#battlefield of the flower threshold

[touhoutunes]

Title: 茨華仙闘曲-WILD & HORNED DUELIST- (Ibarakasen Fighting Song -WILD & HORNED DUELIST-)

Arrangement: RYUWAVE

Album: TO-HO Hi-SPEED CLUB MUSIC ESSENTiAL ver.2.0

Circle: dat file records

Original: Battlefield of the Flower Threshold

[goldenstring6123]

helloooo! i’d like to request a short fic with this glorious prompt i thought about last night 🤭

let’s say reader gets a tattoo of xavier’s sword (like the design behind his latest promise outfit) all the way down their back ;) i would die to see how he would react to this nyehehehe

it can be either fluff, suggestive, smut, up to you with whatever you’re comfy with <3 tysm hehe

Xavier: Ink & sword

Warning: Very suggestive! 16+ only, showering together, nudity, kissing, sensual touching, fem!reader, reader is not the mc but works as a hunter

Author's note: :>

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

"I'm sorry—I knocked you back too hard," Xavier's hand reached down towards yours, and you, on the other hand, were buried underneath some plastic crates at the corner of the training room. He waited for you to take his hand. "Are you alright?"

You took his hand and used him to hoist yourself back to your feet, a tinge of pain and ache flowering from different parts of your back. You dropped the sword that you were holding, and it immediately dissipated into thin air. You looked at Xavier and patted his chest, trying to ease out that slight frown on his face.

"I'm alright. We deal with worse stuff on the battlefield."

Right above the entrance, a big digital clock projected the time in neon blue colors: 23:03. You and Xavier had been training for over three hours, and now the training grounds had been rid of people except for the two of you. Well, it couldn't be helped; Xavier's training regimen requires more time to perform, considering the complexity of his fighting style and condition.

Still, the fact that you can keep up is very noteworthy even in the eyes of others, though the only thing you were doing was defending and keeping your stance. The only worrying thing is that sometimes, Xavier forgets that you're just a normal hunter and tends to exert a bit more force when sparring.

You let out a small groan while you moved towards the shower room, and Xavier was walking right beside you, ready to reach out in case you toppled over. The frown was still on his face as if he regretted showing you that magnificent finishing blow. "Do you need help?"

You glanced at the shower room and hooked your index finger under his chin, turning his head slightly, the cheeky little teasing mood suddenly erupting from within you. "Are you offering to help me bathe? How daring of you."

"Uh...I didn't—" Xavier's doe eyes went wider than the moon, his nose and ears turning pink upon realizing your words.

You just loved finding the opportunity to fluster this little man.

Unbeknownst to Xavier, you knew how he has a little ongoing crush on you—credits to Tara for having that habit of snitching when drunk. And for a strong fighter, it feeds your ego to have him wrapped around your fingers.

"Can you just hand me the menthol patches in the kit?" you pointed at a small box nearby, one attached to the metal post. It was a first aid kit reserved for them. Xavier strode to the said post while you entered the washroom.

You opened your locker with your thumbprint and undid the brown leather support. Swiftly, you unbuttoned your blouse, picked at how it clung to your body, damp and riddled with dust and sweat. Finally, the stuffy bathroom air brushed against your sweat-ridden back.

"I got the patches..." Xavier entered the bathroom, the white menthol patches in his grasp. When he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes trailed from the curve of your form—eyes landing on the intricate tapestry of dark blue and white ink tattoo carved onto your back.

The shame of walking in on you naked disappeared in an instant.

You stared as Xavier slowly stepped beyond the room's threshold. You kept your blouse pressed against your chest, and even if you were nearly topless, Xavier's eyes never broke contact from your back. Why would he? The image of his very own sword was on your back.

"Is this why you wanted to take a picture of my sword?" His cold fingers slid down the dip of your spine, his eyes absorbing every bit of nitty-gritty detail about the tattoo. As much as he admires his real pristine sword, the image of it on your back is simply...breathtaking.

"Maybe? Do you like it?" You kept still, facing the locker. At that moment, every touch he made on your body was amplified beyond normal. The coolness of his fingers felt good against your warm back.

"It's beautiful," he uttered. The thin saber was positioned perfectly downwards to your spine, ending just above where your pants began, curving whenever you moved. The handle was positioned just between your shoulder blades. Feathers littered the rest of the space, some in blue and some in white. The intricate carvings on the side of his sword were perfectly captured. "Why did you choose my sword?"

"Well," your hand chucked the blouse in the locker. You glanced over your shoulder, the silver-haired man anticipating your answer. "It's because it was beautiful; I can't get my mind off of it." It just so happens that the man wielding it is beautiful as well. A beauty beyond the stars.

