#` ✞ hearts & witness. ⁞ why have you been fearing an aching that will fade? must the sun have reason to make the seasons change?

[sunlessea]

ship tag drops for threads oml /

[pogueprincess]

Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”

[sunlessea]

nothing it says would ease the wounds or the betrayals or the cruelty of the universe's realities. the neath oft called their judgements cruel, that life should be so short and fleeting, but the longer they live and the more they experience, the more they wish that they had been mortal, to ultimately walk a path to death. love is not real. only heartbreak is. and nothing it or its ilk had ever wrapped up in pretty little bows would have ever made them believe otherwise. the masters of the bazaar were too late, if any of them had ever remembered their purpose to begin with.

they watch hearts with the same disappointment they had watched its coalition with from the london's variant of heavens, and then the nowhere they lay now trapped. whatever stories it collected or penned... they were not for the sun. not anymore.

they lower their hand, shift their gaze down to its where it mourns... something. whether it mourns reality or a dream... they don't know. their hand reaches out, closes their palm 'round its cheek, thumb stroking 'long the cheekbone scraped by their claws 'neath its eye in their initial hunt. their eyes, dark and sunken since the days of bright where they had entertained one-another above, fill with tears that they do not cry. they cannot even reject nor accept the apology, through word or writing. but they deserve one. maybe not from the masters, or perhaps least of all from them. a line lists itself before them : the king of hours, the stone gods so naïve in their nature, the gods of glory who had wrongfully stripped their free will, the elegiast who paraded its halls... the masters failed them, but they were not the reason for their fall.

" ... " they shake their head, then take its hand from their hip, and spread its palm open on their beating heart. then, they press its claws into their skin, until it makes them bleed. their heart was already broken, it attempts to communicate. it couldn't have saved them from the monsters that brought down the sun.

its expression is torn, split—it imagines, like its own heart, and like theirs. no pulse lies behind its chest, and yet it can recognize the anxious fluttering echo in the hollows of its ribs; its brow furrows, and lips curl into a scowl, but it watches them in even mix of fascination and fear, bringing one of its own hands up to shield its eyes from the false flickering light. " we tried. " it murmurs, at last, though it pauses to pull its lip 'neath fang, chewing on the corner nervously. whether we is only in regard to itself, or to their collective is hard to say ... regardless, it cannot recall feeling so insecure. " earnestly. tirelessly. we did all we could think to, in hopes for ... " it allows its voice to trail off, and its gaze to wander : from where their hand is outstretched, and where its other moves to rest on their hip, drawing symbols along their skin exposed. " ... i don't know what to say. or offer. an apology? " its hand squeezes their hip, expression downcast. from paupers to kings, and king to pauper again. " regret? for our failures. "

[demiclar]

Trespasser

Trespasser - Ao3

Shiro-4 meets his Nightmares aboard the Leviathan.

(I am once again asking Bungie for more Shiro-4 content. Please.)

The Leviathan makes his skin crawl. He’s not even out of his ship before it makes him feel as though there are spiders walking across his skin, synthetic and silicone as it is. Being here isn’t even his job. The Vanguard has already moved on from the Leviathan. Guardians still return to it from time to time, but it's mostly empty when Shiro lands on the front steps.

Not empty enough, he can’t help but think.

A figure waits for him on the steps, wreathed in deep red, a familiar Exo. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving Shiro a nod.

“Been waiting for you to show up.”

“Yeah?” Shiro mounts the steps, feigning disinterest. If the nightmare really is just some manifestation of his thoughts and fears, it must already know it’s exactly who Shiro is here to see. “Why’s that?”

Cayde doesn’t follow when Shiro passes him. He stands still on the steps until Shiro pauses and looks back. Everything in him tells him to run, not to look back and to leave the Leviathan now and never think of it again, but he doesn’t. He stops, turning back to face his old friend.

“He was here.”

Cayde’s face has shifted into glaring anger. The Darkness seems to swell around him, acid and burning, like the Witness is trying to mimic the power of Shiro’s friend.

“Why did you let him–”

“I didn’t–” It’s a shock how fast the Nightmare gets to him, how quickly Shiro’s walking back towards him. He forces himself to pause, to take a deep breath. “He’s not Uldren, and I didn’t let him come here. He doesn’t answer to me.”

“Why not?”

A new voice sounds behind him, and Shiro jerks in surprise, turning stumbling a step back before he can be boxed in. Andal Brask glares at him, a sniper rifle on his back, his cloak, the one that later became Cayde’s, hanging from his shoulders, the hood drawn over his head.

“Cayde and I aren’t there anymore. What happened to the Vanguard Dare? Why aren’t you organizing the Hunters?” Andal presses. He descends the steps towards Shiro, his brows pinched.

“That’s not–” He nearly stumbles on the steps, hurrying to back up as Andal advances faster than expected. He can feel the mass of writhing Darkness flowing from him, overwhelming Shiro in its potency. “That wasn’t Cayde’s Dare. The Vanguard position isn’t mine to take, he didn’t want that for me.”

“Guess what, pal, you don’t get that luxury.”

Another voice behind him, another Hunter at his back. Tevis Larsen stalks towards him.

“You think because you’re the last of us, you get to stop trying? You get to leave the Hunters to fend for themselves?” Tevis continues. His anger is the sharpest of all of them, edged with icy cold. “That’s not how this works, Shiro. You don’t get to abandon them.”

“You gave up on the Traveler.” Shiro snarls at Tevis, his own arc Light crackling in response to the Void he can almost feel from his friend.

“I didn’t give up on humanity.”

“Right, you went to the Black Garden and let the Vex destroy you.” Shiro can’t help his anger. These are his friends, he doesn’t want to fight with them and yet it’s all he can do. Their Darkness wraps around his heart, turning it black with vitriol.

“And what did you do?” Tevis challenges. “Run off to the Iron Temple so you could live with Saladin?”

Cayde’s face appears beside Tevis, a sneer on his lips. “And he left you, too. Didn’t he?”

The words threaten to cleave a hole into Shiro’s already aching chest. If he wasn’t already alight with anger, he’d have gone silent, but instead he roars in response.

“He didn’t–”

“Why didn’t you take the gig?” Andal’s voice silences him, silences all three of them. He always had that weight.

He’s standing high on the steps, looming over the three of them, cold and somber as he watches. For a moment, the hazy red seems to fade out of him, flesh and hard leather taking shape beneath. For a moment, he seems real, and grief floods Shiro’s circuits. For a moment he can only stare.

“I didn’t want to be locked up. Not after what happened to all of you.”

“Is it really so different from the life you live now?” Andal asks. “You don’t live in a tower, you live in a temple, but you’re still trapped. How often do you leave? You run scouting missions for nothing. There’s nothing of value there, you’re not protecting anyone. Shaw Han is there for the new Lights, what do you do?”

“Are you really going to let him lead the Hunters?” Cayde’s voice brushes icy talons over Shiro’s body. He knows exactly who Cayde means.

“He’s not Uldren.” He grits out.

“He has Uldren’s memories.” Tevis points out. “He knows exactly what he did, why he did it, how he did it. Is he really someone new?”

“I don’t get to make that choice.”

“You would if you were Hunter Vanguard.” Cayde says, and Shiro whirls on him, reaching out to shove him, only for his hands to slip straight through the Nightmare.

“You didn’t want that for me!” He snaps, advancing on his last friend. “You made your Dare so that I wouldn’t have to. You never gave me reason to kill you. I never wanted you to die.”

“But I’m dead.” Cayde tells him, that cruel sneer back on his lips. “Right?”

Shiro feels his face fall. He can’t help the sadness that overwhelms him, the desire to plead with these Nightmares, with the Witness to relent. His friends might be dead but this is worse than death. This is excruciating pain, souring their memories into something only Shiro could ever recognize because his mind is the one that made them. He knows what they are, he knows they're not real, that his friends would never speak like this, but they string their lies around him until he's caught in the Witness' web. He lets them wrap him in their spider's silk, and doesn't fight it.

“You’re hiding behind excuses.” Andal tells him. He’s closer now, just a step or two above the three of them. “It doesn’t matter what Cayde wanted for you. When I lost the Dare, I took the position. I didn’t want it, no one wants it, but it’s a job that needed to be done. You let the Hunters fall to ruin for your own selfish reasons. You’re a coward.”

The fight drains out of him, the cold of Andal’s words flooding his body.

“I can’t lead them.” Shiro whispers. He never could.

“You’re a coward.” Andal tells him again. “You are worthless, alone, and unwanted.” Shiro meets eyes of burning red as his friend closes in on him. “And it’s all you’ll ever be.”

[terrorandtales]

Anxiety - Spiritual Awakening - Bruises

Is today the day I choose to wake up? 

Are the little bursts of joy and sunshine worth living for? 

Am I truly living?

Would I jump from the tallest heights to escape the depression that is slowly killing me? 

Do I want to live? What does it mean to live?

Why are we afraid of death? 

Am I attracted to the permanency of silence? 

Is death the permanency of silence?

The darkness is outweighing my faith.

I'm so tired of battling myself and my thoughts.

Am I awake? Do I want to wake up?

Do I want to be here anymore? 

Where is here? 

I'm the wall between myself. 

My anxiety is hindering my ability to jump and have faith.

My mind is constantly buzzing and in motion. 

The hardest part about becoming spiritually awakened and aware of my being, feelings, and energy is not being able to ignore them the way I used to.

I feel this uncomfortable flood of emotions that I must face.

I promised myself to see myself always.

I am the mirror of my darkness, joys, achievements, traumas, and pain. 

Last week I was bruised... 

I ran into a turnstile, trying to catch the train. I was rushing to get from one place to the next so I could avoid having to sit with the awareness. 

Oh, but it came...

Immediately, I knew I would bruise. 

I never used to know this about myself until him, of course, but part of me was relieved. 

To see the bruise forming. 

To feel the aching pain when I'd press gently on the raised skin. 

The physical pain was a distraction from the emotional pain I'm drowning in.

I miss the bruises some days...

It's a tangible pain that has an explanation. 

You see... When the blows would come, the bruises would shortly follow... 

A chain reaction of miscommunication, arguing, and anger, followed by his hands breaking the silent emotional prison that held me tongue-tied, lips sealed, and voice paralyzed. 

Once he'd tire and his hands would fall flat, the world would fall silent. 

Heavy breathing would cease.

Shrieking cries would turn into shallow breaths.

Bloody hands would be washed of evidence.

The pain would subside eventually.

I looked forward to the bruises...

I loved watching them form day after day. 

Darken, spread, and expose the survival of the past trauma.

I'm conflicted about these thoughts and feelings.

For the last five years, I've clung to these feelings.

I could endure the physical pain any day because it only lasted for a moment. 

Eventually, the bruise would fade away.

I'd be left with deeper emotional wounds. 

They will never cease to exist. 

They are painted all over my heart. 

Etched into the depths of my subconscious mind.

I am but a reflection of shattered mosaics being glued back together by love and faith, but broken constantly by self-doubt, fear, and anxiety. 

What's the cure for the invisible scars that bleed daily?

My anxiety and trauma feel like incurable diseases. They're dormant to the public eye, but thrashing around inside of my head and my chest from the moment my eyes open to when I fall asleep. 

I'm constantly battling myself to be presentable and outward facing. 

Sometimes, the brightest people cast the darkest shadows.

I don't always know how to articulate my darkness in my waking life, but here in this world, my words bleed into the ether and paint the terrors I desire to leave behind. 

"I want to protect you, Mae, but also let you figure things out in a way we all do because we all deserve that" 

Oh my sweet Sunflower, if only you could help me to protect me from me...

I must stand tall and face the mes that make me, me

I see your efforts, and I deeply appreciate you and your willingness to see me and want to protect me. I haven't had a partner say this to me before. No man outside of my dad. So thank you. Truly, I thank you. 

You challenge me to be brave enough to explore new realms. You've been a great part of my healing. 

Our love is the most powerful, free, expressive, and pure love I have ever witnessed and felt in my life. You understand and see me more than most people do, and even when you don't, you always surround me with gentleness, grace, and warm hugs. 

I love you more than any words could express. It's deeply rooted within my soul. 

I've shown parts of myself to you that I wasn't aware of showing or sharing. 

Parts of me that I didn't want to share right away, but because of the person you are, I can't hide no matter how hard I try. 

I'm pulled to your calming nature. I'm safe with you.

With safety comes the avalanche.

Now, all of these things are falling out of me uncontrollably and without warning.

My vulnerability is my greatest strength, but my kryptonite. 

I'm terrified to be abandoned and loved less. 

Yet you remain. 

I want to be able to share this part of me with you. 

As strong as I am, I struggle daily. 

I don't want you to wake up one day down the road and say that I didn't show you all of who I am.

Even if I'm afraid to show you. 

I've accepted my darkness and all that comes with it. 

One day, you'll have to decide if you accept all that I am.

Choosing to love is beautiful, but choosing to accept one for all the things that make them who they are is challenging and admirable. 

I don't want to hide any part of me. 

I've never hidden myself from you. 

I've reserved parts of me for different times in our journey. 

As painful as it can be to see myself in these shades of sadness, I love every part of my being.

I can not expect to receive grace, understanding, patience, and love from others - you, if I don't extend it to myself first.

The day will come when we decide to fully commit to a life with each other and our future. 

You deserve to know exactly what you're walking into at the time of your choosing.

I'm still growing and learning.

I'm evolving each day, and change will come and go over the years as we age. 

I trust myself to place my heart, my fears, and my unknowns within your hands.

I trust you.

In return, I hope to see as much of you as you'll let me. So I, too, can have the same opportunity to choose you over and over again.

I can't control my love for you. 

It's completely out of my hands. 

Our love is so free and has no bounds. 

It's infinite and flows effortlessly.

That's what scares me. 

A free, healthy, ever flowing love. 

One I'm experiencing for the first time. 

I know you'll protect me if I need it. 

He is the father I needed. My protector. 

The partner I've longed and prayed for. My Sunflower. 

The friend I never knew could exist in this way. My person.

And as the sun sets on my sad heart tonight, the sun will shine with my hope for tomorrow.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Of Kings and Beasts  -  Nine

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Angst, Injuries, Fluff, Language, Violence, 

Word Count: 2.9K

A/n: Another chapter is finished!! I’ve got an idea but it’s SO DANGEROUS AND Y’ALL MIGHT HATE ME IF I DO IT BUT ITS SO TEMPTING AND I THINK I’M GONNA DO IT ahem anyway I hope you guys enjoy this!

A/n 2: I’m posting this before work so I’ll reply to asks and comments when I get home tonight! Also, I’ve got the next part of Gangsta written up if y’all want that.... hehe

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

“How have you been adjusting to this new home?” Thor asks one morning, a smile on his face. You grin back at him, the weight of Acadia lifted off your shoulders as you take a sip of your tea.

“Quite well. Although Loki has been an interesting addition.” The raven-haired man looks up from his book momentarily and gives you a look, to which you only smile.

From the moment you entered the cottage you knew it would be good for you to stay here.

“Well, we are at your disposal. I will have to go back to Asgard within the weeks to come, but Loki and the Valkyrie shall remain here should you need or want them.” You nod gratefully, looking out the window and pursing your lips as you watch the women spar outside.

“What? What is it?” Thor asks, following your gaze.

“I want to learn to defend myself. To wield a sword and fight off an attacker.” Loki scoffs from where he sits, his nose still buried deep in his book.

“For what reason should a queen wish to learn to fight? You will always have men for that.” Your defence is up in an instant, and you clench your jaw before composing yourself enough to reply.

“I do think that considering both my upbringing and the way I have been treated in my new kingdom, I have every right to want to learn to defend myself. I have many reasons to want to defend myself, none of which concern you, however, if you had the slightest idea of all that I have endured in my short time as queen you would not question me wanting to learn to defend myself. I have been shunned from my palace because my husbands fear someone will kill me. My own husbands have brought me far more pain than I would like to admit. I have every right to wish to learn how to defend myself and I will not hear a word from you about the subject!”

His brows raise to nearly his hairline and he looks between you and his brother before burying his nose back in his book, which elicits a chuckle from the blond king.

“If the situation is so severe that I need be sent away for my own safety, I need to learn to defend myself.”

Thor nods, a strong hand patting your shoulder comfortingly.

“I knew there was a fire in you. I could see it in those eyes when you spoke of running from the Kings. I just needed to find it.” He rises to his feet and straightens his clothing. “Loki does have a special talent for pulling the fire from even the most docile creatures. But I will go speak with the valkyrie. They will be delighted to have a student to train.”

He leaves the cottage to interrupt the sparring outside, and you feel your heart skip a beat at the first piece of control that you will have over your life.

~*~

“If that will be all, You are dismissed,” King Steven says, his voice low and exhausted. The royal adviser bows then heads to the door, hesitating for a moment.

“Forgive me, Your Majesties, but I cannot help but notice the absence of the Queen. Where has she gone?” It’s not the first time they’ve gotten the question in the week that you've been gone, therefore they already have their excuse rehearsed and perfected.

“We simply have no use for her. If she cannot even bear our children then what use is she to us?” Comes Steve’s practiced response.

“We were instructed to find a queen who could produce strong heirs. Our wife cannot. So she is no longer of use to us,” James adds, his voice dripping in boredom as he looks over a document on his desk.

The royal advisor nods then excuses himself, bustling to his own office with newfound haste and purpose.

“It’s been a week and we are no closer to finding who it is than we were when she was here,” Steve murmurs after a long moment of silence, his shoulders heavy with the weight of their decision.

“I’m beginning to question whether it was a good decision to send her along with Thor. Especially after he threatened to make her a queen of his own. What if she were to agree?” James stands up and walks over to his husband, taking his shaking hands in his own and sighing.

“I would not blame her if she were to agree. We have treated her like a prisoner. I have... brutalized her and beaten her and I will never be able to repent. If she were to want him I would in no way blame her. He has provided her with a safe haven. She can confide in him and trust him in a way that she may not be able to again with us.” Steve sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut.

“We need to find who it is that has caused this and we need to make them pay.” James nods, smoothing his thumbs over the back of his husband’s hands.

“We will. But until we do, we must remain strong. The Doctor is recovering and when he is fully recovered we will ask him who it was that attacked him. We will find who is behind this, but we must be patient.”

~*~

“Again!” You raise your sword just in time to block a blow from one of the Valkyrie, grinding your teeth together as you push her back a step then swipe your own sword at her throat.

She hops backward, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You are learning, Your Majesty. But you still hold back. Why? You cannot be afraid to hurt us,” The Captain says, walking forward and looking at you closely.

