what a good morning it was.
**********
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A/N: Once again, we hope y’all liked this! TBH, we’ve been sitting on this for a while, but we’re just glad we’re getting it out there! There will be a LOT more collabs coming; we’re scheming <3
Stay safe​, y’all! <3
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shardssystem · 1 year
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A Planeswalker Story - Overview
I recently asked for advice on how I should approach an ongoing writer’s block and drain of enthusiasm, and collating the results suggests that people want to see the overall plans I have for going forward, and hoping I can get to a point that I feel engaged to continue. So with that in mind, let’s go from the top: 
First, the published pieces:
Chapter One: Once Was Lost - Set on the plane of Melenas, common farmer Liya al-Amundi runs afoul of a deserter in the ongoing war between two nations, ending up being falsely accused of unlawful use of magic and condemned to death by hanging. At the instant of her demise, her spark ignites, severing spirit from body and allowing her to persist past death. She uses her new-found possession ability to watch over her now orphaned son as he lives his life and gains a family of his own, using his passing as her cue that her time to remain on her home plane had come to an end, and ventured forth to explore the Multiverse with eternity ahead.
Chapter Two: Dream A Little Dream - Liya travels to Theros, inhabiting Myka, a terminally ill child with a connection to Nyx. She gets noticed by Erebos, due to her undead nature, and enlisted into service to usher souls to his domain across the planes. She uses the opportunity of a renewed youth to learn to read, making friends with another child, Spiros. The two learn of a plot to assassinate the king, which Liya sacrifices herself to disrupt, knowing that Myka would have been dead already if not for her possession. As she dies for a second time, she reveals that Spiros has he skill of magic within him as Myka did. In the future, Spiros, a now renowned warrior hero, is visited by a mysterious individual seeking information.
Chapter Three: Future Past - Liya travels to Tarkir, possessing Chaka, an outrider scout of the Abzan house. A spokesperson of the Temur summons Liya to attend a vision ceremony after one of their seers foresaw her arrival. She receives a prophecy cryptically concerning her personal future and how she might overcome the dangers ahead. Liya pretends to be magically weakened to cover for her lack of combat ability to train. As predicted, a Sultai force presses into Abzan territory, as Liya is given command. She encounters a fearsomely skilled foe who recognises her by name. Confused, she doesn’t notice as a dragon descends to blast the Sultai. The mysterious combatant melts into an oily-substance before disappearing in a similar, planeswalking fashion before Liya’s eyes. Before she can investigate, the dragon condemns the Abzan for engaging with necromancy, sensing Liya’s spiritual presence and using that as evidence before obliterating the entire troop, and reporting to the Dragonlord Dromoka, potentially setting the future of the clan in jeopardy. Liya attempts to apologise as her spark pulls her home.
Chapter Four: Pulling Loose The Threads - Further honing her combat skills, Liya trains on Melenas until an eclipse signals her need to planeswalk. She travels to Innistrad, finding the body of Claude, a hunter, an experiences the opposite side of the gender divide for the first time. She returns Claude to his home in Gavony and spends time with Claude’s wife Cynthia, culminating in her first shared sexual experience since her death, and first time ever as a male. Upon waking, Liya learns that she had spoken in her sleep, revealing names of people from other worlds. She attempts to confess her existence to Cynthia, but is thrown out of the house instead, the names believed to be women in other villages. Liya takes a young boy, Derrich, on a hunt as an excuse to be out of the home situation. Unfortunately for Derrich, nightfall reveals Claude to be a werewolf, and losing control, Liya kills and devours the boy. In the morning, her form reverts to that of Claude, and she respectfully buries the boy’s remains. Still needing to know the next step of the prophecy, she retreats into the woods, away from town. Liya learns that by accepting the transformation, she retains control. She also encounters Nahiri, the shaper mentioned in the prophecy, and follows her to witness her confrontation with Sorin Markov. Liya gets cornered by Avacyn, and confined to the Helvault alongside Nahiri in her spirit form, causing 1000 years of soul-rending pain as her spark fights to recall her to Melenas while the Helvault fights to keep her contained. When the Helvault is destroyed, Liya returns home, finding her magic changed. No longer able to choose a host at will, she is now placed into one at random; a fact she discovers inadvertently by traveling to Ravnica, and taking over an aspiring Rakos entertainer Jasen. She is overwhelmed by the sudden situation and runs into the streets, her new-found claustrophobia and fear of angels causing her to faint at the sight of a Boros guard.