You turned back to face the locker, folding your blouse, thinking that Xavier had had enough of seeing the tattoo. Your lips opened, prepared to ask him to leave as you were nearly topless, if not for that low-back bra you're wearing, but before you could blurt a single word, Xavier pressed his lips on your shoulders.

It was as if his kiss had flicked a switch within you. You stiffened, leaning over while your hands hung at the edge of the locker. "Xavier? Did you just—"

The man placed another kiss lower. You could feel his tongue graze the surface of your skin. "Mhm, your skin is salty."

His words sobered you up; it wasn't exactly an insult, but that made you think. You stood up straight and faced him, your eyes coated with a sheen of lust and desperation. "I'm full of sweat. Do you really intend on having..." You held yourself back from spouting such vulgar words. "Never mind. Wait for me. I'm going to take a shower."

You took the towel and ran to the shower areas. It was dead silent. You pondered. Was Xavier really doing what you think he was going to do? Did the sword on your back push him to the edge?

All the thoughts crept at the back of your neck, but the softness of Xavier's lips remained. The hot water drizzled all over your body, releasing you from the stickiness of the fluids. You combed back your hair and looked up at the shower head, relishing the comfort of the rain-like sensation—for a few seconds at least.

The shower curtain shifted, and Xavier took a step in. His bare chest pressed against your back, and you spun quickly at the contact. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bare body—it's not the first time you saw it, but still—"Why are you here?"

"Let's take a shower together. Turn around, I'll wash your back."

"Do all training partners do this? Bathe together? Is this new?" You panicked, instinctively covering your areas while backing up against the cold porcelain wall. You stared up at him, the soft eyes no longer there. He looked intimidating now that he was towering over you.

"Do training partners sleep with each other when they get stuck in the mountains?" he uttered.

At that moment, the hazy memory of that stormy night flashed inside your head—the warmth of his touch, the flickering of the makeshift fireplace, his skin against yours, and his mouth exploring your body. Your face began to grow red at that memory.

Xavier's hands crawled to your hips, gently nudging you to turn. You didn't want to go against him, and at the same time, you were expecting something to happen because you would admit that Xavier was good. He felt good. His taste, his skill, and his size—what you didn't expect was that it wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

His hands were gliding on your back, and his burning stare trailed down to your ass. You bit your lip at the embarrassment. His hands, which were on your waist, found themselves holding on to your love handles, and gently, Xavier pulled your hips backward, coming into contact with his semi-hard-on.

"Shit," you uttered under your breath. Even if it wasn't fully hard, you could still clearly feel it. A million thoughts raced through your head, but there was one emotion that was prevalent: Erotic desire.

Xavier's lips came into contact with your back again, but this time, you couldn't help but flinch at every contact because his tongue and teeth grazed and gritted, intentionally leaving marks at Xavier's whims. Just by that, you were gasping for air, anticipating where he would bite next.

His fingernails scraped at your skin, tracing every curve and line of the tattoo; his touch was electrifying, but you craved more. How can he be so gentle but leave you feeling unexplainable things?

He peppered your back with light kisses from the dip of your back slowly, slowly crawling back up to your exposed nape. "Don't leave marks on my neck," you uttered between breaths. A loud pop of Xavier's kiss bounced off the shower room.

"Turn around, please. I want to see you," Xavier whispered. You looked over your shoulder, and you could see him stepping back a little bit, eager to see your body.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to him, still covering your body. Admittedly, he was a little perplexed at seeing you acting all shy when it was you who was provoking him earlier, but poking fun at you wasn't right for the moment.

He brushed a stray hair that stuck onto your cheek and smiled, looking into your eyes fondly. "There's no need to hide," he said, taking a step closer. "You're beautiful."

His big hands caressed your elbows and slid up to your biceps, nudging you to loosen up. Your hands dropped from your body, but instead of letting them fall completely, you wrapped your hands around his neck.

You pressed your lips together, but all of a sudden, footsteps erupted.

"Is anyone in here?" the lady guard called. "Security!"

You covered Xavier's mouth and stared into his eyes, saying: 'Don't make a sound.'

"Oh, yes! I just finished training!" you yelled back.

"Alright, but please leave after 5 minutes. We're about to turn down the power for the entire floor."

"Sure! I'll be out in a minute," you replied. You and Xavier waited for a solid minute before moving. You let go of the breath you were holding, took the bar of soap from the holder, and gave it to Xavier. "Let's continue that at your apartment when we get home."

Author footnotes: Cockblocked by me, the author. Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[jelly-sugar-angel]

They confess their love for you!