“You must show no mercy. Not when you must choose between your own life and the life of someone who means to do you harm. You will fight and you will fight to the death.”

Your entire body is burning with the exertion but you hold your ground, raising your sword and ready to go again.

“That’s what I like to see! Now, we go again!” Brunnhild exclaims, a grin on her face as she takes her fighting stance.

It’s just over two weeks since you began your training and everyone is surprised at how quickly you’re picking up on what’s being taught, but none more than you.

You’re just stepping out of the bath, muscles aching with a new type of strength that the Valkyrie have been beating into you, when your eyes catch a glimpse of movement at the window to your bedroom. A figure clad in all black is moving swiftly away from the cottage and disappearing into the darkness of woods, the setting sun aiding in the camouflage of the person.

Thinking that it’s none other than Loki going to wreak havoc on some poor defenceless wanderers, you don’t question it. Instead, you get dressed into a soft Asgardian gown and start preparing yourself for bed.

You’re just about ready to settle down with a book when a flash of white catches your eye from the window. You hesitantly investigate, heart hammering in your chest as you see a letter tucked securely in the window.

You open it and snatch the envelope before it can be taken by the wind, then shut the window again.

The seal on the envelope is that of Acadia, and your heart is in your throat as you realize that this could very well be a letter from the Kings. You’ve no idea what it may say, and cannot decide if you are more nervous or excited as you open it.

The script is not one you recognize, but your eyes greedily devour every word, the smile fading from your face at what lies on the page in your hand.

Thor finds you sometime later seated on the floor, the letter gripped tightly in your hands and your eyes focused on a point on the wall.

“(Y/n?” He asks softly, knocking against the doorframe to try and get your attention. You make no indication that you’ve heard him.

He enters the room, brows furrowed as he sees what you’re holding. “What is that? What does it say? Is it from the Kings?”

It takes a very long moment, but eventually, you find the strength to speak. But even then your voice is a weak rasp.

“Did you know the truth? Did you hide it from me as well?” Thor is beyond confused as he approaches you, taking the page from you and reading through the contents quickly.

‘Your Majesty,

Do not ask who I am nor how I know where you are, just know that you need be more careful who it is you call your lovers. They have sent you away, not for your own protection but because you failed at the task they wanted you for. They have sent you away because you failed to bear their children, this I promise I have heard with my own ears. I know not what they have told you but it is what I have witnessed. They have said this directly and I have heard it with my very own ears. You would do well to stay away from them, for they are dangerous. But I am certain that you and your late child are more than aware of that.

Consider this a warning, your majesty, for I know you are unsafe. You must take care and be far more careful of who you allow in your court.’

“Loki!” The prince is in the room within the same moment, his eyes full of confusion.

“Have the Valkyrie secure the area and find me the man who sent this! Travel to Acadia and alert the Kings. The Queen is no longer safe here.”

You’re confused. If the kings have directly told someone this, why then is Thor responding in such a way?

Loki is on horseback heading towards Acadia only moments later, and Thor is leaving the room as soon as the Valkyrie enter.

Brunnhild crouches next to you, a frown on her face as she glances at the note on the floor, its words echoing in your ears.

“Do not allow this to scare you, Your majesty. Do not give them the satisfaction of that.” You scoff and shake your head at her, “it is far easier said than done. All my life I have been punished for ever speaking, much less standing my ground. I have perfected the art of cowering, for men wish to do nothing but hurt and maim all so they can gain power.”

She sits down and shakes her head, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it tightly.

“You forget that we are all brought into this world through blood and through pain, your Majesty. We are the daughters of savage women. We are their savage daughters and we will act like it. We will bite and scream and we will take up space. We will not conform to their ideas of what women should be.” Her words are whispered into the still air of the room as if she were hiding them from any listening ears.

“Do not lower your voice for any man. Do not cower beneath them. You are a powerful being. One that can create life and you can also take it away, never forget that.” She pulls a dagger off of her belt and hands it to you, curling your fingers around the hilt before she continues speaking.

“You have the blood of goddesses and witches flowing through your veins. You hold a power that men could never understand. With every step we take, every time we refuse to cower... we honour our mothers, our grandmothers, and the ones before them. The ones who stood and fought and were torn to pieces. We will not be silenced. You will not be silenced. You are more powerful than that. You must remember your strength and your power. Do not let the men convince you that you are anything less than what you are.”

Your eyes sting and your throat gets tight, but she only hugs your shoulders and continues speaking.

“Your power is what scares them. Why else would they try to assert their dominance in such a way? But you will not fall. You will not allow them to treat you like that because you are the daughter of a savage. You are yourself a savage woman and you will act like it. Royal title be damned.”

You sniffle once, twice, three times, then nod, wiping your eyes just as Thor re-enters the room.

The Valkyrie take their leave and the King sighs, crouching down next to you and gently stroking your cheek.

“I’m so very sorry, Petal. You are no longer safe here. If someone was able to bring you this letter then I fear you are in far more danger than we had thought. The conspiracy against the Kings runs far deeper than any of us could have anticipated, and if we are to keep you safe then we must act quickly.” He pulls you to your feet and bustles around quickly, covering your shoulders in a thick cloak and packing a bag of your belongings.

“Wait, where do you mean to take me? If I am not safe anywhere?”

He tosses your bag over his shoulder and grabs your hand, entwining your fingers and giving your hand a soft squeeze.

“The only place you will truly be safe.” You’re still quite confused.

“We make for Asgard.”

[whosjunglejim4322]

Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen. 

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

[lyallblacklupin]

Just like fire.

After years of regrets and sorrows, Remus tries to apologize to Sirius for his own mistakes, despite the fact that he has been hurt by the very same person who he wants to say sorry to. The years of damages has passed, should they give each other a chance, or start fresh with new people in life to forget their old wounds?

Tags: Heavy Angst, Fluff, Post-Azkaban, Angst with Happy Ending.

Sirius walks in the kitchen, completely heedless of Remus’ presence—or he pretends to be heedless after he catches the sight of Remus. He walks promptly, not limping but flinching at his aching bones. This is how Sirius Black has become: broken. And he has not just broken out of thin air, it has taken fourteen years which includes the twelve years of unjust imprisonment and two years of being a prison escapee, and Merlin knows how many more to go.

Half of Sirius’ time is spent in thinking about death and longing for it. Remus can tell because he has witnessed the hunger of dying in his eyes when he’d sit alone with himself, and the other half is always occupied in worrying about Harry Potter who is last person keeping him from dying out of misery; his dear godson only. Otherwise, he’d have been free.

He stops at the stove and boils the water on the kettle. He doesn’t have his wand so muggle way it is. Muggles have been growing on him, a lot. He keeps talking about them with Arthur. Remus is glad that if there is anything Sirius is looking forward to the order meetings is for the conversation with his new friend Arthur Weasley, who also attains the equal amount energy for the same subject. It makes Remus happy to witness that they have any reason to—even temporarily—lit up in the times of war. However, Sirius never smiles. He nods, or makes a funny face. He only smiles when Harry visits.

“If you want for yourself, it’s still in the kettle.” Sirius says without looking, and begins to walk out of the kitchen but Remus rises from his chair.

“Sirius.” He stops but doesn’t turn to face Remus.

“What?” His voice cut through Remus’ heart.

“I was hoping we could have tea together?” He tried, his heart hammering in his chest.

Sirius finally turns and hold his gaze. After a lingering eye contact, he nods and brings Remus’ tea with pink mug that has a David Bowie on it. He is slightly hopeful that Sirius has kept it because Remus gave him on their sixth year Christmas holidays. But he highly doubts that Sirius remembers it. Sirius sits across Remus’ seat. The silence is irksome.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry for…all that—“

“Define ‘that’, Remus?” Sirius’ facial expressions are blank but very grave.

“For believing the murder of Lily and James was because of you.”

Sirius scoffs, and Remus wants to scream because deep down inside he doesn’t feel he deserves it. He suffered too for twelve years. Even so, he tries to sustain the ceasefire he is trying to build between them.

“I should have believed that you would never have done anything like that to the Potters. You loved them more than anything in this world and—“

Remus pauses because Sirius is shaking his head with a manic smile playing on his lips.

“Wrong. I didn’t love them as I was supposed to. It wasn’t that I didn’t, but it was more like I couldn’t. My fucking stupid heart belonged to just one person that time as if my life would end if I stop centering my life on him.”

Remus swallowed. He knows that no kind of eloquent words are going to be good reply to what Sirius has said, so he says, “You did. Love them, that is. I know that.”

“Oh what did you know!?” He shoots up so violently that the chair collapses down on the floor that Remus inhales sharply, “You were out there kissing Dumbledore’s shoes!”

He knew that this will happen, that he will be humiliated again just like the times in the first war when Sirius would scream at him for going on the secret missions and not giving a clue about when and where he would go and come back, and for not being there for his friends and family. But in reality, all Remus did was to protect the order, and the people he loved. However, the questions still pops in his head, ‘for what? How did he not see it that they were breaking apart?’ It feels like he was watering a dead plant over and over again during the severity of lacking water, but the plant didn’t revive, and the precious water spilled into filthiest vain. Despite of that, Remus shuts his mind and chooses that pettiest way to get back at the person who endured twelve years of imprisonment for the crime he never committed.

“Don’t you dare!” Remus rises from his chair too, leveling up at Sirius, “Don’t you dare go down there again after all these years!”

“WHY NOT!?” Sirius yelled anyway, “YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THIS NOW! YOU NEVER BELIEVED ME! EVEN BEFORE YOU THOUGHT I BETRAYED JAMES AND LILY!”

“WHEN DID YOU BELIEVE ME!?” Remus is now few inches away from Sirius. He wants to slam him against the wall and put some sense into him because he still cares about him, no matter what.

“WHAT!? You made me this way! You build this mistrust with your hands! Don’t you dare forget that!”

“I did!? Or was that you!? Who didn’t believe me when I said I was not allowed to tell to anyone!”

“I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ANYONE!” Sirius’ voice breaks poorly that hits like a dagger in Remus’ heart. Sirius holds himself by the chest and leans down to rest his torso on the kitchen table, breathing heavily. Remus instantly feels the stinging in his eyes, and followed by the hot tears spilling from them. He comes behind Sirius, and places a hand on his back.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Remus whispers, and pulls Sirius up in his arms. He sobs and sobs, and Remus sinks down to the floor with him, squeezing him tightly in his embrace. “You are right. You were never just anyone. You were never…” He tries to put his feelings into words but Sirius interrupts him.

“You stopped loving me.”

Remus feels his stomach twist but what comes out of his mouth is a laugh. An empty laugh.

“Hell, I didn’t even stop loving you even when I thought you killed James and Lily.”

Silence.

“I was disgusted by myself. I used to feel so filthy. To want you even after believing you ruined my life by walking away so brutally, killing my friends. Killing my reasons to stay on this planet. I wanted to hate you. I couldn’t. I didn’t think that I even deserved to go to their funeral, you know…because I thought I’d be downright hypocrite to grieve for their loss when I was actually grieving the loss of you. I’d dream about you. The only thought keeping me sane and alive. Sirius, I’m not sure if this makes sense to you…I don’t even know if I’m asking you to love me back or what, but I have always loved you, mostly when I shouldn’t…”

Sirius is staring at him with his tears streaming so rapidly down his cheeks. He is trembling as sobs are racking through his body, his breath hitching every now and then. Remus’ heart breaks to see him like that. It is like Sirius is cleansing himself with all of the unwanted darkness off his soul by spilling all the expanse of pain in form of tears. Remus can see that he is not stopping himself from weeping. He seems lost somewhere, with his eyes shut and his hand on his mouth.

“I am not defending myself,” Remus whispers once he notices Sirius is just sniffling and wiping the dampness from his face, “I never meant to bring that up. I just want to let you know that whatever you went through had not even a single place or moment you deserved to be at.”

Sirius looks up with wide teary eyes, staring at Remus’ hopefully. He looks innocent and raw.

“Tell me,” His voice rough with tears but still a whisper. He clears his throat, “that I deserved all of that.”

“That is not true.” Remus says instantly, his hands grasping Sirius’ wrist instinctively, fearing he might fade away with the wind swooping in from the kitchen window.

“It is,” He says in the weakest voice, “My mistakes brought me here. For not trusting you enough…”

No words comes out from Remus’ mouth but they are caught in his throat like a lump. He can feel their prickling. The silence stretches on, smoothly breaking by the sounds of fire battling the wind filling the kitchen. There is also some faint sounds of dripping water from the tap into the basin. Someone must have forgotten to turn it fully. Huh, wizards.

“You are one celestial presence on the world, Remus Lupin, aren’t you…” Sirius chuckles softly, leaning back on the paddles of the chair to rest his back on them. Remus doesn’t understand but Sirius continues, “You are…this sacred or a saint-like wizard—half-blood werewolf whose father committed suicide because he thought he was the reason for his son’s affliction, and whose mother faded away with grief…”

Remus’ heart feels fragile in his chest, fearing it might break again after the poor mending.

“Merlin puts a very heavy price on people to pay who hurt Remus Lupin, who mistrust Remus Lupin...who thinks little of Remus Lupin.”

There is something strange in Sirius’ eyes. There is surrender and envy but Remus stares back into those glistening, and almost-silver orbs with courage to find what he wants. And he does. There it is. Love, swirling into the diffusion of grey and blue.

“I paid twelve years of losing myself and my family for mistrusting you, Remus.”

“I’m sorry…” He doesn’t expect his voice to whimper but it does because his chin is trembling and he is trying hard to gain composure. He is trying so hard with his clenched jaw, and balled fists in either sides of his lap. But Sirius put a thumb under his chin, and he shudders.

“You’re so stupid, Moony.” Sirius whispers when he is just an inch away from his lips.

“I know,” And just as those lips touched his, he feels a tear trickle down his cheek before Sirius has completely captured his mouth. They move languidly but cautiously, scared they might break each other again with haste and roughness. They don’t trust themselves to be firm either. Remus doesn’t. But when Sirius pulls back a little, he comes back and kisses him again decisively on the lips.

“I don’t know if it is still worth it,” Sirius says when both of them are resting their foreheads against each other, breathing in and out one and other, “But I want you to know that I don’t blame you for anything. Maybe I did. Just to keep myself sane by pretending to believe the lies I made within my already suffocated brain.”

Remus lets out a small laugh, which follows by Sirius’ arms wrapping his waist.

“I hope you can still accept me despite of everything, Remus.”

Remus hold his jaw, and tries to smile at him because he still feels like it is not enough. Nothing is enough with Sirius Black. It is always so much, even in this flickering flame which is almost dead. He knows that it will ignite again to fiery life once they become one. They are dangerously perfect for each other. He leans in to kiss the back of his ear, and inhales a whiff just like the wolf would do when Padfoot would return on first full moon after the summers, to recognize his mate. Sirius smells of rain and cigarette, mixing the aroma of the tea that has been sitting out in two mugs before their argument.

“I do. And I hope the same from you for myself?” Remus cringes after he realizes how lame they sound next to Sirius’ words. After few minutes which feels like hours to Remus, Sirius gropes his hands to hold both of his wrists, with his eyes still locked with Remus. He then bends down to press a lingering kiss on the right, and then on the left. Remus just looks at him, feeling utterly weightless in Sirius’ hands.

“I will not fail you again, Remus.”

“I trust you. I love you,” Remus says with all of the broken words spilling out his mouth, “I love you so much. I will not let you go. I will not let you be alone.”

They embraces each other again, just enjoying the warmth and the closeness. It reminds Remus of their time at Hogwarts when their limbs used to be wrapped around each other at every possible free period, smoking cigarettes at the Astronomy Tower.

“Don’t make such promises, my dear Moony.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ll be annoyed of me for sticking around you all the time.” Remus wipes his tears, and Sirius helps him too with his sleeve, shaking with silent laughter.

“Yeah, maybe. Just don’t follow me in the bathroom.”

“Can’t make such promises, my dear Padfoot.”

 Thankyou for reading!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Exactly What You Wanted

CW: Drunk whumpee, referenced drug use, abuse survivor lashing out, low-level ptsd, rough recovery drabble, some references to dubcon and noncon

Timeline: During the years of Kauri’s Poor Life Choices

“Come on, baby,” Kauri says, in a voice like a deep rumbling purr, tilting his head just right, putting all that heat and warmth he doesn’t really feel into his eyes. He’s a good liar, he’s a great liar, and the booze in his veins and whatever that guy gave him two hours ago make him feel unstoppable. “Take me back.” He pauses, then giggles, and he knows they love to hear him laugh, they always love to hear him laugh.

He can laugh with a knife to his throat, he can laugh with his legs spread, he can laugh when every other trainee would be screaming, if they were in his place.

Jake, though, Jake doesn’t like the laugh. He doesn’t like the heat in Kauri’s eyes. He doesn’t like the voice, or the head-tilt, or any of it. He just sets his jaw, looking around the bar as if checking for witnesses, and Kauri can’t stop laughing at how comically serious he is. 

“Oh my god.” Kauri giggles again, puts his hands over his mouth. The bar is spinning around him, the colors are liquid bleeding into each other, he can feel the air move over his skin, like someone touching him. “You look like you ate a lemon.”

“I have class tomorrow, Kauri,” Jake says, voice sharp and flat somehow both at once, and he grips Kauri by the arm, pulling him towards the exit. A few of the guys at the table Kauri was sitting at boo loudly at the loss of Kauri’s sparkling brilliance - or maybe just at losing the way he’d been sitting in their laps one by one just to feel their arms around him. “I don’t mind taking you home-”

“Not my hooooome,” Kauri singsongs, but he lets himself be pulled. Jake’s hand on his arm feels nice. All of it feels nice, all touch, anyone’s hands mouth whatever they want on him, it’s nice. 

Means he’s wanted.

Means he’s real.

Jake exhales, rubbing his free hand over his face. He looks tired, doesn’t he? Kauri can suddenly see those dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair is all mussed up from a pillow. 

���I woke you up,” Kauri says as they leave, the stale heat and booze-smell from inside the bar giving way to cooler, fresher air outside. He lets Jake pull him down the sidewalk, looking up at him. He nearly walks into someone going the opposite way, until Jake pulls him to the side. “You, you were asleep when the phone rang.”

“Yeah,” Jake says roughly. His shirt’s on inside-out - Kauri hadn’t noticed that before, either. He must have rolled out of bed and changed out of his pajamas without even taking time to check. 

Kauri called for a ride and Jake didn’t waste a second.