Now we get to the unfinished pieces:
Chapter Five: A Tale Of Two In The City - Damzak, goblin tinkerer experiences a strange event causing her to pass out, but awakens with her mind racing with new thoughts and ideas that eventually get her a position with the Simic Combine as a biomancer, specialising in Ooze metaphysiology, and begins work in constructing a serum of immortality based on the ooze’s ability to reproduce, to many failing attempts, leaving herself immutably morphed into half-ooze. Meanwhile, Zoe has trouble dealing with her burgeoning abilities of precognition. After a sharp impact to the head, she encounters a strange boy who looks after her. As they spend time together, he reveals his name to be Kolya. Zoe recognises the feelings of gender dysphoria as she grows, without knowing the cause, an Kolya helps her on a path to transition, teaching her, now him, what it means to be a boy, and taking him to a therapist that helps Zoe fully realise his intent. The two grow closer as friends. Zoe asks his parents to help with the medical/physical side of his transition, but they refuse, denying his rights. Zoe runs away from home, intending to live alone. As he tells Kolya, Kolya reveals that he is nothing more than a hallucination caused by the injury combining with the precognitive powers, and is essentially his own future self guiding him along the path to where he could be happy. Zoe eventually accepts this, and changes his name to Kolya as he recognises it to be the name of his own grandfather, an a name he had been considering anyway. The newly minted Kolya signs on with the Azorius guild; his precognitive abilities useful to them. Struggling on his wage to afford transition, Kolya enlists the help of an underground Rakdos-aligned surgeon to handle his top surgery, but is unable to o further. The surgeon guides him towards Damzak, who is still working on her theory. In return for providing a sample of genetic material for transitioning hormones to be synthesized, Damzak would provide Kolya with what he felt he needed to become a man. Secretly, Damzak also used this sample in her project, getting results for the first time. However, the project goes awry as the ooze awakens and kills its creator before fleeing into the sewers. Though his supply of hormones had been secured through Damzak’s will to maintain progress on all her experiments, Kolya feels he owes the goblin closure, and seeks out the escaped ooze. He encounters it in the sewers, awakening to its own sapience. It reaches out telepathically, recognising Kolya as its genetic donor and introduces itself as Caidi, an alteration of the project designation “KD”. Unwilling to slay the creature, Kolya takes them home, and learns more about them and their abilities. One day, Kolya encounters a screaming elf in Rakdos colours being questioned by an angelic Boros Legionaire, and takes him away to a nearby doctor.
Chapter Six (Ravnica) - Liya awakens on Ravnica, being assisted by one of the Azorius, Kolya. She tries to explain, but ends up sounding mentally unwell. Not heartless, Kolya takes Liya to see the therapist that had helped him in his dark times, Ji’maz. In confidence, Ji’maz reveals himself to Liya to be a planeswalker like herself, using telepathy so she can communicate as herself, not through her host body. Liya recalls that upon possessing Jasen, she heard his voice whisper that he “just wants to be accepted”. As time goes on, Liya adjusts to her new understanding as Ji’maz helps her get over the accumulate traumas of her planeswalking life to date. Liya gets set up with a job in a bakery, utilising her homemaking skills, under the guidance of former Selesnya guildmember Elnaya, who is also brought into the circle of people who know Liya’s true identity and planeswalking situation. Liya makes friends with Kolya and Caidi, eventually using Caidi’s skill in telepathic construction to form a more serious relationship between the two and they become lovers on a mental level. Liya gets Jasen accepted to the Selesnya under Elnaya’s recommendation after finding out that’s what his goal had been before she had possessed him; he was too nervous to go against his family’s wishes to join the Rakdos. Feeling Liya had reached a level of comfort with her abilities, Ji’maz suggests she take a planeswalk for her own mental health, to prove that it’s not all bad out there, and to emphasise that imprisoning people against their will via possession might not be the healthiest thing. Liya agrees, and resigns herself to being less connected each time she visits a plane for her host’s sake.
Chapter Seven (Kaladesh) - Liya inhabits the body of Elra, a skilled Dwarven pilot and racer recovering from a near-fatal crash leaving her with an artificial arm and leg, imparting Liya with a desire to “just win one more time”. Liya uses Elra’s inherent magic to modify her racing engine with the help of her pit crew, and sets her up to race in an upcoming tournament by qualifying on Elra’s behalf.. Following her win, Liya is congratulated by a pale woman with an odd accent before leaving the plane, her adventure successful.
Chapter Eight (Lorwyn) - While possessing the form of Galumvol, a treefolk, Liya encounters Yri, a faerie who is curious about her friend’s sudden movement; Galumvol is apparently known for being a stationary figure, and self-proclaimed defender of the forest. Thinking this has something to do with her request to “warn everybody” that the treefolk left her, they team up to investigate the potential problem. The pair discover that a lingering remnant wave of the Great Aurora is soon to pass over the land of Lorwyn; not changing it back to Shadowmoor, but acting as a refresh, erasing the memories of all the residents of the plane, save those in the palace of the fae. Yri and Liya try to save as many people as they can in the time they have, but get caught outside as the wave approaches. Yri freaks out, not wanting to lose her memories, and her spark ignites, catching the slower-moving Liya in its wake. She “awakens” still in Galumvol’s body, but the whisper tells her that her job is done; she can go and he can rest as easy as he could. Confused, Liya planeswalks away.