(Kaedehara Kazuha x Reader; Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader; Dottore x Reader; Childe x Reader)

In the chest, a heart flutters like a bird in a cage, Words have frozen, in the soul — silence so wide. He stands at the threshold, every branch does engage, Soon he'll reveal what was fully hidden inside. His gaze wanders, hands grow cold in the fray, Thoughts are tangled, like autumn leaves in the wind's play. He fears the words will not come, and they'll fly away, Like the last warm sigh before the winter's day. But in his eyes — a reflection of the starry night, And in his soul, a quiet light is born. With every moment, he's closer to the insight, Soon he'll confess his love, without doubt or scorn.

Kaedehara Kazuha

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

In the hall aglow, where couples dance, At the masquerade ball in the night. He leads her as if through the seas they prance, Where the moon in the waves reflects soft light. Step by step, to the heartbeat’s tune, They whirl in the rhythm of desire. His gaze is filled with admiration’s boon, As he leads her ‘midst flowers and candles’ fire. And then the final chord is heard, He holds her close, without a word. “You are my dream, my light, my flame,” He whispers, “I love you,” — in the evening’s claim.

Diluc Ragnvindr

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

No bounds within my madness found, My love, like storm, breaks forth with sound. I scream into the night, my words but wind, Yet heart ablaze, more fierce than fire's kind. My feelings chaos, true and raw, No order, no start, no final draw. I love you with a madman's force, With every heartbeat's pounding course. Let the world declare me insane, But in my madness, you solely reign. And if love equals madness' frame, Then sanity I refuse to claim.

Dottore

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

On battlefields where swords collide, Where winds my hair in dance do sway, I see you as if the first time, And in my chest, my heart does play. A warrior, by fate to battle called, Yet tenderness within me stays. You are my world, vast and unappalled, You are the calm amidst the frays. Though helm conceals the gaze that's brave, Within it warmth and softness lie. To you, my fair, as reward I gave My love, alive, that will not die. Your guardian, loyal and robust, Without you, victory's out of sight. You are the light in endless dusk, The joy that gives me life and might. So take this vow I now confess, For every fight is for your grace,

Childe Tartagalia Ajax

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

[hyperblue]

She doesn't take painkillers. She is too afraid that someone will attack and she will not be able to defend herself. She's hoping for her pain threshold. She still cries and thinks a little - her mother gave birth by caesarean section under general anesthesia, Vita Luther gave birth to Kon in one of her laboratories surrounded by medical staff who courted her like a queen.

She is alone, far, far from her home and without anyone to squeeze her hand, and the father of her child and the love of her life is dead. It's just her and her daughter here. She is alone, far, far from her home, and there is no one to hold her hand, and the father of her child and the love of her life is dead. It's just her and her daughter here.

Her daughter is a tiny defenseless creature, Cora needs to shove self-pity away and be strong for her. The pain throbs with renewed vigor, the bottom of her body burns like poured gasoline. A sharp relief rolls over like a wave, her legs become like jelly, she lies down with the back of her head on the side of the bathroom and smiles.

Her hands gently stretch out and she hugs her to herself, tiny wet warm infinitely tender. She puts her tiny body on top of herself and helps the baby girl find her breasts. The girl starts eating with a quiet sob. She kisses her daughter on the top of her head and inhales his scent with pleasure, she smells good - it's amazing, is this a trait of all Kryptonians? Kon always smelled good - it's a mixture of something milky and dull floral.

The name. Cora thought about it a lot, she had many options, but one was the most special and precious. Something that Kon could approve of.

"Hi, Robin Kent," she laughs, the salty tracks on her cheeks ache, the girl coos softly in response, Cora identifies this as an endorsement of "Robin… Poppy Kent."

Robin Poppy Kent. Poppy means "poppy flower". Poppy flower symbolizes fallen soldiers, Kon can be regarded as a fallen soldier. The poppy is a bright blood-red flower blooming on the battlefields, it symbolizes sacrifice.

Deep meaning, it sounds stupid, but Cora thinks she has the right to do it. After all, she is a seventeen-year-old teenage mom. She can be forgiven for being ridiculous with her child's name...