“My car’s a few lots down,” Jake says, not looking at him as they walk. Kauri hums, taking in the beauty of the streetlights with their halos like angels hovering over the road, lighting the sidewalk. Someone calls his name and Kauri waves, trying to go give her a hug, but Jake’s grip on his arm stops him. It stops him, and makes his heart beat faster. “If we hurry, we can get back by 3, I can sleep til 6:30 if I pay for parking tomorrow instead of taking the bus.” He sounds like he’s already worked this all out for himself, and maybe he has. Maybe he talked through it the whole way here.

Kauri thinks of Jake talking to himself, planning out his day at a stoplight, and starts laughing again. Once he starts laughing, he can’t stop. They pass a small park, a kind of courtyard between two businesses, and Kauri puts up a hand, collapsing onto a bench. He can’t stop the giggling bubbling up out of him.

Jake all serious-faced, checking his phone, I can be asleep by 3:30, I can do this, I can do that, his whole planned life and his classes and Kauri is drunk at a bar and he’s high at a bar he did some stuff with a guy in a bar and he’s calling for a ride back from the bar-

“Kauri, come on.” Jake’s voice is weary, not just tired, not just sleepy, but exhausted. By the night, and by Kauri himself. “I don’t have time, I have to go to sleep.”

“You’re as stupid as I am,” Kauri says when he can get control of himself enough to speak, and there’s still laughter edging his voice, slightly breathless. “You know that? You’re a fucking moron just like me. Doing this. You’re so fucking stupid, we’re both so fucking stupid, Jake.”

“Kauri, you’re not stupid. I’m not talking about this here with you-”

“Why do you do this? Huh?” Kauri shakes his head, sweaty black curls sticking to his forehead in a sudden chill as a breeze ruffles them. He can feel his hair at the back of his neck, too, pressing there. Not the weight of a collar, but a memory of one anyway. “Why do you answer when I call?”

Jake swallows, rubs at his face again. “Because I want to-”

“No. No, that’s not it. No, you answer because I’m your fucking... your charge, right? Your ward. Because you feel sorry for me.” Kauri giggles, but there’s no real humor in it now. “I’m pitiful.”

“It’s not like that. You’re in pain-”

“Oh, shove your fucking psych-talk, Dr. Stanton.” Kauri shakes his head, leaning his back against the metal curve of the bench, looking straight up. In the city there are no stars, only a faint glow of lights making even the night sky just a little orange around the edges. “That’s what it is, right? You feel sorry for us, so you get to be the big hero, and we’re the pretty little pets grateful for whatever crumbs of mercy you throw-”

“Kauri. Stop it.” Jake’s voice snaps, and he leans in closer, and Kauri breathes in the fear that hearing an angry male voice lights in him, lets it spark his nerves with the booze and the everything else already there. “I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for anyone. Okay? Get up, we’re going home.”

“It’s. Not. My. Home.” Kauri meets Jake’s eyes this time, his own a sparkling, crackling blue flame, and Jake’s stony silent ocean, nearly gray in the darkness. “It’s not. You like this, huh? You like getting to show up and save the damsel in distress? Yeah?”

“Kauri, I would give anything to be fucking asleep right now-”

“But you didn’t. You got right up when I called, and that’s why you’re as stupid as I am. I’m brainless because they beat all my brains out of me, Jake - beat and fucked and drugged ‘em all out, left me all sweet and pretty and pointless for whoever paid the price - why are you stupid? Huh?”

Jake’s jaw works. “Kauri-”

“You’re stupid because you think I’m gonna stop being like this. You’re stupid because you think I can get better.”

“You can-”

“No, I can’t. I like me this way.” Kauri snorts, looks down his hands, but they’re shaking a little, and he doesn’t like that. He can’t feel them shaking but he can see them shaking. 

“I don’t think you do,” Jake tries, but his voice is getting ragged along the edges, and Kauri knows he’s pushing too far but he can’t stop himself now. “I think you want to get better and you just need more time.”

“Time?” Kauri laughs, and people walking by look over at them briefly, at the mess on the bench and the big tough man leaning over him. Kauri gives a little wave, I see you eavesdropping, assholes, and they hurry past. “Maybe this is fucking it, huh? What you see is all that’s left of me. What do you do then?”

Jake stares down at him. “I keep coming to pick you up anyway.”

“Oh, you’re just the best. Huh? The absolute pinnacle of fucking manhood. Jake Stanton, guardian angel and patron saint of the fucked-up messes that fall on your doorstep,” Kauri sing-songs, clapping his hands together in a mockery of prayer, eyes rolling back to the sky. “At least I’m nice to look at, huh? Got that going for me. I mean, it’s pretty much all I’ve got going for me, good fucking looks and pretty mouth and my tongue knows how to do that thing-”

“Kauri-”

“Used to be popular, in training,” Kauri says, leaning forward now, licking at his lips. Like Jake is the prey this time, like Kauri for once isn’t the one being held down but the one doing the holding. “Used to be a favorite. Only one way you get to be anyone’s favorite in training, Jake, and it’s not by being smart. Face it, Stanton, you got a hopeless case on your hands, you’re a big saintly perfect hero getting in your car after midnight to get your chaste savior rocks off with a fucking whore who won’t stop, who can’t stop, who will never get any better than this-”

“Kauri, for the love of God, stop it!” Jake’s voice raises finally, and Kauri flinches back against the bench. Adrenaline pulses all at once through his veins, heart racing, and he feels a mix of terror and a mean, cruel, small victory. 

Made him mad. I made him mad. Now he’ll be just like everyone else. Now he’ll hurt me. Now he’ll see why Owen had to.

But Jake doesn’t get closer, doesn’t shove a finger in Kauri’s face, doesn’t grab him by his shirt or his arm or his hand, doesn’t slap him doesn’t hit doesn’t scream. All he does is sigh, and look away, down the street in the direction he must have left his car. His shoulders shift. Kauri can see the anger in him, but it doesn’t rise, it isn’t wielded. It... fades, after a second, and leaves behind a weary look. An emotion Kauri can’t read. “Kauri. I’m not doing this. I’m not having this fight, not this late, not now. If you want to argue this in the morning, fine, but... god. I need to go home, okay?”

“Then go home,” Kauri says. He feels tears in his eyes, suddenly, and he can’t understand why. “Leave. No one’s stopping you.”

“You called me to come get you,” Jake says, but he knows where this is going, Kauri can see it in the way his shoulders slump, in how his hand moves into his pocket to dig his keys out. “Just come get in the car, okay? If you want to argue all the way home, it’s fine, but-”

“I already told you it’s not my fucking home. Go, Jake. I’m sorry I called. I won’t call you again.”

“Yes, you will.” Jake looks at him, an expression of almost comical confusion and hurt, and Kauri’s heart aches. “You will, right?”

But he sets his jaw. “No, I won’t. Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“Did you call me out here just to start a fight, Kaur?” 

Kauri doesn’t know how to answer, because he hadn’t, but now that he has started a fight he doesn’t want to admit it was an accident. He just swallows back the apology that tries to find its way out, forces it down. He sits back against the bench and shrugs, crossing his arms in front of himself. 

The silence draws out. 

As though the silence in itself said something - and maybe it did, really - Jake nods, finally, and pulls his keys out from his pocket. “Fine. I’m sorry it went this way tonight. Please... please call me.”

Kauri doesn’t answer, because if he opens his mouth, he’ll apologize for doing this, he’ll beg Jake not to hate him for it, and he can’t do that. He doesn’t know why, but there’s a rock in his mind blocking him from taking the first step to mend the break he made.

“Get some sleep, Saint Stanton. Maybe I’ll be pathetic enough to call you in the morning. We can go back to pretending you give a fuck about who I am as a person and not just as the little rescue who needs you. Make up for whatever fucked you up before that makes you want to work with us.”

That hits home. Kauri sees Jake wince, sees his hurt feelings written all over his face. Sees Jake consider arguing, give up. Sees the second Jake decides to stop trying.

That’s right. Stop trying. I’m not worth it. I don’t deserve you.

Kauri tries to feel that sense of victory from before, but all he feels now is cold - and as Jake turns and walks away, the cold slips from his heart into his fingertips, all the way down to his toes.

Cold, and alone.

“Congratulations,” He whispers to himself, watching Jake’s back as he walks away, until he turns a corner and is gone. “Good job, Kauri Grant. You got exactly what you wanted.”

Now all he wants is to take it back.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @orchidscript @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @wildfaewhump @whumptywhumpdump 

[wangshuus]

no love left | diluc ragnvindr

pairing: diluc ragnvindr/gn. reader

genre: angst

wc: 3.2k

cw: mild cussing, brief mentions of violence, probably lore breaking too lol. 

summary: falling out of love is painful but maybe it’s what you needed.

note: please read the authors note after the story ESPECIALLY if you’re confused because i’ve implemented a few odd aspects into this story. i was just typing out whatever so essentially it’s more word vomit (again lol) but uhh yeah. most of the important stuff is at the bottom so like i said before, read that authors note at the end!!

lightly proofread, please don’t mind any errors

fic below the cut.

When the esteemed bachelor Diluc Ragnvindr finally settled down with a lover, the news did not fail to spread across Mondstadt like a wildfire. It was the talk of town for who knows how long but as time passed, the people settled down and the buzz eventually died but no one ever failed to acknowledge the young Ragnvindr and his beloved when they were together. Although the two preferred to keep a composed look to the public eye, the admiration they held for each other burned as bright as a summers day in their eyes at all times when they were together; from that alone, anyone could tell they were in love

So where did it all go wrong?

You sat across from Diluc at a table in the winery, the air thick with a suffocating tension that felt like it was going to swallow you whole at any minute now. Your hands rested on the table in front of you as you barely managed to keep your hands from trembling as a storm of emotions stirred inside of you as you felt your composure on the brink of cracking any second. You decided to finally break the silence as you spoke up, a slight tremble in your voice.

“What is it Diluc? Huh? I was hoping you’d have the decency to speak up about whatever the hell is going on instead of leaving me in the dark but it’s been far too long now. Now tell me Diluc, what’s going on?”

Oh the way your words slipped from your mouth made the room feel so cold, even if you didn’t wield a vision of any sorts. Diluc took a deep breath before he decided to speak up.

“What went on between the two of us was purely business.” Was the simple statement he gave.

Was?

“They’ve shown themselves to be quite the individual, wielding good etiquette with both business and a weapon.” He spoke out once more.

“God sake Diluc you’re fucking stalling at this point. You know what, I’ll make it easier for you. Do you still love me?”

There was a pause. A long painful pause. You already had your answer.

“(Y/n), I still care for you more than you can ever imagine, I truly do.”

The words felt like knives piercing through your form and from that, you felt the first tear slip down your face.

“Diluc, are you even aware of how terrible I feel in this situation right now? I’m watching my lover from a far doing lord knows what and you expect me to just tolerate it? I trusted you enough which is why I never pried at it but fuck Diluc, it’s just unbearable at this point.”

“I never did act upon anything in fears of making the situation worse--” You cut him off.

“Making the situation worse huh? So you were out here trying to do some crowd control weren't you? Was if for the sake of not hurting me or or for the sake of not tainting your pristine reputation?”

“I said before, I really do care for you still.” His hand reached towards your own as he held your hand with utmost gentleness. You were almost convinced he still loved you as much as he did in the past.

“However, I can’t deny that our dynamic has indeed changed. I…” His grip on your hand tightened.

“I can’t lie to you and say that I love you the way I did before.”

There it was.

“You don’t look at me the way you used to, you know? Your eyes used to be so full of love whenever you looked at me but that look is reserved for someone else now, isn’t it? You’ve looked at me with nothing but sorrow and pity nowadays and I guess my assumptions of the worst were correct.” You said as your voice trembled even more.

You wanted to pull your hand away so badly, the hand that once brought you such warmth now felt as if it was searing your skin. But you couldn’t. Not when this was mostly likely the last time you’d ever feel such an intimate touch from him. You found yourself to be conflicted as to whether you wanted to pull away out of pure frustration or savour the moment as it could be the last of him you would ever get to have for yourself.

“(Y/n), from the bottom of my heart, I’m truly sorry. I’ve loved you for so long and you’ve given me more love than I could’ve ever imagined. I never wanted things to change but I suppose fate had other plans. I’ll never stop caring for you however, I’m afraid I’ve stopped loving you in the way you’re used to.”

The truthful words were ones that felt like hell to swallow. You didn’t want to believe it but you knew damn well he was telling the truth. The sincerity and softness in his voice made it so hard to be completely mad at him. He was so gentle with his words but the truth of them did nothing but make your heart hurt and ache. An empty chuckle left your lips as your features were now graced with a bittersweet smile.

“Ah, I think I would’ve appreciated it if you were meaner with your responses. Maybe then I wouldn’t have such a hard time letting you go.” You finally managed to look him in the eyes, his reflection showing on your glossy orbs.

He felt his own heart churn with remorse and guilt, seeing as he terribly hurt the one person that he had sworn to love and protect for the rest of his days. He felt sick over the fact he failed to keep part of the promise-- the part where he said that he would continue to love you.

That was one of the last times you had ever seen Diluc Ragnvindr.

--

Your body shook as the freezing temperatures of Dragonspine overtook your senses. You sat up against a rock, your back leaning onto it as you struggled to keep yourself upright. You were barely holding on by a thread as you physically felt numb. However, your mind swirled with a storm of emotions, almost as strong as the last day you had seen your ex-lover but this time, you reminisced on your time as you felt like this would be your final moments.

You pondered over the fact that this might’ve been the reason that he no longer loved you in the way you wished to be loved by him. You wanted his affections, you wanted his love, you wanted him. But you were too weak. That was it. He let you go for someone that was strong, so very strong; both mentally and physically. God, you couldn’t even compare to the likes of them, being nothing but a measly old adventurer, one that wasn’t even fortunate enough to wield a vision. You were nothing but weak in your own eyes; that's what brought you to your demise.

In your hands, you clutched one of the last treasures you had found in the cursed mountains. It was a pretty little collar that held a jewel that twinkled so beautifully despite the dull, hazy environment.

“You do not wish to be weak anymore do you, little one? Do not be afraid, put me on and I’ll grant you the desires you so wish to obtain. Abide by my rules and obtain for me the essence of life and together, we can make sure that everyone will hail before you.”

A voice echoed inside your head as your mind began to spiral. All morals, memories and feelings began to drown out until you were barely hanging on by thread.

“Hurry, time is of the essence! Quick!”

With little energy you had left, you were able to hang the new found possession around your neck. The second you let go of the clips that held the piece together, you felt a tight constriction around your neck, the feeling was suffocating. Just like the last time you had seen Diluc. For a moment, you thought of the red haired male you once held to dear and close to your heart. It ached for him once more in that very moment because he was the very essence of warmth and it was something that you so desired in such a moment like this. The way he held you against him in the coldest of nights in an attempt to keep you warm and oh how it worked wonderfully. It was a memory that slowly faded away with your conscience. Your hands graced themselves lightly around your neck as you struggled to breathe even more than before, your body finally running out of any sort of energy as you fell limp against the cold and soft snow.

Anything. From this point on, you would do anything to get stronger. You no longer cared for any mishaps that happened along the way. You had no love left, nothing but the hunger for power that drowned out the aching void that was now left behind after everything was torn away from you.

“Sorry... to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world. Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn? Then, burn away the old world for me.”

Within the bustling harsh winds of the Dragonspine mountains laid a girl with a jewelled necklace as well as a cold, icy blue orb that shined brightly against the blizzards.

--

“The expedition out in Dragonspine was a complete disaster! The winds were harsher than usual and how could we predict such a nasty storm would’ve been upon us? We planned so far ahead and yet it ended up utterly terrible.” One of the adventurers commented as they were in the process of recovering after descending from the unforgiving mountains.

“Did everyone that went on the expedition come back? There’s absolutely no way we can risk going up there again, at least not for a while.” Another commented.

There was an excruciating silence within the camp.

“Has anyone seen (Y/n)?”

--

Diluc had set out once the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning came upon him. He continued to lurk from the shadows and deal with whatever trivial matters that had to be dealt with in the dead of night as he always did. He had heard of a few nuisances that arose near the outskirts of Dragonspine that hadn’t been dealt with yet. Of course the knights wouldn’t bother with this anyways, as per usual what he thought to himself.

Though the male held a pyro vision, the sharp and bitter cold of Dragonspine was something that never failed to make him uncomfortable.

He swiftly made his way to the location, being stealthy and fast with his movements in an attempt to get the job done faster to refrain from being caught. Once he had made his way to the destination, he remained hidden while he examined the area. In the far distance, he saw camps, hilichurl as well as Fatui camps that were not too far off. His face held a look of distaste as his eyes laid upon the familiar trademark symbol of the Snezhnayan organization.

Just as he was about to step out and deal with the hilichurl camp himself, a figure emerged from afar and into the camp. The movements of said person were agile, fast and swift, ice shards being directed in the direction of every living being on the camp. A blizzard stirred so fiercely upon the camp and as the barbaric bitter winds of the snow died down, there was almost nothing left of the camp that once stood there.

Not a single soul.

Diluc very cautiously moved closer to get a better look at the strange person that appeared before him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he started to make out the figure, his mind refusing to believe what he saw in front him, almost regretting letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“I wasn’t aware that you people are unable to take care of a measly little hilichurl camp. I specifically stated to clear the area before anything else and you couldn’t even follow instructions as simple as that, or perhaps I wasn’t clear enough with my statement?” An icy voice boomed out towards a trio of Fatui skirmishers.

That voice was all too familiar to Diluc. It was so familiar yet it sounded so different, so harsh, so cold. Yet, it was the voice that confirmed his unruly suspicions.

“Make up for your poor performance by getting the camps set up in a decent manner at the very least. I’d rather spare myself the trouble of punishing the likes of you people. You don’t wish to cross me any further, do you?” A cold, hard glare very evident on your fact that was directed to the three in front of you.

They frantically shook their heads, sputtering out a series apologies in an attempt to ease your annoyance.

“Make use of yourselves and set up immediately. By the time I come back to supervise the area, everything should be set up in a manner that is nothing less than perfect. If you wish to please me this time, do as you’re told this time. Now go.” You shook them off with a wave of a hand as they saw themselves away in an instant.

You took your time to avoid the now empty camp that rid itself of almost all remains. A hand placed itself atop the jewel that gracefully sat between your collarbones. The voices that swirled in your head chanting for more power and more life eventually died down as the constrictions of your beloved collar began to loosen, just enough so you could breathe. You let out a breathe that you had been holding before regaining your composure. You stood up straight with a proud stature before speaking out.