Chapter Nine (Equilor) - Immediately following the events of the previous chapter, we follow Yri as she experiences her first planeswalk, exploring the deceased plane of Equilor. She meets the only other living being on the plane, a pale man with an odd accent who is studying the plane to learn about its existence, and why it seems to be at the end of its life. He explains what being a Planeswalker is to the faerie, how it works, and introduces himself as Neris. Together, they explore more and learn the history of Equilor that is left to learn. Seemingly disappointed he didn’t get what he was seeking, Neris departs, but tells Yri of a place where she might “find a friend or two to help her”: Ravnica.
Chapter Ten (Ravnica) - Liya inhabits the body of Zoda, a Loxodon cleric of the Orzhov. She meets back up with Kolya, who is untrusting at first, until Caidi’s magic reveals the truth. Kolya recieves reports of a troublemaker in the markets, and Liya follows to find Yri trying to steal food, not knowing about the concept of money and trade. A small spark of memory flashes in Liya’s mind as she recalls Yri’s name. After a brief questioning, Yri learns about Liya and is brought into the inner circle using Caidi’s telepathy to show her true from and learn of their adventure on Lorwyn and Yri’s first planeswalk. Yri gets a job as a messenger with the secretive Dimir syndicate owing to her illiteracy and tiny size. Though Liya is enjoying her growing relationships in her home away from home, she starts experiencing nightmares of hurting people, culminating with a belief that she had planeswalked in her sleep, until she realises she’s possessing the body of the deserter that invaded her home on Melenas, leading to her own death. She learns that the man’s name was Vasil Iashvili, an orphan from the neighbouring country that her husband had been drafted into war against. Whenever Liya tries to avoid interacting with her past self, she reverts to the beginning. She tries a variety of methods to change her own fate, all of them unsuccessful. She finally gives in, and reenacts the memory as it originally happened, and learns that the intruder was killed by the townsfolk after her past self was taken away to be hanged, but he possesses a similar power to Liya. Instead of being a spirit though, he remained in his own body; a living corpse. Not lonog after this discovery, she is taken by a force of creatures hidden beneath the earth of Melenas, learning that they are Phyrexians attempting to reach their home. They torture and maim Liya’s host in a process they call “compleation”, causing the man’s spark to ignite properly. Liya learns the man ended up traveling to a Phyrexian stronghold on Dominaria; information that is imparted to her host, and subsequently her, during the remaining compleation process and mental domination. Liya is flung out of the memory to learn it was just a dream engineered by a shadowy figure who simply laughs at her pain. The figure reveals that they had gotten this information from the man himself, and thought it would be fun to deliver more than his warning that he was coming. They also show Liya another nightmare; the man believes that if Liya hadn’t managed to planeswalk away when she did, she would’ve been the victim of the Phyrexian’s research, and the figure shows what could have been: Liya, Herald Of The Phyrexians. Liya wakes up screaming.
Chapter Eleven (Ravnica) - Still shaken by her nightmare, Liya tries to calm down. She brushes Kolya, Caidi, and Yri aside and tries to walk it off. Out of nowhere, she is knocked down by a tackle from behind. The assailant reveals himself to be a cloaked skeleton, dripping a thick black ooze. As soon as her calls her by her real name, she recalls the voice: the Sultai fighter that vanished before the dragon attack on Tarkir. He goes on the mention that she is the cause of his pain, and the pieces fall into place; this isn’t some random assailant, this is Vasil out for revenge. Vasil mentions that he felt the pull to Ravnica, following Liya’s travels but alsoo from an external source. Liya apologises to the dormant Zoda in her own mind, and attempts to planeswalk away to save herself and seek help, only to find her ability blocked by the appearance of the Immortal Sun. War had come to Ravnica. The two undead planeswalkers struggle for a moment before they feel a calling. They slavishly follow it, walking together, finding the dragon Nicol Bolas and the necromancer Liliana Vess summoning an army of zombies. Curious as to their appearance, Liliana learns of both of their true natures, stops Bolas from killing them right there, and commands them to join join the Dreadhorde on their mission to find planeswalkers and harvest their sparks. They would of course sacrifice themselves too, but after they were useful. Between Vasil’s natural combat abilities and Liya’s borrowed clerical healing, they proved an effective team. Unable to control her own body, Liya meets Ji’maz, and throws him to the metaphorical wolves, as Vasil takes his spark and life. They encounter the trio of Kolya, Caidi, and Yri trying to help civilians. They were pleased to see Liya was okay until Caidi tried to reach out, warning the others of the danger. Before Liya and Vasil could catch Yri, their spark-wielding target, the compulsion was broken. While the chase had been going, the Gatewatch had succeeded in ending the threat. Vasil took his opening to escape, not fancying his chances against Liya with her friends to back her up. In the following cleanup, Jace Beleren senses Liya’s domination of Zoda, and reads her mind, learning of her role under Liliana. She is given a chance to explain herself, and reveals her true name and nature to the mind-mage. Apologetic that she had gotten caught up in their conflict, Jace asks the elementalist Nissa Revane for a favour. Nissa entwines Liya’s spirit to the leylines of Ravnica, granting her a proper home on the plane which would counter Melenas’s ownership of her soul and restoring her magic-borrowing capabilities. In return, as she fades back to Melenas, temporarily unable too be heard, she swears a her version of the Gatewatch Oath, overheard from a conversation between Jace and Gideon.