She kisses her child on the cheek and desperately wants Kon to come to their Robin Poppy and to her in spite of everything.

im gonna be honest with you the second i read "she doesn't take painkillers" i immediately went NO GIRL LET'S NOT DO THAT YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PUNISH YOURSELF THAT WAY, well I'm glad that wasn't the case. but still... poor cora

that moment of first touch and connection is one of my favorites in this au, im like YES give me all the feels. thank you so much for sharing this scene

also ROBIN POPPY AS SUCH A CUTE NAME

[laplaces-lovecraftian-dick]

Mary, the Magician (Irish version)

Strange Bird of the Moon, Illusion of Mysterious Cat (Boundary Remix)

Dream of Arcadia (Irish version)

Necrofantasia (Irish version)

Night Falls ~ Evening Star (Irish version)

Yorimashi Between Dreams and Reality ~ Necro-Fantasia (Irish version)

A Maiden's Illusionary Funeral ~ Necro-Fantasy (8-bit distorted version)

Charming Domination ~ Who Done It! (8-bit distorted version)

Diao Ye Zong ~ Withered Lead (Bakeneko Remix)

Battlefield or the Flower Threshold (Divorce Remix)

Secret God Matara ~ Hidden Star in All Seasons (Divorce Remix)

[rlyehtaxidermist]

eurobeat remix of battlefield of the flower threshold that stops halfway through with a series of thunks and then resumes faster and angrier

[dreadfutures]

For the DADWC: “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?" for Dirthamen x Ixchel, perhaps?

i feel so out of practice x_x but that's what @dadrunkwriting is for right?

-:-:-

Dirthamen will not allow his family to wander through his estate freely, not like Andruil in her bluster or Falon'Din in his hubris. Dirthamen keeps nothing politically interesting here at home, and certainly nothing that any of them would find useful—against him, or otherwise. Nevertheless, his insides shrivel at the thought of his siblings opening the books he has taken such care in illustrating, or his adopted father sneering at the flowers he has cultivated, or his mother commenting on the disarray of his cellars.

He knows that Deceit and Fear would never willingly lead their guests to his private affairs, but they likewise would be unable to resist the All-Mother, should she request something. Thus, Dirthamen must accompany his squabbling, bored family to and fro across the estate as their whims shift, to make sure they do not see or enter where he does not want them to.

Dirthamen would like to do anything other than play host and tour guide to his family. But most of all, he would like to be alone with Ixchel.

He sees her very little when his family vists. They had mutually decided that it was best she steer clear of Andruil, even now, many years removed from the Huntress's suspicions, and to draw the eye of the All-Mother usually means one is about to fail some sort of scrutiny. It is for the best that she flits about the estate in an opposing orbit to the path of the squabbling gods. And it is for her safety that she does not sleep alone.

At some odd hour of the day, she sleeps while Deceit guards her. At night, when the Dreamers lay their heads to rest and venture into the Fade—to squabble, more, of course—she stands outside his door as guardian to the threshold.

He knows that he is watched, that they are watched, in every interaction. Long ears and keen eyes can see far even in this place he presides over, and so their interactions are brief and formal in a way they have not been in what feels like a long, long time.

They are bonded partners. But she is his Champion, his vassal, first; her vows were for her sword to his name before they were ever promises of eternity and affection. It is custom, it is proper, it is safer, for her to play that role for the others.

Plus, she hates the Evanuris, and she is very bad at controlling her face. It just would not end well.

But Dirth can know all there is in the world, and still, he would hunger for more. He knows all of this, and yet he aches to have her in his arms again.

When his family abruptly decides to depart for Sylaise's palace, likely out of sheer boredom, Dirthamen is ecstatic. He sees them off through the eluvians and seals it behind them almost before they have quite finished walking through, but he cannot tame his eagerness. He must at once tell his household that the Evanuris have left, and they can drop these silly pretenses of pomp and circumstance at last.

He tells Fear, then goes in search of Deceit and Ixchel. But he does not find them in their quarters, nor in his private library, so he searches further, casts his net wider. He goes to the orchards, to the lake, but still he cannot find a trace of their path.

He is beginning to worry that perhaps his family left in such a hurry because something has happened to his Champion—but then he reaches the center of his estate, the very heart, where the training yard lies, and he finds his friends hard at work.

They are sparring, and it seems they have been for some time. As Ixchel has grown into her strength here in this world, she has become an even more fearsome warrior than ever. She and Deceit are whirlwinds on the battlefield, stopped only by heavy impacts between their bodies. He can imagine how the bruises will blossom across their shjins and forearms from blocking brutal swings—and this is only hand-to-hand combat he witnesses now. Training weapons lie discarded across the courtyard.

Further evidence of their intensive training is plain to see. Both of them are drenched in sweat, hair and clothing plastered to their forms. Droplets darken the ground with every sharp movement, shaken free from the ends of their sopping wet hair. He can hear, even at a distance, the heavy breaths and gasps that escape them as they dodge and dance around each other.

They are familiar sounds. Dizzyingly familiar.