“I know you are there, may as well come forth voluntarily unless you want be to bring you out myself.”

Diluc’s blood ran cold when he realized that that you were most likely referring to him, baffled at how you were able to pick up on his own presence. He cautiously revealed himself and made his way a little closer to you. The second you laid eyes on the redhead, you felt like your world stopped for a second. The initial shock was replaced with amusement as the scene unfolded in front of you.

“And to think that last time we saw each other would be the last.” You said before bitterly chuckling.

Diluc took some time to muster up words and recover from his initial shock.

“You never came back from that mission. You were claimed to be dead by the guild the day after and yet here you are. The people mourned over you. I mourned for you. What has become of you, (Y/n)?” Diluc spoke out, pain and sadness laced within his tone.

“Ha, they mourned? As well as yourself? Don’t make me laugh Ragnvindr. Was your mourning perhaps an act in an attempt to keep up your reputation. Would not surprise me in the slightest if that were the case. I refuse to accept the pity of others, and I absolutely detest if it is empty and meaningless. Pity is for those who are weak and as far as I’m concerned--”

You stepped closer to Diluc before you continued.

“I’m not weak anymore.”

“(Y/n), you were never weak--” Diluc said before he was cut off.

“Bullshit Ragnvindr. Utter bullshit.” You harshly spat.

“I wasn’t able to handle myself before. I was nothing but weak. It was one of the reasons you fell out of love with me, was it not? You wanted a strong individual that could take care of themselves and you sure got one, but it wasn’t me at the time. Look now Ragnvindr, I am strong now.”

He took a better look at you as the realization of your position has begun to sink in.

“You... you’re…” In one of the rare times of his life, he was at a loss for words.

“Ah, Ah, Cat got your tongue? Poor boy can’t even muster up any words.” You chuckled mockingly.

“Fatui Harbinger, Ragnvindr. Number 12. Surely you’ve heard right?” You boldly stated.

Yes, he did hear. The Tsaritsa had taken another Harbinger under her wing yet the news and information of said Harbinger was extremely scarce and yet, No.12 stood right before Diluc.

No.12 was once his own beloved.

“What exactly led to all of this? What caused all of this to happen? What have you done to yourself?” The questions kept pouring out from Diluc’s mouth.

“It was quite simple. I got sick and tired of being weak and having things being taken from me. I have lost too many things to count and I have sacrificed many things to become who I am today. I do not regret a single thing I have done since I have started being selfish and being selfish has kept me from getting hurt again. I do not need you anymore, I do not need anyone in fact. I live for myself and to serve the needs of the Tsaritsa to repay her for giving me a chance to live the way I should’ve been all along.” You look at him with a taunting smirk on your face.

The (Y/n) (L/n) that was once known to be the beloved of Diluc Ragnvindr was dead. They died the moment you stepped out of the winery for the very last time. You were (Y/n), No.12 of the Fatui Harbingers. You were the one that sacrificed yourself to a curse upon the Dragonspine mountains in exchange for power to fill the void that was left behind. You no longer had the longing for love; you had none left after all. You craved for power and leverage over others and you refused to let people trample over you like they did before. You refused to be weak again. With the help of your new found vision as well as the curse that now burdened you, you would conquer the world and burn the old one away, along with your old self.

With no love left, there was nothing left to lose after all.

A/N: SOOOO the whole choker thing might be a little confusing but BASICALLY i took the whole concept from the “Love me, Love me, Love me.” song where the girl gets that cursed necklace/choker and i changed the concept around a little bit so that in exchange for power, dear reader has to basically slaughter things to keep the choker from killing them LOL (I’m tired pls my mind if SPIRIALING rn lmfao)

the italics in the second chunk are the weird choker speaking to the reader since it's a whole ‘curse’ thing and the bold italics in the second chunk is basically a quote from genshin from the cryo gemstone thingies and i used it to signify the reader getting a cryo vision^^ there’s a lot i wanna say but i’m too lazy to elaborate sorry lol. kinda feel like making more parts to this bc i feel like the story could go one but ehhh we’ll see how I’m feeling. i really just wanted to make a oneshot where the reader goes batshit after so ahahahahhaha. (also this fic feels lore breaking as fuck but its ok LMAO)

[blahkugo]

Rouge

Satori Tendō x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Mafia AU, Dark themes, Blood play (an excessive amount of blood mentions in general), Knife play, Asphyxiation, Angst (?), mentions of death (no main characters), Just two psychopaths going at it tbh.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing for @the-smut-pile’s newest collab, hosted by @present-mel, @pleasantanathema, and @linestrider. Please make sure to check out the rest of the masterlist here!

Every night, the smell of bleach stings your nostrils and prayers left unsaid weigh heavy on your tongue. ‘It comes with the job,’ they had warned you, had urged a ‘pretty little thing like you,’ not to take a position you couldn’t stomach. You didn't listen, of course.

Because death isn’t a stranger in your life, nor an old acquaintance you catch up with once every few years. It’s a friend that phones daily, a lover you scurry into bed with—the chill down your spine when you walk home alone in eerie silence.

As a doctor you saw it everyday, with every patient that prayed for pity when the pain became all too much. Cries of the sick plagued your every waking moment; who were you to deny them release? Their suffering ended the moment you injected the drugs.

But you’ve never seen death like this before.

“Daydreaming again, angel?” Tendō swipes a disinfectant across the cold metal counter, rubbing until pools of pomegranate red match his long, messy hair. Despite the dreariness of the task, an impish smile remains plastered across his face, the glint in his eyes unscathed by the scene you’d both just witnessed.

“It’s still Doctor to you.” Try as you might, your voice comes out shaky, your heart pounding so hard you’re worried it may actually jump out. That feeling never quite leaves you.

He straightens his gloves and out comes his signature laugh—that high, maniacal, chuckle that stops just short of a song. You’d rip out your car radio if it meant getting rid of it.

“You haven’t been one for a long time.”

The truth makes you shudder, but he’s right, of course. Once your license had been stripped away and you were on the run, your career had officially ended. An ‘Angel of Mercy,’ all the news stations had called you, yapping on for days when you were that week’s most wanted woman.

You don’t have the right to be called a medical professional and yet, you stand your ground. If it means getting him to quit with the dreadful pet name, you’ll say just about anything.

“Your boss calls me Doctor.”

“Because my boss can’t remember your name.” He meets your eyes, lips quirking upward at the little huff that escapes you, your furrowed brows spilling bits of frustration you so desperately attempt to keep bottled. The air hangs heavy with the shrieks of anger you wish you could unleash, all the words you don’t dare say aloud in fear of looking weaker than he already believes you are.

Instead of challenging you further, Tendō simply turns away, chucking the wipes in a bin and humming a tune far too cheery for a man who just ended a life.

When night comes, you dream of the older man who begged to see his children one last time and the laugh that sounds like a song.

—

The next day isn’t any better, because it never is. Ushijima’s moles bring in three more bodies for questioning; bodies, because you’ve been instructed to refer to them as nothing but. And they’re young this time, heavily tattooed kids that can’t be much older than nineteen—children that look so much like the thralls of young men you’ve learned to call friends, you have to avert your eyes when they send panicked glances your way.

You wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons.

“I’ll only ask once,” the gruff, even voice echoes within the small space. “Who’s your supplier?” Your boss is cold and calculated. He never wavers, never says more than he needs to. He’s everything you’d thought the leader of a crime organization would be and more.

Tendō hovers next to him, gnarled fingers twitching eagerly at the knife splayed between them. It’s his weapon of choice, because—as he mentioned your first day on the job—he can ‘take his time with them’.

The captives crack immediately, pleading helplessly for their lives as they vow they know nothing. They probably don’t, appearing to be nothing more than lowly thugs in a long hierarchy of vile men. It doesn’t stop what comes next.

As expected, Ushijima remains silent except for the soft sigh that leaves him. Tendō sighs as well, though it seems more pleased—euphoric, even—than bored. He presses a slender finger into the tip of his knife, watches as a bit of blood runs down his lean arm, paints a strip of his tattoos red, and drips onto the metal table.

“Are they ours now?” Ours. The word brings bile to your throat. Ushijima makes his way to the door, bluntly calling over his shoulder,

“Do what you must.”

You push up your glasses, Tendō grins, and the screaming begins.

—

Blood-stained lab coats are a staple of your wardrobe. No matter how hard you scrub, fingers raw and aching, the faded pinks never seem to give. You quit months ago, resorted to throwing the worst ones away instead of putting yourself through that hell.

This coat’s going straight to the bin.

Through every horrid interrogation, you’ve forced yourself to watch. You’ve never looked away, never dared allow him to smell the fear off of you. You hand him the tools, write the information on the clipboard, assist with cleanup and disposal, and answer any questions he may have—like the good little medical doctor turned mafia member you should be.

And Tendō smiles the whole way through. Even as dagger meets flesh, as pained cries shatter your eardrums, as your vision is clouded with red, red, red—Tendō smiles, humming a tune that you hear long into the next evening.

But today, when the third young man had looked you dead in the eyes and sobbed, begging you to tell his mother he loves her, you couldn’t help yourself.

Of course, the towering redhead didn’t fail to detect the misstep.

“Bad day?” He questions innocently, resting his elbows on the now spotless titanium table. His muscles ripple as he leans, boasting the thousands of dollars worth of art across his arms. It bothers you that you notice it, even more that he probably catches you gawking. He sees everything, after all. Everything but the blood still splattered across his body.

“Won’t be the last, for us at least.” Brows raise, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. If at all possible, the wicked grin on his face widens.

“You’re exactly right.” And like clockwork, he laughs. Your hands grow cold, ice corroding your veins. He swipes his tongue over his lip, leaving a slick shine on his lips. When he rises and steps toward you, you stand your ground, though you so desperately long to run. “Why so serious?”

“They didn’t know anything,” you mumble under your breath, “and you tortured them anyways.” In all your months of working with him, this is the first you’ve complained—and you immediately wish you hadn’t.

Tendō moves even closer, as though entertained by your tiny outburst. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to finally break your silence. When he speaks, his tone is gentler than usual, but still holds every hint of mockery and nonchalance the bastard is known for,

“It’s our job, angel face.” Another step, another tiny breath you’re holding in, worried that the slightest of sighs might shatter your perfected image of faux indifference. He tilts his head to the side, peering down at you, like you’re- a child.

And the glass breaks.

“Enough.” You splay your hands in front of you, halting him in his tracks, just as he invades your space. “Enough of the patronizing looks, and the humming, and the stupid pet name that you know bothers me!” An accusatory finger is jabbed into his chest. “Don’t you feel guilt? Fear? Empathy? You murder people.”

Your chest burns, heaving with rage. Tendō’s half-smile still sits on his face, words of ridicule ready to roll off his tongue any second. But when you look into his eyes, there seems to be something more—an emotion you can’t quite place. Anger? Understanding?

His next sentence is whispered with such sobriety, you’re unsure who it is you’re speaking to anymore,

“People like us don’t deserve those feelings.”

“There is no us!” The claim may come out crazy, hysterical even— a woman covered in warm blood shrieking within a cold, sterile room. For once, you don’t care. “I’m not like you.”

Those words may be what set him off, hand wrapping around your chin and tilting it up so that you’re unable to look away. Fingers that incite panic and enact violence, fingers you’ve feared since your first day here, clutching you ever-so casually. “Exactly. You’re not like me.”

He doesn’t wait for your rebuttal, gripping harder at your face. “I’ve made my peace with who I am, but you,” his breath fans your cheeks, “you only pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Then, Tendō’s kissing you. And to your utter surprise, you’re kissing him back. Heat rises within you, the hairs at your neck curling as your lips meet with a ferocity. His palms graze your lab coat—no doubt staining his skin with the blood it’s drenched in—before he’s peeling it off.

When you tug at his messy locks, the butcher smiles and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. He pulls you closer, hurriedly stripping you of your remaining clothing, until you’re left in just your panties. Hands roam at your supple skin, kneading at your hips, meshing into you wherever he can. All the while, your lips do the same, bleeding into each other until you’re unsure of where you start and he ends.

“No.” The command is stern, perhaps the most you’ve ever been with him. His eyes narrow in disappointment, limbs rapidly untangling from your body. You shove him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the table, nudge him again so that he falls against it, and grab a clean scalpel off the side counter. “No, we do deserve to feel those things.” His grin returns in full force—and he laughs.

This time, you don’t hate it.

“Deep down,” he grunts as you hitch a leg over his thighs and climb onto him, “you know that I’m right.” The scalpel’s pointed tip grazes his black tee, cutting through the material meticulously. You run a palm up his broad chest before pressing a finger to his mouth, smearing nearly dried blood across his jaw in the process.

“You talk too much,” the hushed murmur tumbling from your lips doesn’t sound like you, is foreign and twisted, and too much like him to bode well for either of you. The muscles in his thighs tense beneath you, his hard chest rumbling in a silent glee.

Your fingers brush against his cheekbones and you gasp, losing all perception of who you are. It’s absurd, but the individual you knew before, the persona you so adamantly believed you could uphold, crumbles with a single, soft touch of his skin.

And it’s unfair, really, that someone so beautiful—covered in art, blessed with hair the color of sweet wine and a laugh that sounds like music—could be so utterly fucked up.

When you nick his cheek, observing the drip of blood that trickles down, you wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons. And when you lick at it, preening at the groan that leaves him, you wonder if you’re just as fucked up as he is.

All at once, you’re flipped beneath him, back crashing against the cool metal table. He climbs down and drags his pants off, yanks you towards him with one pull of your thighs, and presses against your core. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat, crazes you for something you didn’t think you needed.

“By the way,” Tendō speaks through kisses and nips at your neck, “you are just as fucked up.” Though you hadn’t realized you’d said that aloud, you’re unable to retaliate, only wrap your legs around his middle and moan at a particularly harsh bite. He soothes every spot of broken skin with his tongue, drifting downwards until his lips meet your cotton panties. “How cute.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting thi– Ah,” your complaint is cut short when he moves them to the side and licks a long stripe up your slit. And he doesn’t stop, lapping and sucking at your soaked cunt, holding you down with one lean arm when you writhe in response to the pressure. “God, fuck.”

“Satori, but I’ll take God too,” he smirks against your mound. It’s then that he inserts a lithe finger, then two, stretching you out until you’re tugging at his long locks, goosebumps raised as the warmth of his mouth intertwines with the cold beneath your back.

You’re panting, unconcerned with time or it’s passing, only his fingers, his tongue circling your puffy bud, and your steady ascension to the edge. Just as your legs tense, breath caught mid-mewl of his name, he stops. You lean up on your elbows, rut against him, searching for more—friction, movement, anything—but he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck- why?” Your cry is loud, whiny even, but you don’t particularly care when euphoria’s been ripped away from you so suddenly.

“Tell me I’m right,” he teases, eyes peering straight through yours. You whine again, a mix between a pained groan and ‘are you fucking serious?’ before he flicks at your bud once more. “Say it.”

And you do. Because, as strongly as you've denied it, you’re every bit as perverse as he is, every bit as infatuated by the idea of power, of playing God—of holding a life between your fingertips and choosing death.

The second the words are out of your mouth, he thrusts deep into you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails dragging against the table, then his back, as skin slaps against skin.

There’s nothing gentle about Satori, all lean, hard muscle and jagged edges, but the pain is just as blissful as the pleasure. His fingertips rub at your clit, other hand moving to wrap around your throat and squeeze tightly.

“Satori, I- I need more,” you choke out, lightheaded. And he complies, shifting you to your side and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. Your cries melt into his, sweat soaking your skin, your hair, the table, as he pounds into you over and over again.

“That’s it baby– fuck, let go for me.” He presses the long-forgotten scalpel against your throat—and your vision goes white. Electricity sparks through your spine, your tongue lolls out, and you swear you feel tears run down your cheeks.

He doesn’t stop, working you through the orgasm as your legs bind his waist. A few more thrusts and he’s following you, holding your hips against him so tightly, he’ll probably leave deep purple bruises.

He finally stills, chest falling against yours and heaving, allowing you both to catch your breath. Flashing a set of pearly canines, his wild grin and the glint in his eyes reappear. For the first time since you’ve known him, Tendō is completely silent.

And then he laughs, lawless and untamed, the howl of a hyena that sounds like a song—and you laugh too.

[suoyou]

[wip] 真金不怕火炼; true gold fears no flame

incomplete wip. 2744 words, rated t. 

originally drafted for the wangxian weddings for maubrey collection. a sequel to baby’s first wangxian fic 蓝色生死恋; a blue love (to live and to die for)

Wei Wuxian wakes up the morning after his wedding a little cold and a lot sore, skin tingling like it’s new. He’s spent a lot of both lives waking up feeling like his skeleton had sneakily rearranged itself overnight in the worst way—a rib in his throat, a femur jammed up through his belly, vertebrae scattered around him like loose gravel. 

But today he wakes up with the sun in a crescent on his hip, smiling at the edge of the window, feeling like every part of his body for once is in the right place. Brain in his head, head on his shoulders, heart in his chest. Lan Zhan is, of course, already awake, staring up at the canopy of their wedding bed. Not wide-eyed, and possibly for the first time in Wei Wuxian’s life, lazy. 

“Lan Zhan.” He can hear his own voice vibrate against Lan Zhan’s body. 

“You’re awake.”

“What were you doing up, earlier?” Wei Wuxian presses a deep yawn into the side of his husband’s—husband’s!—neck, the kind that sends shivers all the way down into his ankles and feet. “It was barely dawn. Don’t tell me you weren’t tired? I can’t believe I didn’t tire you out last night. I don’t even know if I was awake for our last round.” The thought makes heat flare in Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. They’ll have to revisit that.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan says, and the low thrum of laughter runs through him. It’s mostly silent; Wei Wuxian feels it more than he hears it. “You were, but only just.” Then, “I thought of a song.”

“A song?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“You,” Lan Zhan says, both fondly and in a way that says this should be obvious.

“About my oral prowess, I hope.”

“It was not.”

“Is it happy, at least?”

Lan Zhan is quiet. “My other song for you is not very happy, is it?” 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian pushes himself upright so that he’s lying on top of Lan Zhan, rests his chin on his folded wrists. A constellation of hickeys and bruises stretches across Lan Zhan’s neck, and Wei Wuxian takes his time studying them. He hasn’t seen his own skin yet, but he can tell the violet blooms are already fading on Lan Zhan, burnt back by the heat of his golden core. “I think someone a lot lonelier than the Lan Zhan I married wrote that song, is all.”