Chapter Twelve (Ecruna) - Liya travels to the plane of Ecruna, a plane of endless daylight. She discovers that she is in her own form, not possessing anyone. This is due to the nature of death on the plane; direct sunlight destroys the dead, but they otherwise continue to live normally. Liya learns of a ritual designed for people who no longer wish to linger as one of the shadowkin, and witnesses one such event as a person is conveyed to a cave and engulfed in light. Some people go missing, and Liya assists in the search. She discovers a secret tunnel in the cave and finds that the people who seek their final end aren’t being given that at all, but kept prisoner by a mad scientist trying to research how to reverse the effects of the plane, and allow him to walk in the sunlight without fear. Liya tricks the scientist into standing in direct light and he is destroyed. Before she can free the others, she finds them already freed, but mostly annihilated. She asks a survivor what happened, and they tell her of a place stranger who wanted to talk to the scientist, and lashed out when they discovered Liya’s intervention. She departs the plane, mulling over the new information.
Chapter Thirteen (Ravnica) - Liya takes time to rest and spend time with her friends, and try to overcome her fear of angels as she possesses the body of Brakne, an angelic Boros legionnaire. Yri shows her some of her favourite spots around the city, usually all but impossible to access without flight. The two bond as Yri talks about her honest feelings regarding her spark.
Chapter Fourteen (Sym-Po) - Liya travels to the plane of Sym-Po, having to adjust to life without sound due to the plane’s effects. She learns rudimentary sign language, and enters into the Harvest Festival, choosing cooking as her specialty, but is outclassed by the aesthetic styles of the competition. Liya picks up some tricks to improve her technique for her part-time job at Elnaya’s bakery.
Chapter Fifteen (Dominaria) - Vasil recovers and plans, as he recalls his life. We learn that time moves a lot faster on Melenas than other parts of the Multiverse, and that Vasil played a significant role in the Phyrexian conquest of Mirrodin, as well as other nameless worlds.
Chapter Sixteen (Amonkhet) - Liya travels to Amonkhet, and assists with the restoration efforts. The surviving god of the plane, Hazoret, senses Liya’s presence and asks for an explanation. She explains herself, and has a discussion about the nature of deific entities, as it relates to Erebos’s deal with her.
Chapter Seventeen (Arcavios) - Liya travels to Arcavios, to visit Ji’maz’s homeland. She has to balance her host Aavai’s study schedule with her own desire to explore and learn from other departments. While there, Liya meets the pale woman she last saw on Kaladesh, who gives her name as Syren. She is interested in necromancy, but is drawn to Liya after Liya lets slip that they’ve met before.
Chapter Eighteen (Mercadia) - Liya travels to Mercadia and gets embroiled in a plot between rival merchant families.
Chapter Nineteen (Plin) - Yri gets bored and begs Liya to take her on a planeswalking adventure. She agrees, and the two arrive on Plin and have to adjust to the dual-bodied nature of the plane’s magic. They discover the history of The Coterie, and the dangers they represent.
Chapter Twenty (Alara) - Liya travels to Alara
Chapter Twenty-One (Fiora) - Liya travels to Fiora. A confrontation with The Coterie is teased, but the three escape before Liya can seek aid.
Chapter Twenty-Two (Dominaria) - Liya travels to Dominaria and ends up in the body of a Sliver, corrupted by an external hivemind. Struggling to make sense of the alien sensations, Liya ends up completing the sliver’s mission to betray its entire colony to the other hivemind. Liya feels terrible that this seemed necessary.
And this is what I currently have, even as my brain attempts to spin more. But at least now anyone who was every interested in Liya’s story is roughly on the same page I am, stuck as I am on Chapter 5.
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