Dirthamen waits in the shadows above the courtyard, unnoticed even by Deceit at this distance. But he has a great view, enhanced by magic, of their battle, and he is enraptured.

He does not actually see the battle after a while. Instead, visions consume him of dark bedrooms filled by the warmth of his body and his Champion's. He recalls the bounds of her stamina, tested against his insatiable desire for her and her pleasure.

From his high perch, he begins to feel as warm as if he had been training alongside her. His flowing robes and his feathers feel uncomfortably tight against his skin, and his mouth waters with anticipation. He longs, and he plans.

Deceit will play along.

And though he doubts Ixchel realizes how much he has missed her company, he is fairly confident that she—his impatient, fierce vun'ean—has been similarly frustrated by the distance that they have maintained during this time. He knows that were he to give her the word of their freedom, all her restraint would snap (as would his), and they would find themselves confined to bed for several days to make up for it,.

That will certainly happen, but it can wait—just a few hours more.

Just a few.

-:-

He strides down the hall toward his rooms and finds Ixchel waiting for him to retire. Just like he had hoped, she stands on guard, unaware that his family have departed and the need for this act has passed.

The one act she has never mastered is the disinterest in his movements. A good servant would stand stoically, ignore his every move, pretend as though their only purpose is to stand frozen in time, a wound trap waiting to be set off.

Ixchel, instead, watches his every move. Her eyes are hawkish as she notes every aspect of him, and he is certain she is able to tell his heart rate just by looking at him. It makes him feel tall, strong, the way she looks at him. Though she scorns the stoicism of others in her role, she does remain professional; there is no heat in her gaze as she watches him. She assesses, she is aware, she is doing her job in the best way she knows how.

He wants to be worthy of her dedication and her strength and her fearsome beauty—and to shower her with appreciation that she deserves. And he thinks he knows how.

Dirthamen allows his eyes to slip past her, and he enters his rooms. The door shuts behind him, which allows him a few moments of privacy as he ensures the room is ready for her return. With every fastidious detail he puts in place, he feels his own anticipation mount. It is delicious denial that keeps him on task and holds him back from leaping upon her as he wishes.

But he wishes.

He wants.

And at last he is ready.

Dirthamen readies a spell in his fingertips, and the door opens silently at his bidding.

Ixchel does not notice, her eyes fixed forward to watch the hall for intruders.

She has bathed and dressed in fresh clothing since her sparring match in the courtyard, of course, but he imagines that if he were to bury his nose in the space behind her ear he might smell the toil of her afternoon still clinging to her skin. So he does. His lips find the shell of her ear, and remarkably, she does not startle too badly—thankfully, too, she does not attempt to kill him on instinct. He feels her whole body go stiff at the unexpected touch, but as his familiar scent envelopes her, she releases a breath of relief.

"My lord," she whispers. "What are you doing?"

"What I have wanted to do for a month," he says, his voice barely more than a breath given the faintest shape by the lips he trails to the point of her ear. A full-body shudder wracks her in the wake of his words, filling him with the satisfaction that she was just as wound up as he was.

She is silent, but he can almost feel the disapproval that must be on her face. It makes him chuckle, a ghostly sound against the side of her head as he tucks his nose into the spot he has desired all along. Her skin is blessedly warm and she smells so intensely of her, revealing just how faint and sad the remnants of her scent that she has left in their shared bed are. He cannot refrain from taking a taste thereafter, lips finding her pulse in a brushing kiss before returning for something more substantial.

If she were any other woman, he is certain she might collapse into his arms then and there. But she is his Champion, and she has not been released from her duty, so she stands tall and unbowed by his advances.

"I saw your match with Deceit today," he says, teeth brushing her exposed neck with every hard syllable. He wants her to shiver again, but she seems too prepared for him now, and he knows he will need to try harder. "I thought of swooping down then and there to carry you off… If I tasted the sweat off your brow, would I taste the fire that drives you to such perfection, such diligence?"

He has been so careful to keep his hands to himself, waiting for the perfect moment to touch her, to pluck her like a string and loose her. It grows more difficult with every moment that passes, but perhaps he can preoccupy himself for a while longer…

The moment he presses his hand against the line of his cock, he knows he is on a countdown to a complete loss of control. He has fantasized, dreamed, of her hand around him, and even his own does not compare. It will do, in the interim, but he wants the callouses of her fingers, the shape of her palm, her grip—

He takes a shaky breath, and she mirrors him in exact harmony that makes his heart swell.

"My lord," she says more firmly. "If it is diligence you admire, then allow me to practice it for one day more."

He almost laughs agian, but chokes instead at the hard edge of her voice. She might turn around and shove him back into his room—and close the door—to preserve his station in the eyes of his family, stomp out the flames of both their ambitions until a more appropriate time.