“Mm.” Lan Zhan holds Wei Wuxian by the waist, steady, steady, like balancing the weight of the world on him in the cradle of his palms. “But you’re here now. To have you like this, it would be impossible to feel lonely again.”

“To have me like how?” Wei Wuxian asks, propping his chin in his palm, wide-eyed with mock wonder. “Will the esteemed Hanguang-jun care to elaborate?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes darken, narrowing for a flicker of a moment before he moves, and Wei Wuxian ends up on his back so fast that ah, there, there’s that feeling that his bones are all in the wrong places—in the best way, in the only way he hopes to know it again, with Lan Zhan’s hands on his body  and heart against his. Beating, beating, beating.

☄

For some reason, Wei Wuxian is surprised when he gets up and Lan Zhan offers him clothes that look virtually identical to the ones he’s always worn—dark, red accents, wristcuffs laced with ribbons. Everything is a little nicer, and even for someone who never cared to notice, the fabric folds heavy and well-made in his hands. There are cloud patterns embroidered in black thread along the collars, and peonies in the shoulder patches. 

He stands in the middle of their wedding chamber, naked as the day he was born, turning them back and forth without slipping them on. 

“Do you not like them?” Lan Zhan asks, already decent with his satin underrobe on.

“I love them, they’re just so—me?” Wei Wuxian lowers them. 

“Would you like me to put them on?”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian says. He lifts his arms helpfully when Lan Zhan comes to him, slipping the sleeves of a new red underrobe over him and leaning close to do the ties at Wei Wuxian’s waist. He’s so close that Wei Wuxian simply leans forward and kisses the crown of Lan Zhan’s head. Then his temple. Then he stops, because if he doesn’t, they will never leave this chamber. 

“These were commissioned from a different tailor,” Lan Zhan says when he slips the black outer robe onto Wei Wuxian’s body. “I was concerned that they wouldn’t get your measurements right, but I’m glad to see it fits.”

It fits like a hug around Wei Wuxian’s body. 

“The collars of the underrobe are quite high?”

Lan Zhan looks at him. “That was intentional.”

Wei Wuxian stares blankly until the faint ache of hickeys registers, and he puts his hands over his face and groans, “Ohhh. Oh, I won’t make it through the week like this.”

“Wei Ying.”

“I love you, Lan Zhan, I really do, with all the force of ten thousand weeping mountains—a hundred thousand—but my heart will give out. It will cave.”

Lan Zhan ignores his theatrics and turns him around to run his hairbrush through Wei Wuxian’s hair. He’s always so gentle when he does it for Wei Wuxian—not that he’s rough on himself, but he certainly doesn’t seem to take as long, brushing out every lock of hair between his fingers. 

“I can’t believe the Chief Cultivator can’t even take a few days to himself. After his own wedding!” Wei Wuxian says as Lan Zhan twists his hair up into a soft knot. It’s elegant and something Wei Wuxian will likely never learn how to do himself. “I want to stay with you all day. I want to lie in the sun with you and then go running by the beaches at sunset. Well—I’ll run, you can walk gracefully, as you do. I want to sit in the grass with you and feed the rabbits until the wet seeps up into my robes.”

“Mm. So do I.” Lan Zhan pushes his hairstick through the base of the knot. “But it will be a short meeting. Just a report and a written acknowledgment that we are married, that the sects have bore witness that we are married. And that any assault upon you would be considered an offense to the Lan Sect.” 

Wei Wuxian’s knees go soft and it has nothing to do with the exhaustion from the night before. “Lan Zhan...”

“You could come if you like, but I would not ask you to.”

“Because you’re flawless and perfect.”

Lan Zhan exhales. It’s his favorite way to laugh. Then he smooths his hand down the free length of Wei Wuxian’s hair. “I’ll meet you in the Jingshi for lunch.”

“Come back to me soon.”

“Always.”

☄

For two weeks after the wedding, Lan Zhan has reduced duties and Wei Wuxian a leave of absence from classes, but it has been a while since he watched the sun turn the sky blue, then grey, then lace-white as it rises over the blanket of clouds. Once, on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian had climbed high enough in the Cloud Recesses that the clouds were finally under him, and he looked over the endlessness of it, feeling like he was standing at the edge of existence. 

By the third day, after all the guests leave, Wei Wuxian finally gets some much-needed solitude. It’s a weird thing to need, for him, anyway, considering how much time he’s already spent alone. When he sits in the meadow of rabbits in the back hills of the Cloud Recesses, he lies down with his arms spread until he can feel rabbit nosing at his pockets.

“I haven’t brought anything for you,” he says, eyes closed. The sun is orange and veiny against his closed eyes. “Since when did you guys even like me enough to look for snacks?”

There are voices coming down the mountain path, though, so Wei Wuxian sits up and brushes stray bits of grass off his back and knees, tries to pick some out of his hair. Before his wedding, he would not have cared, but he’s husband to the Chief Cultivator now. He needs to look the part. 

“Morning,” he greets, and blinks when it’s a handful of older Lan women carrying the rabbit feed today. Tending to the rabbits is disciple work, usually, but vaguely, he knows they had to change the structure of classes for the two weeks he isn’t teaching. 

“Oh! Wei gongzi. We didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Hanguang-jun isn’t with you?”

“He’s busy in the mornings,” says Wei Wuxian, hands jumping to the collars of his robes. They’re bound tight, thank heavens. “I’ve simply been unwinding after a wedding like that. It really takes everything out of you, doesn’t it?”

“Being married does that to you,” says one of the women, sagely. Lan Danyi if Wei Wuxian’s memory serves him correctly. The other women nod, murmuring their assent.

“It...takes everything out of you?” he asks. That doesn’t sound pleasant, but he hasn’t been anything but happy since being married. Is he doing something wrong?

“When does it not?” says another. Lan Ruyi, who looks so much like her sister that they could be mirror images. “You’re lucky you married Hanguang-jun, Wei gongzi. Marriage is hard work. The first year of a marriage is the hardest year of any relationship.”

“It—it is? Why?”

“Well, of course,” they say, like this should be common knowledge. Lan Danyi bends down and begins feeding the rabbits their carrots. “You will probably have it better than we do, but when you get married, who do you become? You lose your sense of self. Before this, you’re your own person, but you don’t just belong to you anymore, don’t you? Of course, Hanguang-jun would never be so uncouth, I see that he doesn’t mind that Wei gongzi continues to wear his own robes. Which is as it should be, do you remember that Zhao Xiaohong that Lan Hongqi married a few years ago?”

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. He hadn’t thought of that. 

“Of course, of course,” says the third woman. Wei Wuxian well and truly cannot remember her name, which is going to be a problem if he’s going to be part of the Lan Sect now. “But your future isn’t your own anymore, either. You walk a two-person path now. When one person hurts their feet, you must check your own for thorns. Sometimes the path diverges and you want to take a different one than the one they choose.” She sighs. “And you have to choose the one they want to take.”

“I think learning how to walk one, honest path is romantic in and of itself, Jianying.”

“Perhaps. But not all of us can marry Hanguang-jun, so really, how romantic could it be.”

“So you can’t be headstrong, it’ll be such a pain,” Lan Ruyi says. “It’s easier for someone who grew up in the Lan Sect, but marrying in is always harder.”

“Which is what makes the first year of living together the hardest,” says Lan Danyi, nodding. “You don’t want to be someone difficult to share space with. But, Wei gongzi, I’m sure you and Hanguang-jun won’t have a problem at all. Right?”

“Right,” he says faintly. A morning with the rabbits is almost always calm and soothing, but today he feels neither calm nor soothed. “Uh, have a lovely morning.”

“Wei gongzi, go safely!” they call after him as he slip-slides back onto the path.

He gives them a wave, and starts heading back alone.

☄

“—ying. Wei Ying?”

 He blinks.  Then he comes to, piece by piece, chopsticks still aloft between his bowl and his mouth. A bite of married-couple spiced tripe drips its fiery oil into his food, a little red coin on the pebbled surface of his rice. Lan Zhan has leaned forward, mouth set in a taut line of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Wei Wuxian shovels his food into his mouth. “Nothing, Lan Zhan.”

His husband—will he ever tire of that title? Evidence points to no—is not convinced. Not that Wei Wuxian expected him to be, but he also doesn’t expect Lan Zhan to set his own bowl down, resting his chopsticks over the rim, and insist, again, “There’s something wrong.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s really...really, it’s…”

Of course, Hanguang-jun would never be so uncouth, I see that he doesn’t mind that Wei gongzi continues to wear his own robes.

“Well,” says Wei Wuxian, and Lan Zhan leans forward minutely to listen, “Lan Zhan, do you hate that I dress this way?”

This question apparently catches Lan Zhan off-guard. He blinks once, twice, then asks, “In what way, Wei Ying?”

“Like...myself.” Like my unmarried self. 

A faint ribbon of confusion slips between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows. “I love you regardless of what you wear.”

“You probably prefer me not wearing anything, right, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian jokes weakly. 

“Yes. But,” says Lan Zhan, as Wei Wuxian wheezes at his frankness, “what is this about?”

“I just thought,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling wild and stupid, because they’re married, they’re married, why is he being silly about this, “that. I don’t know, I’d look different after I got married. To you? That I should look different.” I want to look different. I want to look like I belong to somewhere, to someplace, to someone.

“Different how?”

“Uhm,” he looks down into his rice, chili oil staining the grains a bright, yolky gold. Gods, this is ridiculous. “Never mind.”

Lan Zhan is a quiet rustle of fabric and footsteps when he stands and moves around the dining table. When he sits down beside Wei Wuxian he’s a warm waft of sandalwood and camellia oil. “Wei Ying,” he says, brings Wei Ying’s hand into his lap between his own. “Something troubles you.”

“It’s not—I’m not troubled, Lan Zhan, I promise. But I guess I. I want to look married to you.”

Lan Zhan searches his face. The concern softens around the edges. “How so?”

“I don’t think I can wear all white or a forehead ribbon, or more than three layers,” Wei Wuxian warns, “but. I felt at home, wearing your white underrobe. It’s not that I don’t like red, but I only wore it so much so you couldn’t see the bloo—”

Wei Wuxian snaps his mouth shut. Really, is this a topic he should be bringing up a day after their wedding, at dinner, no less? He feels like an uninvited, rain-soaked guest falling through the doorway of a place he’s not welcome. 

“Stains less,” he finishes in a tiny voice. 

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, and he reaches up to tuck one of Wei Wuxian’s feathery wisps of hair behind his ear. “If that is what you want to wear, then you should wear it.”

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad. You commissioned those for me in mind specially.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Only because I mistook your preference for them. What you wear is your choice, Wei Ying. In this life, you do not have to look any way but the way you want to. All white. All black. A bit of both, or neither. The things we put on our bodies...they’re an extension of us. Whatever that looks like to you now is what I’ll love.”

“What if I want to wear a pink tunic and a green skirt and, and a gold belt, and no shoes?”

“You would look like Nezha,” Lan Zhan says very seriously, “and I would love you all the same.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, and then he kisses his husband right there at the dinner table, and he thinks that being married really doesn’t take too much out of you at all. Lan Zhan steadies him by the arms, and then pulls him into his lap, and Wei Wuxian’s ribs wedge into the side of the table and the bruise from even that will be sore and sweet the way a hickey is.

What a fortune it is to be married, Wei Wuxian thinks, when Lan Zhan has him on the bamboo mat floors and his hair in a dark fan across them, and have the privilege to be nothing but your messy, scattered, glimmering self. 

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Prompts company and tender for Delvalle pls? 😍 I love these so much.

I got way too carried away with this prompt, so enjoy! Delvalle is one of my favorite ROs. 🥺

The first monster that found me was the same one who scarred me.

Seeing Delvalle step onto the balcony was a hollow relief. This high up - nearly eighty dizzying stories - the lights of the street couldn’t reach us. Darkness swathed our little Eden in familiar affection.

Delvalle wore darkness well; it was dyed into their clothes and shining in their fathomless black eyes. It clung to their presence faithfully, so much so that if I wasn’t a vampire, I wouldn’t have even noticed that they arrived.

Until the faintest ruffle of fabric sounded, the cuff of their long sleeve clipping the embroidered hem of their cloak. I didn’t greet them, not even when they settled against the railing next to me. They crossed their forearms and leaned their full weight against the metal, staring out into the distant mountains where the wolves roamed in violent delight. I kept my eyes firmly on the streets below. At times, just like the ones as unfamiliar as this one, Delvalle felt just as unreachable - and dangerous - as the mountains.

“I heard you,” I said. “Before you tried to throw me a pitiful bone.”

Delvalle made a soft ‘hmm’ of acknowledgement. I took that without comment and focused on the pedestrians below. This far up, I couldn’t make out much detail even with my sharpened senses

The swishing dark fabric fluttering behind each pinprick on the street was a dead giveaway: only vampires wore cloaks in this city. They traveled in packs of three or four or six, which betrayed them as younger members. They hadn’t had time to make enemies, to fear the people around them.

They hadn’t yet lost their last shred of humanity, like sand slipping through fumbling fingers.

Next to me, Delvalle was quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, in fleeting glances, I watched them, too. They were motionless, but that was what I expected. Delvalle didn’t fidget and betray their feelings. When Delvalle was awake, they were poised on the brink of war: watchful, solemn, and deceptive.

They weren’t called the Beast of Anselm for nothing.

At that bitter thought, I turned my attention back to the wayward crowds below. How distant they felt, and how dangerous they were all the same.

“Dreamer,” Delvalle said. It wasn’t gentle or comforting. It was steady, though, and that was more than enough to send a jolt through my veins.

I tilted my head in acknowledgment, and they seemed to hesitate.

“Do not get yourself killed,” they finally said. “I cannot lose two vampires within a week of each other.”

My throat tightened. “You really think Blue is dead?”

“I think,” Delvalle said plainly, “you should not trust anyone.”

“Not even you?”

“Never me, Dreamer.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I didn’t. I simply let my gaze travel below, my thoughts tumbling into a fierce tempest. I wondered how Delvalle could say something like that - not to trust them with my death, my sister, and my everlasting eternity - when they contradicted it just a sentence sooner.

Despite ourselves, I was Delvalle’s vampire: I had their seal embroidered on the breast of my cloak in black thread, a badge of allegiance so very few could wield.

As my silence brewed, caught in the tangled web of my own mortal emotions, Delvalle slid their hand across the railing, the edge of their fingers briefly brushing against mine before they pulled away completely from the railing. It was so quick, my heart barely had time to skip a traitorous beat.

Their last words rang like a siren’s song in the back of my mind - Never me, Dreamer - and before I could stop myself, I reached out and snagged the edge of their cloak.

They paused mid-step, hesitated, then turned to face me. In the half-shadow, I caught the faintest flicker of regret cross their face before it faded back into solemn composure. My eyes were mistaken, surely, because Delvalle did not have enough of a soul to regret the monster they made of me.

If they did, they would have killed me when I was still a fledgling, too pained and weak to defend myself. Or even now, when a sudden push over the edge of the railing would extinguish my immortality as fast as blowing out a matchstick.

“You never answered my question,” I said suddenly. I hadn’t realized that was what I intended to ask until it came tumbling from my mouth. Delvalle’s expression didn’t change, so I added grimly, “Blue. You think they’re dead, don’t you?”

If they had any indication as to if Blue was alive, Delvalle would have been out looking on every street in Los Despiertos, traveling the Wayfare Distinct and beyond, a daunting shadow haunting every avenue. Instead, they were here with me, that shadow of grief hanging over our heads like an executioner's blade.

“Blue would not be the first vampire to die in this city,” Delvalle finally said, their dark gaze settling on my face, searching. “They would never be the last. Your hope will kill you, Dreamer, and I do not want to be the one to witness it.”

“Why?” I demanded, anger surging to life in the pit of my chest, fierce and bloodthirsty. I stepped closer, my fingers curling tighter into the fabric of their cloak until my knuckles paled. Delvalle didn’t move, still watching with steely eyes, so damnable in their stoic demeanor.

“Why do you think they’re dead?” I repeated. “What do you know? Why aren’t you trying hard enough to find them?”

Delvalle’s eyes were pitch dark, unreadable. Then, “Instinct is a formidable state. I do not have the words for it, Dreamer, but that does not mean I take Blue’s fate lightly. They are my ward, just as you are. If you...”

For the briefest moment, Delvalle hesitated. Then, “If you were to die, I would know it. Even if you were across the world, beyond my reach, I would sense the loss as severely as a stake through my heart.”

Our gazes met, and I was hyper-aware of my fingers still wrapped in their cloak, our bodies just inches apart, the night breeze ruffling their dark hair gently. In the glint of moonlight, I could see the vague outline of their symbol stitched in black thread onto the breast pocket of their cloak, a mirror image of my own.

“You felt that with Blue?” I asked, far quieter now. Maybe it was the grief settling into the chambers of my aching heart. Or maybe it was the way Delvalle’s smoldering gaze threatened to pull me apart, atom by atom, the pair of us shrouded in that starving darkness far above a vicious city. So far from the rest of the world, so far from anyone who could witness us.

“I felt pain,” Delvalle said. “And then nothing at all.”

I considered that for a moment, then released Delvalle with a sigh. Perhaps this was their way of telling me Blue was gone forever, and that aching hope would only strangle me. I would always be hunting, seeking a truth that never relented.

The desolation must have shown on my face, or perhaps Delvalle simply knew me better than what I chose to show, because they suddenly leaned in and pressed a whisper of a kiss to my temple, pulling back before I could respond, stunned to silence.

“Do not get yourself killed,” Delvalle told me, their voice tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Keep your head down, Dreamer, before it is far too late to regret it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Delvalle was already gone, taking all the warmth with them, leaving me shivering on the balcony with a sinking dread threatening to overwhelm me.

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

[atsukashii]

❝remember me❞ // k. bakugou

SYNOPSIS: ➛ you bought something forbidden from the universe, and now you must pay the consequences of buying yourself a soulmate

» CHARACTER PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x reader

» WORD COUNT: 10k

» GENRE: guardian angel au, ANGST with no happy ending

» WARNINGS: major character death, blood, violence

« masterlist || ao3 »

From the moment your eyes had first met a pair of red vermillion ones, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen them before. That you had witnessed a volume of different emotions swirling inside those irises before, but you could never put your finger on where you had seen them. 

In fact, your fascination with his eyes wasn’t even on the top of the list when it came to your unusual relationship with Katuski Bakugou. You had met as children through your parents and had bared witness as he grew from a confident boy into a sometimes arrogant but determined man, ready to take on the world and bleed for it. To his brash and explosive nature, you were the quiet calm that washed over his bones, soothing his balms with just your presence. His quirk caused destruction if not used properly, and yours healed. You wouldn’t classify your relationship as friends when you were younger, it always seemed to run deeper. 

You often knew what he was thinking before he even moved to do it. You knew his tendencies, his mannerisms, you knew him inside and out, and he knew all there was to know about you. Katsuki Bakugou knew what set you off, what made you tick. He knew you almost as well as you knew yourself. You were polar opposites in every sense of the word, yet somehow were constantly drawn to each other.

And as you grew, your relationship with him evolved as well. 

Entering U.A. had been a turning point in both of your lives. He had been hailed as a hothead, arrogant, and you the protege of the famous recovery girl for your incredibly strong healing quirk. The two of you really couldn’t be more different.

However, you were still drawn to each other by a force that you couldn’t explain. Always conscious of the other person's whereabouts, of their thoughts and their feelings. You both were on a different wavelength than all the other students.

Often, the two of you were mistaken to be dating, and you never bothered to correct someone when they mentioned it because what you felt for Katsuki Bakugou, it was definitely love, but it was something else too. 

Rolling over on your bed, you look up to the ceiling and rest your arms above your head. Another sleepless night, one of many recently, where you have been pulled from sleep by dreams so vivid they tugged at an empty space in your memory with such tenacity, you woke to a sob begging to leave your lips. You want to sleep, you need the rest, knowing that tomorrow you have a day of full training with Recovery Girl. But it just doesn’t come. 

Giving up, you rise from your bed and walk towards your balcony, swiftly opening the door with a silent hiss. The full moon casts the world alight outside, and you sit onto the old chair you had forced your friends to help drag up here in your first year. With your blanket from your bed, you settle into the chair and let your eyes close as a gentle breeze washes over you. Maybe, just maybe out here, you can get some sleep. 

A man's laugh echoes around you, so happy and full of life, you spin in your spot trying to find the source. But the noise teases you, becoming so loud it begins to make your ears ring. The noise pounding harshly against your eardrums, as if to engrain the sounds into your mind. Covering your ears with your hands, you fall to your knees, expecting a sharp pain from the fall, you close your eyes, but there’s nothing. The sound is gone, there’s nothing but a gentle breeze that brushes across your cheekbones. Opening your eyes, the bright light covering everything around you has faded until you’re standing in the middle of a field, a very old Japanese style house sits far in front of you, the lights on and laughter coming from inside it. Cautiously, you weave through the grains of wheat, following a tug in your chest and a voice in your head that says ‘Yes, go there, that is what you seek.’ 

When you get close enough to hear the quiet music, you pause in your steps, looking at the two faceless figures inside the house. They stand in the kitchen, one dancing around whilst the other just laughs. You don’t know who they are, but you’ve never seen two people so happy. Dancing and laughing whilst preparing food, it felt so dreamlike, yet something screamed at you that this was real. 

Your warring thoughts quiet as something gently flutters in front of your eyes before landing on your nose. Turning your head to the sky, falling snow begins to cover the world in gentle flurries that make you immediately feel at peace. The clouds block out the moon and every bit of light, until the world is wrapped in darkness and all you can hear is the laughter from the people as you fall. 

You open your eyes, your chest heaving as your brain becomes foggier than before. A sob is threatening to bubble from your lips, and you sit up from your position as if that will help. You rub at your chest as you bite back the cry from your lips. Your heart aches as if you’re mourning the dream, but you can’t make out why. 

“You’re going to catch a cold out here dumbass.” Your eyes move from your feet to the vermillion red pair on the balcony next to yours, and you let out a shiver at his gaze.

“Well at least I got some sleep out here. I couldn't get any inside.”

“You weirdo.” he grumbles, but you know Katsuki is watching you carefully. “Are you having those dreams again?” 

“Recovery girl thinks it may be a side effect of my quirk. That by healing people, when they are at their most vulnerable, I somehow gain access to a bit of their mind or soul, or something like that.” You explain what you had told him time and time again after you had let it slip that you were unable to sleep because of vivid dreams. 

“That would explain how realistic the dreams are, but it still makes no sense.” 

“What time is it?”

“Two thirty-three.” Katsuki answers and you let out a groan. You had only managed to sleep for an hour. Fantastic. For a moment you stand in silence on your balconies, just taking everything in and appreciating each other's presence.

“I’m going to say this just once, so listen close. Do you need help?” To anyone else, you suppose it would come across as Bakugou being rude, but as you look at him, and see the genuine concern buried deep in his eyes, you know his intentions are anything but malicious. 

“Would you?”

“You don’t even need to fucking ask.” With effortless grace, Bakugou places his foot on the railing before clearing the gap between your two rooms, his feet quickly touching the floor of your own balcony. Without waiting or you Katsuki trudges inside, expecting you to follow, before climbing into your bed. You follow suit with no hesitation, cuddling up to the blonde’s side and resting your cheek to his chest, appreciating the way it rises and falls with every breath. 

“Thank you Bakugou,”

“Just don’t fucking mention it.” He replies, closing his eyes and letting you sleep against him. Since you were children, you were constantly plagued with the inability to sleep. However, Bakugou seemed to be a remedy for that, where you would only nap when on playdates, and when you were old enough to approach the topic with him, he had taken it with no anger or annoyance. He truly was a different person with you. Everyone had noticed but never mentioned it with fear of facing his wrath. And you are glad because to try and explain the connection that the two of you seem to share, you simply can’t, and you don’t think you will ever be able to. 

“We have a briefing tomorrow, apparently the rise in villain activity has the teachers freaking out. They’re bringing us to explain what's going on.”

“Do you think we will have to fight?” You manage to bring yourself to ask. Whether he notices the nervous tremor in your voice at the idea of your friends going into war or not, you aren’t completely sure, but Bakugou gently plays with a strand of your hair as he stares at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, I do. Not that you’ll be the one beating up the bad guys.” He says, but he doesn’t deny the fact that you wouldn’t be on the front lines. Because if a war was to break out, you will be. With your healing quirk as strong as it is, you could be the turning point between winning and losing a fight. 

“I hope that it's all not real.”

“A part of me hopes for that too.” Bakugou admits. He looks down at you and gently cups your cheek, knowing you are unable to hide the fear on your face, and even if you were able to, he would see it. He always does. 

“I’m scared Katsuki.” There's a vulnerability in his eyes as he slowly tilts his head and places his lips to yours in a whisper of a kiss. Immediately shocks erupt across your skin making every single hair on your arms raise in alarm. You head dizzies and you gently grip his shirt to steady yourself to the moment. When he pulls back and you get another glimpse of those ruby eyes, shock rolls through you at the expression in them. There’s fear in his eyes, and you’ve never seen it before. 

“Me too, but nothing is going to happen to either of us. I won’t fucking allow it.” He grumbles before rolling onto his side and bringing you closer. Somewhere along the way, the two of you fall asleep, and then rise again when the noise of people coming from the common room is too hard to ignore. 

                        +   +   +   +   

The mood was somber as everyone disbanded from the meeting room. Instinctively, you reach for the person beside you and grab their hand. Bakugou doesn’t question it as he threads his fingers through yours, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

Tomorrow, they would organise a offensive strike against the currently known base of the League of Villains. The outcome was expected to fall into a full on war, which is why it was crucial to make the first move. You had felt the confidence radiating off the pro’s in the meeting, as if to hide their nerves from the students who will be taking part in the mission as well. The world would be different after tomorrow, and you weren’t completely sure if you were ready for that outcome.

Looking up, you see Katsuki watching Endeavour speak with Aizawa down the end of the hall, his careful gaze picking up every small movement and action. You must have watched him long enough for him to notice, and he turns his gaze to you. 

“Why are you staring at me?” He growls at you, but there's no true bite. You don’t really have an answer for him, so instead you voice your unease. 

“Everything is going to change tomorrow, isn’t it?” The words don’t make the pressure on your chest any easier to handle, if anything, they cause your thoughts to cloud as urgency fills your blood. 

“Probably. We’re going to take out those fucking bastards and the world will be better for it. We’ll be fine angel face.” He says looking down at you before dragging you out of the building and back towards the dorms.

You hope Bakugou is right, but something inside you screams that nothing good will come from tomorrow. And even though you won’t be taking part in the combat, you will be there on the front lines supplying support and healing who you can. 

One more time, you glance up at Bakugou and decide that you will do everything within your power to help make sure that everything goes right tomorrow.

                                  +   +   +   +   

You’re in hell.

Your bones groan under the pressure as you place your hands against the pro hero’s shoulder/ The wound instantly begins to close, and you ignore the emerging burning pain from your own shoulder as you use your quirk. You have trained to be able to withstand large amounts of pain, and your healing quirk was stronger then a lot of others, making you a saviour to the school and today. 

“Y/n, we need your help over here!” You turn your head at Izuku’s voice and gasp as you see him carrying an unconscious Shouto over his shoulder. You get up from the now healed man and race to your friends. You notice what he’s cut up quite badly, but by simply placing your hand on him, you can see the broken ribs, one threatening to pierce his lung. 

“Lay him down.” You say, stepping back. Once Midoriya places Shouto on the floor, you put your hands on his chest and begin to use your quirk, a faint light emitting from your hands as you do so. You take the time to look over Izuku for any injuries, but other than some cuts and bruises he seems to be okay.

It’s only when Shouto lets out a groan and opens his eyes that you let yourself breathe out a sigh of relief. Izuku watches you for a moment before speaking and basically reading your mind. 

“We were taken by surprise from a stray group of villains. Kacchan and I managed to apprehend most of them, but one with a strength quirk basically threw Todoroki through a building, so we decided it was best to fall back for the moment.” He explained and Shouto suddenly let out a groan from between you, opening his eyes and you immediately let out a breath of relief. However it doesn’t last long as his hoarse voice breaks the peace. 

“Where’s Bakugou?” He asks, and your heart drops through your chest. That's right, the three of them are supposed to be in a group. You look from Shouto’s worried gaze and back to Izuku who spins around the makeshift medical hospital. But you already know, he’s not here.

“He was right behind us, I swear-” You don’t even stop to think of what you're doing, your body just begins to move on your own. Ignoring the multiple protests, you sprint out of the building, mentally tugging on that connection deep inside your chest, until you can almost hear it. 

This way. This way.

Hurry.

You have never questioned the feeling once in your life, and you don’t start now. Your legs scream from the overuse of your quirk as you run through rubble and across collapsed structures. But not once do you stop. You have to find him, and something tells you that you need to do it quickly. There's suddenly an explosion from what feels like right beside your head, that has you being thrown back multiple feet. You hit the ground hard and for a moment, the words spin. Your ears ring as you blink your eyes rapidly, trying to focus your balance again. 

Get up. Get up. With shaking hands, you push yourself into a sitting position and try to stop the world from spinning. You try to stare at something to focus your gaze, but a flash of black and orange catches your eyes instead. Standing only a few yards away, is a very bloody Bakugou, with a snarling face and small explosions popping from his hands. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see that his leg is very broken, and his hands… he’s overused his quirk so much he’s bleeding. There’s a rumble from beneath your feet, and you watch in horror as the building behind you both begins to crumble, and standing directly in its wake, unable to move, stands Bakugou.

Horror pulses through your veins at sight, and you are on your feet in seconds. One second, you’re running towards the blonde, and the next your feet aren’t even touching the ground and you’re moving faster than you ever thought possible as a dull pain explodes from between your shoulder blades. You reach Katsuki in seconds, grabbing him as you fly past where the building will fall, feeling the gust of air and dust as debris begins to hit the ground where he once stood. By the time you crash into the ground, you’re out of the destruction zone, but not yet out of danger. 

Groaning at your aching body as you open your eyes again, you can’t see anything because of the dust whipping around through the air, and white feathers. You follow the trail of feathers until your senses acknowledge the weighty wings now emerging from either side of your spine. You have wings? Your thoughts are cut off as you finally see the person on the floor a few feet from you. “Bakugou?” You croak. You can barely walk, but you force your legs to move towards the lying figure. He groans at his name, but that groan quickly becomes a cough that splutters ruby droplets onto the grey floor next to him.

“Katsuki!” By the time you reach his side, you don’t know where to look first, or where to heal first. A large wound cover’s his abdomen and you know deep down, it's fatal. But you can stop it, you can save him. 

“You’re not dying on me okay, Just- just keep looking at me okay?” Tears stream down your cheeks as you try not to sob. With a painful cry, he opens his eyes and you give him a soft smile as those red vermillion orbs you love so much meet your own. 

“That’s it, just keep looking at me. It’s all going to be okay.”

Do not fail him. Not again.

Placing your hands against his wound, you feel his warm blood cover your fingers, but you push your quirk into your hands, diving deep into the pit of power inside your chest as fast as you can. Normally, quick healing can cause you to pass out, but you don’t care about repercussions as you look down at Bakugou. You know without a doubt that he is the love of your life, that the connection you have to him basically made it that way, but your heart did the rest. He’s the love of your life, and you won’t let him die. Not when you can do something to stop it. 

Slowly, his wounds begin to stitch back together, and the bleeding begins to slow. With a painful growl, his red vermillion eyes look up at you, pure shock swirling inside them. 

“Y/n?” The light slows from your hands and for a moment you’re blinded. “What did you do?” You feel nothing at first.  

Then the pain hits you like a sledgehammer. You cough as you fall forwards, your body collapsing beneath your weight. A hand catches you as you fall, stopping your descent for a second. You are turned so you can see the sky, and a dirty, bruised and battered Bakugou kneels over you. 

“Y/n!” He’s shouting at you, but you can barely move to reply. More blood leaves your mouth, the taste of copper being the only thing you can taste. You’re so weak. So weak. Bakugou holds onto you, frantically looking over you, as if trying to find a way to fix you. But he can’t. This is how it’s supposed to be, the voice inside your head says, and for some reason you feel content with the outcome. You may have sacrificed yourself, but to let Bakugou live. It was meant to be this way.

“You fucking idiot. You-you MORON! Take it back! Take it back!” He shouts at you, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” you manage to croak out. 

“Its not fucking okay! I’m not letting you die. I’m not letting you go,”

“Katsuki,” you look into his eyes, his hands shake as he takes you in. “This was how it was supposed to be.” You aren’t sure what compels you to say it, but it feels right. You know he has the same sense, because Bakugou vehemently shakes his head and snarls at you. 

“Angel face, you’re not dying on me, you hear me?” He’s crying, gripping the front of your hero costume so tightly,

“I love you.” Your words break from pain, but also from sadness, fear. You are dying, and there is no way you would come out of this situation alive.

You are going to die.

“I will find you again, in the next life. I swear it.” You hiss out as the pain in your abdomen worsens. Without looking down you know that the wound that was once open on his stomach, now emerged on your own. It was the side effect of your quirk, healing others at the expense of your own pain. 

“Please,” You’ve never heard him use the word, in all the years you have known him. And you can count on one hand how many times you have been a witness to his tears. But here he was, sat next to you, tears running marks through the dust on his cheeks, sobbing at you. 

“Don’t leave me. I love you. I need you. Don’t go, not yet.”

“I love you Katsuki,” You smile as you close your eyes and feel yourself take your final breath. You feel the shortness of breath, the air pooling inside your lungs before it expels. And part of you wants time to stop, just so you can experience another second of life, another second to see Katsuki, another second to hear him say your name. But as you let out your final breath, you’re content, because this was how it was meant to be.

A gruttal noise ricochets around you, followed by a scream so loud and heartbroken your eyes snap open. Only you’re no longer in the crushing grip of the man you love. Somehow, you’re standing to the side, watching Katsuki clutch your lifeless body to his chest, screaming. Your eyes sting as you watch him break down. You’re sobbing as you see the moment that Izuku and Shouto arrive on the scene, followed by a variety of other heroes. You’re on the floor as you watch them try to take your body from Katsuki’s hands, but the man practically explodes when they try, so they leave you both there. 

A figure appears behind you, how you know that, you’re not completely sure, but you know someone, or something is there. “Did I do something wrong?” You ask the air.

“No, you followed the path that was placed before you.” a voice that is everything and nothing all at once replies. It sounds as if its inside your head, but also everywhere around you. Turning around slowly, you find the source of the voice being a glowing silhouette of a figure. 

“How did I know what to do? How did I manage to get to him intime?” How the fuck did I grow wings? You wanted to be mad, but everything around you held an air of serenity that you couldn’t physically make yourself become mad. 

“You were one of my children once upon a time.” The voice says, and even though you can’t see their eyes, you can feel their gaze on the wings still behind your shoulder blades. “And you bartered for something that you had no right to claim. And now you must endure.”

“Endure what? What did I do to deserve this!” You hiss, looking at Katsuki, rocking you against him, his shouts still meeting your ears. “What did I do to make him have to live through that!” Your yell breaks from your chest broken and angry as you point to the scene in front of you. Turning around back to the figure you are prepared to release yourself upon it when suddenly it's right in front of you, golden liquid swirls in its eyes and you can’t look away.

“You have to see first.” Hands are placed either side of your face, and instantly grief so painful hits your chest, physically knocking you back and pulling a cry from your lips as your world goes black. 

                                             +   +   +   +   

“Don’t you find this boring?” You ask, looking through the small portal to the world below you. The person next to you sighs, and you turn to them, almost taken back that they look like a male version of you. The same eyes and hair. He was your older brother, your brain fills in. 

“Our job is an honour y/n,” he points out, his eyes narrowing on you slightly.

“I know that, I just wish we could do more you know.”

“When you get your client, you will.” He says smiling, gently patting your head as he stands up. “It should be any day now.” You stand up and smile at your brother.

“I will be the best guardian that ever lived!”

“I have no doubt about it cherub.”

                                     ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

So this is what the human world was like? You wonder as your wings fly you past a war torn town to where the tents stand high over the dirt. It smells like death. The small bond in your chest that binds you to your client pulls you down an alley between tents until you’re standing at the entrance of what you know is a makeshift hospital. With no hesitation you walk in, weaving through nurses and patients alike until you find the curtained off room you’re looking for. Inside there's a sharp yell and followed by a stream of words that make you blanch. Mother have mercy, he had the mouth of a sailor. Deciding to wait until the nurses left the room, you slinked inside and pulled the curtains closed behind you.

The man on the bed instinctively looked up and glared at you and for a second it rocked you. He could see you. Wait, of course he could, you were his guardian angel, he was the only human on the planet able to see you unless you willed it so. 

“Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my fucking room?” For a second, you just stared at the man. With his ash blonde hair, he almost seemed as angelic as you, however those red vermillion eyes had your breath hesitating for disperse from your lungs for only but a moment. They were beautiful.