It would be so easy to simply tell her the truth, that his family is long since hence, but now a challenge has presented itself and he cannot resist trying to ply her with his wiles and pure, unfiltered desire. What might it take to break that unyielding will of hers, until all she can do is pin him against the wall and ravish him?

He strokes himself as he considers the strong, square line of her shoulder.

"Oh, vun'ean," he purrs, "you do not know what you do to me, do you? The longer you hold yourself apart from me, the more I am drawn to you. The more plate armor between us, the more I imagine touching your skin…"

"Go dream, then," she grouses. "Do what I cannot."

Dirthamen tuts at her. "No, no. Not when you are right here, and I…"

At last he reaches for her, slides one hand languorously around the swell of her hip, follows the line of her hip bone and follows it slowly, painstakingly, toward the juncture of her thighs—barred by skirts, but no matter. With his hand cupped around her, he pulls her back against his erection, so that he is certain she feels just how badly she affects him.

"…I am here…"

Her breath is trapped in her throat for a moment. He can feel her chest heave with thwarted words—but as he wraps his other hand around her to find a generous breast, to clasp her back against him more securely, all the air in her lungs is released ine one, shaking gasp.

It is a perfect sound, and he wants to hear it again.

His fingers tighten, and he cannot help how his hips tilt up to drive him closer, to earn the friction he so desperately desires.

"…and my dear family have departed at last…"

"—Dirth."

She rounds on him in a flurry of skirts and hair and heated breath, and disbelief, annoyance, and good humor are plain in the light of her eye. She grips his wrists and tears him away from her body—only to crowd him back, chasing the heat of him against her all the way back against the closed door to his rooms.

Their lips collide, and he whines into her mouth as she tears into his hair, his clothes, seeking his warmth and flesh and perhaps even bone with a hunger that twists his gut.

There is a split second in which she pulls him by the hair to bare his throat, and he peers at her from eyes half-curtained by his long lashes, and she gives him a look that might make him combust. In that split second, he conveys a simple, taunting request:

I told you what I wanted. Now it's your turn.

[vinyis]

It is now time to post the jam games. This was for Touhou Game Jam 5, and was my first team entry in general. Fun lil shooter I think

Made with the dark powers of @rakaasac (and cover art by @bumblerhizal-art)

[indatsukasa]

Oops,I ate too much.My stomach is gonna explode…!

[touhoutunes]

Title: Ancient Story

Arrangement: MxRxl

Vocals: ゆずり

Album: Unlimited

Circle: CielArc

Original: Battlefield of the Flower Threshold

[touhou-music]

03. 私達の真実 -The Battlefield Flower- (Our Truth -The Battlefield Flower-) (04:48)

Artist: 暁Records

Arrangement: ACTRock

Lyrics: ACTRock

Vocals: Stack

Album: LOVE EAST -to the beginning 04-

Original: Oni’s Island in the Fairyland ~ Missing Power (Vs. Suika Ibuki), A Flower-Studded Sake Dish on Mt. Ooe (Stage 3 Boss Theme: Yuugi Hoshiguma), Battlefield of the Flower Threshold (Kasen Ibaraki’s Theme)

Source: 東方萃夢想 ~ Immaterial and Missing Power, 東方地霊殿 ~ Subterranean Animism, 東方深秘録 ~ Urban Legend in Limbo

Genre: Soundtrack

[touhou-music-twice-a-week]

Title: The April Umbrella

Arrangement: イワクラコマキ (Iwakura Komaki)

Album: rosa canina

Circle: flap+frog

Original Theme: Battlefield of the Flower Threshold

[onigirio]

Jason Grace Idea: him being brought back because the minor gods would riot if they found out the demigod who was going to make sure they all got recognized was killed and had to stay dead, so Jason Grace being resurrected and searching for Reader to let them know he’s alive again

back 2 you | j.g

a/n) anon you are so real. i cried a lil while writing this. overall i’m not happy with the wording but i tried my best ^^

warnings: mentions of death, dissociation, it’s just angsty, grieving. jason is sad </3

gender neutral! no use of pronouns or y/n

it was dark.

no, not the underworld as most would expect, but the moment that separated life from death. that fraction of time in which consciousness is separated from physical being. most would find it unsettling, but jason had felt this before. he felt it when he had died.