Realising he was still waiting for your response, you straightened your spine and walked to him, shoving your hand out towards him and let your wings spread out behind you. 

“I’m Y/n, your new guardian angel.”

                                      ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“So you were sent home from the war?” You ask, sitting on the front porch of his old house, swinging your legs as you watched Katsuki work. 

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Katsuki turns to you and frowns at your question. He’d given up on trying to ignore you by this point, upon realising that you wouldn’t leave, so he would humour some of your curiosity. You had tried to breach the reason that you were called upon him in the first place, but he hadn’t yet told you, and as you looked blatantly at his glare, you knew today wasn’t going to be that day either. But it never hurt to try. 

“I was discharged.” Was his familiar response, as he lifted the too over his head and brought it down onto the soil once again. 

“Same thing. So you went from being a general in the army, to being working out here… On a farm.”

“It was my mentor's farm.” Katsuki barks at you, instantly on the defensie. His tone has you raising your hands in the air in peace.

“Hey, I’m not judging you. It’s literally part of my job not to.” You joke, hoping to earn a smile from the man, but all he does is turn away and keep working. You knew a little about why you were sent to be Katsuki’s guardian. He was a rare case, where he had already had a guardian angel, one that had requested a transfer. It kicked up such a fuss amongst the guardians that they assigned you, a newly fledged guardian to him, as if handing off a used toy. Sometimes, you would look at the blonde and think just why his previous guardian made such a decision. Sure he was brash and could be an asshole, but you didn’t have to be a guardian angel to see that he had a good heart. But what had he faced in that war? How had that changed him? What demons did he now carry? That was your job, to watch over him, and give him quality of life until his time was up. You weren’t supposed to completely interfere with him, but he looked so incredibly emotionless all the time, you had to do something. 

Standing up from your spot on the porch, you hop down onto the grass and walk towards him. Grabbing the hessian sack containing the seeds by his feet, you look at Katsuki who is now watching you carefully.

“Well if i’m going to be eating your food, I may as well help right?” You say, smiling from ear to ear in encouragement. Please don’t lock me out, I want to help you. Please let me help you…

“Tch whatever, just don’t get in my way cherub.” He hadn’t meant the nickname to stick, but from that moment on it had. It was familiar to you, for its what your brother had called you, but when it came from Katsuki, it seemed to hit your heart differently somehow. 

“I promise!” 

                    ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“Were you always a cherub or did you have a life before or something?” You’re laying on the roof of the old house, looking up at the dark sky, stars flickering across it, familiar constelations glinting at you. 

“I’m not sure.” You answer honestly, which has him turning to you. 

“What? You don’t know?” He sounds so offended by your words, so you scramble for an explanation. 

“Well, I have a brother. I know he’s my brother, but I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t know if I was always an angel, or if I was something more before…” Your voice trails off as you look at the sky. Was it possible that you could have been human before you were an angel. You were young compared to some other people of your kind, but you never counted birthdays, so you weren’t even sure how old you were. The idea of your existence suddenly seemed too daunting to fully contemplate, and your eyes sting. If you had been human… did that mean you had a family? A mother and a father? Maybe some siblings? Does that mean you had died… Tears leak out of the corner of your eyes and suddenly Katsuki sits up.

“Shit, are you crying?” His question has you rubbing the salt water from your cheeks and looking at your tear covered hands in awe. You had never cried before… so thats what it was like… 

“I- fuck- I didn’t mean to make you cry y/n,” Katsuki is watching you carefully, with actual guilt on his face. The unfamiliar emotion shocks you still for a moment, before you smile softly at him.

“It’s fine, I just never really thought about it before I guess… you had never questioned your existence until this point. It was weird and overwhelming, to suddenly question something you had believed your whole life, something you knew to be true, but not quite having the whole truth. What was once something you had never paid mind to now felt like a cavernous hole in your chest that screamed to be filled with something.

“You were probably just as annoying as a human as you are now, so I wouldn’t get that excited.” A laugh drips from your mouth as you tilt your head back. Never before had you felt so many mixed emotions at once, sadness and happiness contradict each other inside your chest, and you couldn’t do anything but laugh, and offer the man next to you a tear covered smile. 

“You’re probably right. Maybe I was a crap human.”

“I doubt it.” Your head snaps back to him in slight shock. Although Katsuki had been warming up to your presence, he was yet to be so open about it. “You must have done something right to become someone's guardian angel. So rest easy cherub, there's no way you could have done anything bad in your past life - if you had one.” Katsuki says, laying back down on the roof and averting his gaze back to the sky. You can’t help but watch him for just a moment more. Compared to when you two had first met, he seemed a lot more relaxed and at peace out here, in the middle of nowhere working a farm, then he had been elsewhere. It made you happy, and somewhere deep down, you knew you should have simply felt indifferent about it. But things were changing, you were changing, and you didn’t want to stop.

                        ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Katsuki had been out working when someone began pounding on the sliding doors. From your seat on the back porch, you placed down your book and stood up. Glancing out to the fields, you could see a silhouette in the distance and knew Katsuki would take to long to get back, and the person sounded like they needed help right now. You took a step towards the front door but paused when you realised what you were doing. You were seriously about to break one of the sacred laws without a second thought. For letting someone else that wasn’t your client was a taboo, one that people only crossed if absolutely necessary. You’d been warned against it multiple times, yet here you were about to break it with no hesitation.

What was wrong with you? When did you become so laid back that you forgot your own laws? 

More pounding emits from the other side of the screen door, and you can vaguely see the shadow of the person. Your couldn’t help them. You weren’t here, you weren’t even real. 

You. Were. Not. Human. 

“Please, I need help! My daughter is incredibly ill and I don’t know what to do!” This time you don’t falter when you reach and yank open the sliding door. For a moment, the woman looks over you with glazed eyes, but it's quickly broken when the little girl in her arms lets out a whimper. 

“Please, can you help her? I don’t know anything about medicine and the village doctor is a few hours away.” The woman begs with tears in her eyes. The concern in her eyes pulls at something inside you, and you quickly move to the side, ushering her into the house. 

“Come this way, I’ll see what I can do for her.” You say, sliding closed the door behind her and leading her into the main lounge, an area big enough to lay her down comfortably. 

“Thank you so much,” She sighs, placing her daughter down on the bedding on the floor you had pulled out earlier in the day.

“Don’t thank me yet.” You reply. “I don’t know much about medicine from around here, but all I can do is try.” Kneeling down next to the young girl, you close your eyes and let out a shaking breath. There’s a dark aura around her when you open your eyes again, bleeding from her chest, a sight you have come to recognise as death. The little girl was dying. 

Briefly unsure as to what to do for her, you raise your hands over her and gently place your hands on her arm, letting out another shaky breath. You had only ever heard of it in rumours, and seen it briefly when your brother had healed a cut on your leg, but it was worth a try.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you pictured your essence bleeding into the little girl's arm, going into her bloodstream and pushing out the darkness that beckoned her. For a moment, there was nothing other than the gentle rustle of the trees against the old house. But then, a light began to emit from your hands that was so bright you could see it behind your closed eyelids. 

And when you opened your eyes, you saw the golden light streaming from your hands into the little girl, who’s eyes finally began to flutter. By the time it dimmed to nothing, her eyes opened and a sob ripped out of her mother.

“Mother?” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep. The mother lunged for her, pulling her into a chest with a relieved cry. Holding her tight to her chest, she looked over her daughters head to you and cried. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” You didn’t quite know how to respond, so you simply nodded at her, yourself struck with awe. It was only once you had stood up and moved to give them some space that you noticed Katsuki in the doorway, his brows furrowed and a look on his face that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“How did you do that?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the mother and daughter on his floor. You let out an internal sigh at the fact he wasn’t mad that you had invited them into his house without his permission.

“I’m not sure to be honest.”

“That was incredible.” This time, you gape at him as he moves towards you and cups your cheeks. “That was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen.” Katsuki says honestly, and you forget how to breathe. 

“Katsuki…” He ignores your words and looks at the mother on the floor with a fierce glare. You’re about to reprimand him when he folds his arms across his strong chest. 

“If you ever speak to anyone about what happened here-”

“I won’t. I swear.” The mother said, smiling as she stood up. As she passed you she bowed deeply, still holding once again sleeping, but healthy, daughter in her hands. “I will not forget this miracle. Thank you so much for saving my daughter.” And then she’s gone. You stand still, stuck in place by her words. You’re relieved that you helped her, but you know part of you should be worried. You can’t seem to make yourself though, you’re elated, and want to jump around in joy. You had saved that little girl's life.

“You let her see you.” Katsuki says from behind you, and you turn to face him, but he's not looking at you. Standing on the porch, he’s looking back out at the fields and rubs his temples. Maybe he was mad.

“I wasn’t going to help, but when I heard her daughter was sick-”

“And what happens if she goes and tells everyone in the village that some random stranger healed her daughter… with some sort of magic? WHat do you think will happen then y/n?!” You were wrong, so wrong. Katsuki stands in front of you, absolutely livid, and for the first time since you've met him, you can’t read him.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think it through…” You conclude, embarrassed suddenly at your impulsive behaviour.

“What happens if they come here searching for you? They will try and burn you at the stake for being a witch y/n!” Katsuki yells, and you flinch.

“I’m sorry!” You shout back, letting your own frustration at his current attitude make itself known. “You’re right! I didn’t think. Instead, I heard that a little girl was sick, was dying, and I decided to help her. I’m sorry if that's too much for you, but that's not your decision to make Katsuki.”

“You’re damn right it is my decision! You’re my guardian angel, I cant fucking lose you.” Your breath catches at the slight tears building in the corner of his eyes as he points an accusing finger at you. “I can’t lose you y/n.” his anger suddenly drops until he stands there, arms limp by his sides, not daring to look at you. Hesitantly, you step towards him and gingerly reach out for one of his clenched fists. Your heart pounds inside your chest as you feel his warm hand in your own. You’d never really touched him before, not like this at least. Ahd as you drag his gaze to yours, you know that you’re breaking some major rules by doing what you’re about to do, but something also tells you that you had already broken the rule a long time ago. 

“Katsuki,” He finally looks into your eyes, and you find yourself struggling to find the words you want to say, but luckily he complete’s your thoughts by pressing his lips to yours. Sparks shoot down your spine as he threads his free hand into your hair, and every single cell in your body feels as if it has been set alight. This was wrong, on so many levels, but how could this be wrong when being this close to him felt like the most right thing in the entire world?

You clutch his dirt covered shirt in one hand and gently push away from the kiss, resting your forehead on his chest. 

“I can’t-” He grips your chin at your words and stares into your eyes. With so much conviction, Katsuki’s words thread into your heart, permanently scaring his name into your flesh. 

“I love you cherub. I don’t care what power I have to destroy to keep you, but I will do it. I’d bring down heaven just for you.” It was as if you had been waiting your entire life to hear those words, from him. 

“I am yours, Katsuki Bakugou. And you are mine.” You whisper up at him, delighting in how bright happiness shines in his irises. 

“Always.” 

“I love you, Katsuki.” And this time, you meet him halfway into the embrace, crushing your lips together, and letting him raise you in his arms, and carry you to his room. 

                         ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You got four years together, full of happiness, half asleep smiles, starlight whispers and stolen kisses in the fields. 

Then the soldiers came knocking. 

You had hidden yourself without a second thought when there was a knock on the door of your house, and Katsuki had answered it with a calmness that left his body the second the door opened. The men practically shoved a piece of paper into your lovers hands and left, to leave you to deal with the consequences of their actions. 

“Katsuki?” Your voice seemed to bring him out of the stupor he was in, and had him turning to you with furrowed eyebrows. He read the paper once, then twice, before crumbling it between his fingers and throwing it into the fire. 

“What’s wrong?” but you knew. You knew they were taking him away again. 

“I’m being reinstated.” Was all he said before walking through the house and straight out the back door. 

“Katsuki!” You call out, quickly scrambling after him into the darkness. He stalks through the fields like a man on a mission, and you force your shorter legs to keep up with his pace. 

“Katsuki! Everything will be alright-”

“Alright?” He barks, turning around on you with anger flashing through his eyes. “What about this is alright Y/n? They’re making me leave everything to fight in a pointless war, leave you behind. What about that is alright?” His voice threatens to break, and you take advantage of his moment of stillness to move closer to him. 

“You’re right, nothing about this situation is alright. It’s a nightmare come to life, but its our reality.” You say, placing your hands on his cheek, causing Katsuki to close his eyes and lean into your touch. “I don’t want you to leave, but we both know…” Your voice breaks on the word, but you hold back the sob threatening to break free. “You have to go.” The tears building in your eyes break free and roll down your cheeks in a never ending wave, and no matter how many times Katsuki tries to rectify it by wiping them with his thumb, they don’t stop. 

“I don’t want you to go. I want us to stay here. I want to live here forever.” The words force themselves from you as the realisation that he’s leaving finally sinks in. He was going off to war, and there was a chance he would never come back. He could die. 

“I want to live here forever too.” He says, and you look up in slight shock. He was crying, and the only reason you could see the sight was due to the moonlight making them sparkle as they rolled down his cheeks. “I want to marry you, have children with you, fight with you, argue with you. I want to grow old with you. I want to love you here, forever. And when the day comes that we do pass on, I want to do that together too. But when I go, please do not follow me. Stay here, wait for me. Please.” You're sobbing by the time he’s finished, your heart breaks so fiercely that you fall to a heap on the floor, clutching each other so tightly as if it were the very last time. 

Katsuki Bakugou was made for you, and you were made for him. And nothing was going to keep either of you apart. 

The days moved quickly after that, each second spent in each other's presence, as if trying to engrave one another to your minds so you couldn’t go a second without thinking about each other. It would most definitely make parting harder, but you couldn’t care. After many arguments, you had eventually agreed to Katsuki’s request to not follow him to war, so instead you concocted a plan of your own. You would go back to headquarters, and you would ensure that you would never be parted from him again.

It was just a myth, or at least that's what you had once believed, but you now knew it was true. It had to be. Claiming your own soulmate was a big risk, and held a heavy price, but you knew you could do it. Because for Katsuki, for the life he mentioned for you both, for this life, you would do anything. 

                      ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The moment you had arrived back in headquarters, you knew something was wrong. But for the first time since ever here, you didn’t care about your job. You didn’t care about the taboo’s, you didn’t care about being a great guardian angel, you just wanted to be great for Katsuki. And you were going to make it happen. But other people had plans that outweighed your own. 

The moment you had stepped inside the library, your vision went hazy and your knees hit the floor, a dull pain throbbing inside your chest. What was going on. Your hazy vision finally focused again, and you found yourself standing in a room, surrounded by guardians residing on grandstands, and before you stood your brother and a silhouette of white light. But it was to your brother that you looked, and almost winced at the horror and disbelief in his eyes. 

“What have you done y/n?” He asked, his voice breaking on the last word. He looked at you like you had stabbed him in the back, and in a way, you had. You had broken the laws of your people for a man, you had betrayed your family for a human. But it was worth it. 

“Y/n, you have been accused of breaking the laws of guardianship with your client. How do you plead.” Said one of the three guardians on the stand behind your brother. You were on trial, you realised. One that you knew would end in your life either being taken, or being banished. You hoped for the latter, that you could deal with. 

“Guilty. As are you.” Your words cause whispers to erupt within the crowd and you turn to the figure of light and glare. 

“You say you create us in the image of yourself, to help humans, to guide them. But by doing so you have made us slaves to your course. We will never know true emotions, we will not experience life, we do not experience love.” Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but you don't care. Let them see the true span of emotions that they never get to experience. Let your words cut them deep. 

“You plead guilty to the charges of breaking lawful conduct with your client Katsuki Bakugou. For this crime, you will be punished with eternal banishment-” Another guardian announces to the room. 

“You can try to take from him, but you will not succeed.” Your yell silences the room, even the slightest whisper quiets at the sound. “My life is his, and his is mine. Until light fades and darkness dies, I will be his and he will be mine.” The words roll off your tongue as if they were made just for you, and for a second you see the silhouette of light flicker, before a sharp pain physically pushes you to the floor. You scream out as your chest burns, as if someone had fisted your heart and set it alight.

There is a moment that you truly believe the pain will kill you, that it will overcome your body and burn you to ash, but as quickly as it appears, the pain dissipates, leaving a thread behind, a thread that throbs harshly inside your chest. A thread that you knew if you followed, would tie you to the love of your life. Holy shit you did it.

“What have you done?!”

“She just bought herself a soulmate,” it's your brother's voice, but you can barely hear him over the sound of your blood pumping through your ears. You raise a hand to your chest as something pulls, feeling as if it tugged upon a rib, and then you're met with such grief it forces your hands to the floor. What was happening? There's a hand at your chin and you look up into the light silhouette and want to cry out at the projection it shows. 

Bakugou lays on the ground, lifeless, covered in dirt. Blood gushes from under him and you let out a howl of a scream. 

“You took something that was not for you,” was the last thing you heard before you collapsed onto the floor and everything went black.

Please not him, not Katsuki. 

                      +   +   +   +   

With a sharp breath, you open your eyes, and fall to the floor as tears stream down your cheeks. The past hits you over and over again, forcing sob after sob from your mouth, as you clutch the surface beneath your hands, trying to ground yourself, but to little effect. 

By the time you have calmed somewhat, your body is completely numb, your brain a cloud of fog continuously rolling in and never dissipating. 

“Was this the price for tying my life to his?”  you ask, knowing that the silhouette of light stil resided in front of you, but you didn’t dare to look up at it. 

“You cannot simply buy a soulmate, or tie your lifeline to his. You are immortal. Forever roaming, never planting your feet purely on the ground.” You clutch your chest, feeling the tether as if it were a string tugging on one of your ribs. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… You turn around and look at the person, the man or woman you can’t tell, it's just a silhouette of blinding light, yet it doesn’t hurt the eyes.

“You mean to say…”

“Yes, you are immortal y/n. You will never die.” and then the being is gone, but his words never leave your mind. 

Because it was right. You don’t die.

For years, you watch the world recover and move on, being unnoticed by all, forever to roam aimlessly as you witness everyone you love grow older.

It's a blessing and a curse, watching your friends all graduate, to grow into their full potential and become the heroes you always knew they would be. But what is hardest is watching Bakugou grow old.

You watch him become the number one hero, you watch him how he regresses and cuts people out of his life in his twenties, and are relieved when his friends help to pull him out of it. You are with him every day, hanging around his apartment, following him on missions, your wings allowing you to keep up with him as he moves quickly. It’s a blessing, even though he doesn’t know you’re there to witness every breakdown, every hardship, but also every success. 

It's a blessing until one day, he meets a woman with a smile like sunshine that stops him in his tracks. You find yourself screaming into the silence, at nothing, trying to do anything to get him to notice you. To remember you. To not forget you, or the previous life that you two once shared.

But this was your punishment, you had bought yourself a human soulmate, one that couldn’t feel the bond as you did, and would most likely never know you existed. 

You watch him date, you watch him have a child, but he never marries the sunshine woman. Instead, she passes away in a freak car accident when the child is barely a few months old. You feel the second she passes the moment it happens, and suddenly she’s in the apartment with you, watching Bakugou try to calm his daughter with no avail. With a sad smile, she turns to you and you’re so shocked you only gape at her. She’s the first person to see you in twenty years. 

“He speaks of you all the time.” She says, looking back at her family once more. “I knew I would always be second in his heart to you, and I was okay with that. I am. He never got over you, and I don’t think he ever will. But he was right, you’re watching over him,” this time she turns her eyes back to you, and wipes the tears from her cheeks. 

“Take care of them, please?” You only get the chance to nod before she's gone. 

Time moves faster it seems towards the latter part of life. You get to watch Katsuki’s daughter grow, and watch him struggle to balance hero work with being an only parent. But your friends Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina, Sero step in to help out their little angel, as they call her. The name makes you want to cry every time. 

You watch Katsuki Bakugou live his life to the fullest, you watch him be a phenomenal father, you watch him get injured, and beat villains. You watch him and your friends grow old without you, until you’ve said your final goodbyes to them all, until it's just Katsuki, surrounded by his loved ones on a hospital bed,  grey haired and tanned skin wrinkles from his retirement days spent out in the sunshine. You see his final goodbyes, and you watch that black aura completely leave his body, and then for the first time, you visibly see that tether. 

A string of golden light, the same shade as the one emitted from your hands a lifetime ago when healing a little girl. A bond that stretches across space and time, permanently tying you to the no young ash blonde standing in front of you. He looks the exact same as he did the day you lost him. Katsuki looks down at his hands before looking at you as the world around you begins to dull. 

“Y/n?” You smile at him, letting tears roll down your cheeks as you run to him. “Y/n!” A cry leaves your mouth as you hear him say your name, it had been so long since you’d heard it.

You stop just before him, and hesitantly reach out. You hadn’t felt another touch in a lifetime, and to see him now, to have him here, it seemed too good to be true. However any doubt you carry isn’t held in Katuski, who quickly pulls you into him, a strangled noise coming from his mouth as he directs his lips to yours. You cry against him as you feel his warm touch beneath your fingers, and you know this is real. He’s here.

“Cherub,” he whispers into your hair, and you bury your face into his chest, gripping his back tightly enough to hurt, but he doesn’t say a word. Tilting your chin with a hand, you find yourself looking into the same red vermillion eyes that existed in another time, another dimension, a pair that loved you just as much as they did now. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- I couldn’t save you before.” Words bubble out of you before you can stop them. There are so many things you want to say, but not enough time. Because you know that this won’t last forever. 

“Cherub, I’m glad you weren’t there. But you sacrificing yourself for me is another thing because I-” his voice breaks on the word. “I missed you so much Y/n, every fucking day. I wanted to die without you…”

“I made sure you wouldn’t,” your words make him rear back slightly and look down at you again.  “I made a deal, that if you died I would die too, because that would mean I failed my job as your guardian. I made you my soulmate.”

“What was the price?”

“I don’t know.” You say in reply, but now, you think you have the vaguest idea. You bought yourself a soulmate, something that shouldn’t really exist, so now, you would have to wait until the universe decided you had paid enough time until you can reap what you took. 

“How are you here? Did I…” Katsuki finally asks, looking around at the world still moving on without him, but his embrace doesn’t loosen around you for a moment. As if he too is too afraid to let you go. 

“You’re ready to pass on,”

“What about you?” You blink at him and hold onto his biceps. “When I tied myself to you, it was something deeper than I expected, I bought myself a soul to match mine, and I have to pay the consequences from such actions.” an archway opens in front of you both catching your attention, and you shift your gaze from it to your soulmate. You place your hands on his cheeks bringing his scared eyes to yours once more.

“You won’t remember me in your next life,” Katsuki instantly utters a complaint but you shut him up with a hand. “I will be with you, always. I will protect you until my dying breath, and that's all I can do until I pay back for what I took.” Fresh tears well in his eyes as you both feel the pending goodbye begin to loom over you. Your time was coming to an end. 

“How long?” He asks, pressing his forehead to yours and taking in everything about your face whilst he still can. 

“I don’t know, but a few more lifetimes.”

“So I’m just meant to forget you?” He cries, his voice hoarse from crying, and clutches your cheeks tightly. 

“I- I don’t want to. I love you, I never stopped.”

“I know you did, and not a second has gone by that I haven’t loved you with every fibre of my being. But please try and be happy, at least until I get there.” You say, giving him a final soft smile, but as much as you try to portray confidence, the tears of sadness flooding your face you know do the complete opposite. You’ve been so lonely without him, and now, you’re about to lose him all over again. 

“How am I meant to be happy when you’re taking the source of my happiness with you?” He whispers brokenly, and your heart clenches painfully inside your chest. 

“I will always come back to you Katsuki.” The light from the archway begins to glow brighter and brighter, becoming too bright to look at, so instead, you focus on your soulmate and kiss him one final time, putting everything you had into the embrace, and Katsuki returns it tenfold. When you finally pull from him once more, you close your eyes and press your forehead to his. 

“I will find you again, nothing will keep me from you cherub.” 

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[whereflowersbloom]

Sealed Fate

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. Oh she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longe mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian: Prince of Gotham, the great. Gotham the glorious. Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Wearing a silver attire, a veil, a lilies and myrtle garland, and a golden headband. The Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Helena and Timotheos had fallen. No body of Jason had been found after the last battle with Crete. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, displaying strength and virility akin to a noble lion, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. He was a God in beauty and stature. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face and focused on her new family. They have been so impeccably polite, specially Richard. ‘Welcome my good sister. We are all so blessed to have you.’ Blessed. Blessed child she had been called once long ago.

Do you feel blessed, my dear sister?” Richard asked, passing a golden wine cup into her hand. His wide smile meant no harm nor his words. As she grew up Raven was left to learn how to smile and laugh prettily at compliments that made her skin crawl, feign the innocence of any maiden her age.

Blinking several times, she looked back at him and smiled weakly. “Of course, brother.”

Richard was all dancing, light and lean seduction, dark myrrh hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in a blue and gold tunic. Her new brother appeared to be content to sit in the shadow of his younger brother and watch him gleam in all his glory. Cassandra did not speak with her, she was the only calm in the midst of a storm of abrupt adjustment. She tried to pay no heed to the murmurs of gossiping women at the feast, eyes green with envy as she had married the godlike prince. Foreign seductress. Demon spawn.

Bruce and Olivier discussed vehemently about warfare and politics with Kal-El and Kon-El. Diana and Artemis were carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Shiera’s recent journey in Egypt. She caught no sight of Trigon to her relief.

Trigon. Other gods might have roared their pleasure at the skills and intelligence of their offspring, praised their achievements for all to hear whilst filling themselves to the brim with nectar. Not Trigon, who wanted to sire no child but found himself infatuated with Arella, bedding her out of enjoyment.

If she were godly, truly a deity, in all of its ways with fantastical unlimited power, then one could not help but ask: Would Trigon praise her then? Did he not want her because she bled red as earthlings. As I’d guessing what she was thinking her husband finally spoke.

“For a deity to come down on solid ground isn’t seen many times. For her to wed a mortal willingly is even more ambiguous.” Damian exhaled softly, standing right next to her. His voice was so deep, so soothing and alluring as she had imagined.

“I am no deity. I am the undesired offspring of the god of death.” She said in a choked voice. Not sure if he was mocking the nature of her position. Green eyes alight with amusement.

“You are anything but undesired, wife.” Damian responded, voice low in his throat, and private; a voice she knew in her bones he meant only for her. His face reflected an earnest expression filled with so much pure-hearted sincerity that it stole Raven’s breath away

No man had ever spoken of passion or desire to Raven, and all that she knew of such words she had overheard her tutors speak, or learned from old songs; the glory of being called beautiful in tones, not of cool reason but burning emotion flooded her entirely. She was desired. Biting her lip, her face flushed, and shining starlight hair drooping over her face as if that would somehow hide how obviously close to tears she was.

Damian smiled serenely and Raven felt like he’d seen the sun. Resembling the sun and light, Apollo.

He had a gentleness to him that is completely foreign to her experience, not seen at first sight, discerning the heavy emotions in his eyes. Raven did not know before that it was possible for men to be gentle. One glance and she thought of him kissing her mouth, just as he thought of tasting her skin. Uncertainty lies in her desire for the reciprocal dedication to infallible ardour.

Air. Her lungs were in need of air.

~~~

She went to the garden of Thetis, to sit among the flowers and watch the moon-washed stars. The goddess of flowers must have visited bringing brightness and beauty wherever she stepped, as she appreciated a patch of narcissus, foxgloves, hyacinth, and delphinium displaying tightly clustered flowers upon tall stalks in varied blues and purples, in full bloom, surrounded by the thick chorus of crickets chirping all around. With all thoughts of threats and protecting her homeland, Raven found herself strangely empty. It wasn’t hollowness: it was the emptiness of shock, of disbelief and misunderstandings when everything you’d imagined was pulled out from underneath you and she was suddenly living in a reality where someone admired her? Yearn for her touch rather than fear her.

“Raven.” Kon-El sighed her name as he walked closer to her, fabric softly trailing on the grass and it made Raven tremble. His ocean eyes saddened, darkened, burning through her and reducing anything to ash, to nothingness. There were things that must be said but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

“When Morpheus came to me in my dreams. I did not dare look upon his godly figure. But I heard his voice like a thunder from grand Zeus. He promised your hand would be mine to hold.” The words had come bitter and aching with such profound loss that it made her throat tighten with his emotion.

“I have a husband now, Kon.” She mumbled quietly, using his infancy name, casting her gaze downwards. “They were nothing but hollow words, grains of sand carried upon the wind of Aeolus.” His disapproval at the mention of the word husband was obvious.

Attempting to reason with him to not make a claim of a right that was no longer his. She could sense his anger, regret, sorrow. Envy . Why do you look at me in such way? Why do you look at me as if you pity me? Why do you look at me with eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, all at once? Where did her sweet and naughty Kon go? She wished to voice those questions.

With clenched fists, he nodded. “It’s for the gods to decide as our fate lies in their hands.” Kon-El spoke solemnly with unshakable conviction. “You have a husband tonight, but take heed as The Fates could cut his thread of life coming morrow.” He bowed down and left without saying no more.

No. No. He would not dare. Notion spit forth from such a place of hate, fear and confusion like its like a venom small at first or great yet if allowed it to take over fully.

The night was calm, witness of the conversation between two old friends, the stifling hot of the day finally giving way to a coolness which smelled like an approaching storm. Yes, she could feel it, there was a storming coming with the unforgiving and celestial ire of Zeus.

~~~

The feast passed quickly, with laughter and high spirits carrying it along. However, Raven could never quite relax after hearing Kon-El’s threatening words. And there was the bedding ceremony to proceed, not in public. Thank to Merciful Elea.

Torchlight played on Raven’s face as she motioned with her hands like a sorceress, then the royal peplos she wore dropped off her like the skin off a snake and she emerged. Goddess Nyx in human form, her breasts round and ripe and firm, her belly flat and sculpted thighs, the tangle of dark hair between her legs an invitation and a challenge. She was bare before him. So very delicate, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he’d ever laid eyes upon. It intrigued him, that vulnerability, laid bare for him to see under the soft glow of the torches. The daughter of the God of death.

What a curious creature she was. Gifted with the beauty of Aphrodite, the mysterious eyes of Nyx, holding the stars of Orion in them. They had been in his mind on and off at the feast, wrapped up in the hazy, sweetly intoxicating lull of inebriation.

As he looked down then back up her body, to her timid eyes, no challenge in them, though her lips still twisted in a semblance of indecision. Doubt. It was obvious that while she was not truly frightened of him, nonetheless the shadow of doubt and tension was present. Damian swallowed hard. He had avoided looking at her more than necessary during the ceremony but he gave into temptation as Aphrodite whispered in his ear all the ways he could have her. He did not like Gods nor their offspring. The Gods enjoyed tricking mortals for their own merriment. But, she was his wife and there was no escaping now. He cursed quietly for his mortality.

Raven dug her pearly teeth into the fleshy hills of her bottom lip, reminding herself to stay in control, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at her side as she took a brave step forward. “My prince.”

“Damian.” He corrected immediately as he straightened up for a fraction of a second before he bent his head and allowed his lips to graze Raven’s ear. “My name is Damian.”

With uncommon courage, she reached for the clasp holding his jade tunic under his chin. The heavy cloth sighed down around their feet. With a delicate feather-like touch, Raven traced the longest scar on his bronze body that went from Damian’s left shoulder down to his right hip. His breath hitched at the sudden invasion, but relaxed into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. No one had ever dare touch him intimately without his permission.

She could see hidden amongst the bright hues an emerald green clouding over with Damian’s lust. Their lips melded together as if they were made for each other and moved in sync as Damian threaded her fingers into Damian’s thick raven locks. Damian gently nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped heavily against his, he slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to meet hers.

Her mind temporarily muddled with an electrical charge coursing through her veins making it hard for her to focus on any one part of her anatomy than her mouth against his. Everything tingles, starting at the back of her neck and rushing down, an uncomfortable yet exhilarating heat razing through her nerves only to whirlpool in her lower belly, churning, before continuing down all the way to her toes. He tasted like pure ambrosia.

As they continued kissing, his lips become eager, desperate, feverish. She’s never been kissed like this before. Kon-El had kissed her cheeks out of mischief a few times when they were children. Innocent love. Never with parted lips and tongue, with a hunger that would scare her had the same kind of hunger not driven her own greedy mouth to kiss and suck and nip. And yet she knew with the wisdom of Athena, that even if she’d kissed a hundred men a thousand times, nothing would ever compare to this.

Peppering her neck with kisses and listening to her gasp his name, he carried her slowly to the crimson bed where he laid her down. Dragging his teeth gently downwards, along the expanse of her sweet, alabaster skin. There all shyness was replaced with audacity and devotion. Not being able to resist the urge, he bit into her neck, at her pulse point where he could feel her unsteady heartbeat against his tongue as he laved at it.

Hands that were calloused and large and warm and so very gentle for a warrior, as they find their way roaming her natural curves. They skimmed over her thigh and hip, caress the soft skin of her waist, ghost over the swell of her breasts. His mouth, hot and wet, closed around her breast and sucks lightly, thus making her suck in a sharp breath. Expert tongue swelling around her pink nipple. What in the name of Hera he was doing to her? She wanted more. More. More.

Raven cannot utter a single word. Her mouth too dry, her mind too drunk on arousal, to form any coherent phrase. Calling his name between small whimpers showing her heightened ecstacy. This must be Elysium in all its glory. It was such a sweet torture.

Damian thought to himself she tasted like earth, starlight, like flowers blooming in the night. What was he thinking? She was his wife, no more. Daughter of his nemesis. His young heart hammering inside of his chest, the memory of his mother’s voice haunting him as she vanished with the wind.

Something flared in Damian then, flared up in his chest and his belly like a flaming arrow shot high to signal the start of a nighttime raid, and he seized her hips and pushed up inside her. Raven groaned softly in pain. Fear sent her stomach and chest quaking, her breaths coming short and fast, mind flooded with words of maidens about the pain of maidenhead being taken. At first, his strokes were slow, but his eyes do not look upon her face. The flower garland tumbled off her head and was crushed under their grappling bodies, the scent of a summer noon briefly filling the night.

She opened her legs wider and wrapped them around Damian following her instincts. Her velvet heat encased him, and he had to restrain himself from descending into madness at the pleasure. He felt like he was drowning in the Aliakmonas, the river swollen with melted snow. Raven’s round breasts goaded him, her hands caressed him tenderly, her ripeness clenched around him. As he started thrusting faster, harder, pumping in and out of her at an erratic pace. Damian drops his forehead to her shoulder, an animal like grunt in her ear, and she heard herself moan along with him. She even shifted her hips so that he hits her just right, his pubic bone rubbing against a sensitive spot his hand had touched.

He could tell she was close by the way her walls were fluttering around him, and he brought one of his hands down between them to rub circles onto her bundle of nerves. Damian also angled his hips enough to reach for the deep spot in the center of women that made them cry with satisfaction with each push.

Something inside her tightens, inside her belly where a babe will grow with the blessings of the gods, and then another wave of pleasure washed over her, pulling such a loud moan from her it should leave her ashamed, but she doesn’t care. Sweat beds clouding her vision, and the ragged breath of her husband hot against her moonlight skin, salty with sweat.

He reached climax and came harder than he had ever. His thrusts slowed, hips stilling as he emptied himself, thick, hot, white ropes of his seed filling her up to the hilt. Letting out a weary sigh he removed his body atop hers, carefully. It was done. Fulfilled his duty he told himself. A clear lie. Damian considered cupping her cheek and kissing her temple but he couldn’t do it. No. His features hardened as he turned away from her.

“I will show you respect as my wife. I will please you in all the ways a husband and lover can. But do not ask me to love you, for that is not an oath I can honor.” His voice came out hoarser and raspier than ever in the darkness, before rolling to the other of the bed preparing to fall in the arms of Morpheus.

There was an emptiness inside of her soul, her center she couldn’t describe. Waiting to be full again. Aching. Pulsing. Whirling.

“But I thought…” Raven began, a lump forming in her throat, not wanting to admit that she had hoped he could ever find love with her. Perhaps fondness. What about the gentleness he had shown her? The words died with the quietude of the royal chamber as if Harpocrates had made himself present.

Perhaps coming morrow with the grace of Apollo, he would bring Damian’s gentleness back to her. All she can do is hope and pray tonight. A lone tear slipped down her face as she closed her eyes.

Notes: Hello it’s me again with a new AU. Sorry not sorry. Had to get it out of my system 😂😂😂😂🙈🙈🙈🙈

Do not panic please. This is the first chapter and there will be Damirae fluff I promise. Happy Damirae moments and probably more smut than in other stories 👀👀

Hope you all enjoy. @ravenfan1242 @tweepunkgrl @chromium7sky @deepbreadlover @timid-soot-sprite @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @andthendk @alerialblu