it hadn’t been too long, surely, but he stopped keeping track after a while. time moved so slowly for him down there. he was a hero and he had died in battle but still, he felt so empty. he felt so empty because he didn’t have you. you’d both grown close during your time on the argo II. the two of you having known each other at camp jupiter, though him having piles more relevance in comparison to you. you were a legacy of a more minor god, but you were valiant and brave in battle. praised for your skill with a spear and good sportsmanship on the battlefield

as most things go, you two hit it off. jason had fallen hard. you can’t really blame him, could you? the blond was so deeply infatuated with you. the way you laughed to the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were focused, or how passionate you were when you spoke about what or who you loved. safe to say he was down bad, but so were you. feelings were confessed but nothing was ever really made official. jason wanted to wait until things had settled down

alas, things don’t really “settle down” in the life of a demigod, do they?

when the news reached you of jason’s death, you didn’t really know how to react. at first it was denial. obviously jason wouldn’t die, he was strong. he knew how to care for himself and he had people around to protect him as well. so surely the news was false. really you were justifying false hope.

you grieved as normal, but you never truly reached acceptance. you kept the polaroids in your wallet, the scrapbook you made together, the bucket list you’d made in such confidence that you two would eventually get through it. you were naïve, truly. so naïve for thinking that a demigod son of one of the big three would be able to enjoy such normalcy. that was just young love. naïve and innocent. you just wish you’d never gotten attached in the first place. jason wished he’d known. he wished he got the chance to at least tell you a proper goodbye, at least got to hold you close one last time

the gods decided to humor him, just this once. “an acknowledgment of your bravery” is what his father had told him, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. trying to adjust to life again felt like a sick joke the gods were trying to play on him, but the concept of seeing you again felt so warm, that he was willing to take that chance of life again

so in that fraction of time between life and death, jason felt just the bit more hopeful.

so here he was, outside of camp jupiter. adjusting to the feeling of a physical being was taking long but gods, he just wanted to see you again. crossing the threshold he was met by a chorus of surprise. people in the streets stopping and exclaiming but no matter the amount of attention, the only person he wanted to see was you. jason tore the streets as fast as his body physically could. at this point in time there was only one place in the whole camp you would be. he knew this of course, because you’d shown it to him

he arrived and his electric blue eyes softened at the familiar sight. the grass, the flowers and the massive tree that had been eternally graced with initials of past visitors. the one thing that excited him most though, was the person sitting under it.

it was you. after all this time you still found peace under the shade of the large tree. it was like nothing had changed. you were still there, book in hand as you laid back against the bark. even after everything, you were still as beautiful as he remembered. tentatively, jason called out your name. your name on his lips felt so foreign, but it just felt so right

he watched as you perked up, looking for the source of the voice. your eyes darted around until they locked with a familiar electric blue. you paused, watching in disbelief as jason made his way up the hill towards you. tossing the forgotten book aside, you stumbled as you made your way towards him.

jason caught you as you took an unexpected tumble, too blinded by the tears of joy welling in your eyes. the blond held you up, supporting you as you sobbed into his chest. it had been so unexpected and you didn’t know how to react. you were struck with so many emotions at once and all you could do was sob

and he let you

he let you because gods he never wanted to let go of you again. it had been so long since he’d felt your embrace and he just wanted to sit here and bask in the presence he had missed so much

jason was finally with you again, he was finally home.

[sacredsorceress]

Empty Home || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: after the loss of your husband, you come home for the first time since his death and memories flood back from your relationship. loosing yourself in your grief, you lose control.

a/n: based on that scene from wandavision- you’ll know the one. bucky and sam were never snapped. replies and reblogs are super appreciated!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: bucky died, difficulties dealing with loss, grief, just really sad, angst, mentions of blood, choking

masterlist || taglist

You felt numb as you twisted the brass knob on your front door. Although the door was no heavier than it had always been, it took every ounce of strength within you just to get it open and once you did, it took even more just to step inside.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky asked, grabbing your hand in his and pulling you back towards him.

You laughed as you collided with his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck as you stared up at his smiling face.

“Inside our house,” You said. “to take off these disgusting clothes and relax.”

“What’s disgusting about it?” He asked, resting his hands on your waist.

“I don’t know,” You said. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants for twenty-six hours?”

“Well,” He said, leaning down to press his lips against yours. “I think you look beautiful.”

“Hmmm,” You hummed brushing your lips against his once more. “I think that’s the jet lagging talking.”

“Let’s go to bed then.”

Before you even had a chance to turn around and head back through the door, you felt Bucky’s flesh hand run down your back and behind your knees while you felt the cool touch of vibranium brush against your back.

“What are you-” You began just as Bucky bent down and lifted you into his arms bridal-style- your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck and holding onto him for dear life as he did. “Buck!”

“What?” He asked, pushing the door open with his foot. “This is our first time going home as a married couple, Y/n. I gotta carry you over the threshold.”

“That’s a stupid tradition.”

“Yeah?” He asked. “How about I just drop you then?”

Just as he said that, his hands let go of you for a moment before catching you once again.

“Buck!” You squealed, tightening your grip. “Fine! Fine! Carry me over the threshold or whatever.”

Smiling to himself at your concession, he lifted you once more, pulling you tighter towards him as he stepped one foot in through the front door of your home. You had to admit as you stared up at him while in his arms that you felt your cheeks grow warm, still shy in such a personal moment despite the fact that you two had been together for years and had just gotten married seven days ago. Not being able to help yourself from the smile on your face, you pressed a kiss against his scruff before nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck.

“Not so bad, was it?” He asked once he stood in the foyer.

“I gotta admit, Buck.” You said stretching out your hand that held your wedding ring on your finger while still being carried in his arms. “I could get used to this.”

Stepping into the entryway, you felt a pang in your chest at how empty the house felt knowing that your husband would no longer be waiting behind any of those doors.

You felt like a stranger in your own home, studying it for the first time as your heels clacked against the hardwood floor, noticing Bucky’s old combat boots still sat by the doorway, waiting for their owner that would never come home.

You always nagged him about leaving his shoes in the middle of the hallway- how you would always trip over them when you weren’t watching where you were going.

Now you just wished you could call his name and hear his voice echo throughout house one more time.

“Buck!” You shouted. “Your shoes-”

“It’s fine, doll.” He said, making his way into the hallway. “I was just about to go out.”

You quirked your eyebrow and crossed your arms.

“Oh really?” You asked. “And where are you headed Mr. Barnes?”

Snatching the boots from your hands, he bent down and pecked your cheek.

“To get flowers Mrs. Barnes.” He said. “I’ll be right back.”

As you stared at the shoes now, you almost felt as if he was there with you. His shoes were no longer in the middle of the floor, but set by the door just like you had always asked him to do.

It was almost as if he knew he’d be leaving you with them one last time.

He never liked you tripping without him being there to catch you.

Stepping over the floorboard that always creaked, you made your way into the living room, the light that was pouring in almost taunting you, reminding you of the way you used to admire your husband’s sculpted features in its soft glow.

You brushed your fingertips against the record player near the doorway, recalling the look on Bucky’s face when he opened his Christmas gift to find the same record player his mother used to have eighty years before.

Bending down in front of the device, you sorted through the records on the shelf, thumbing through all of Bucky’s favorites to find the one you were looking for. Finally finding the fated record, the corners of its album ruined from the amount of times you and your husband had picked it out, you slid the record out of its case and into your hands, the album falling to the floor besides you.

Setting the record into the player, your lip began to tremble as the music softly carried into the air.

“No,” Bucky corrected you, glancing down at the both of your feet. “Like this, doll.”

You followed Bucky’s movements, one of your hands rested on his chest while the other was on his back. When he stepped back, you stepped forward, and as you finally stopped stepping on his toes, you glanced up at him hopefully.

“Like this?” You asked.

“Just like that, doll.” He said smiling. “You got it.”

Feeling proud of yourself for finally getting the dance movements your husband had taught you down, you laid your head against his chest as the two of you continued to slow dance in your living room. You closed your eyes as you allowed the music to flow through your ears and the warm glow of the holiday lights to embrace the two of you.

No matter how many holidays you went through, all of them were better by his side. Even as you spent Christmas Eve dancing by yourselves in your own quaint living room, you couldn’t think of any other place you would ever want to be besides in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, James.” You whispered, as he hummed along with the music.

Rubbing circles into the small of your back, Buck pressed a light kiss on the top of your head without missing a step.

“Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

Feeling your heart sink to the pit of your stomach, you let out a sob you didn’t even realize you were holding in. It quickly felt as if the walls began closing in on you and the music you had once shared with your beloved was taunting you on every note. You rushed out of the room, the music following you into the hallway as you began rushing up the stairs, gripping onto the handrail for dear life.

Your heart began racing as you reached the last step and shoved open the door of you and Bucky’s shared bedroom.

It was still torn apart from the last time you and Bucky had stayed there. Both of your clothes were strewn across the floor- your closet flung open and old suits of yours and his spilling out from its frame.

You felt yourself choke as you realized how much life was in this room- how everything in here was still exactly the way that he had touched it- the way he had left it.

You wanted to grab his shirt and hold it to your nose- pretending he was still there with you- but you feared that if you actually moved it even a centimeter he would really, truly be gone.

You started hyperventilating at the room surrounding you, the music from downstairs still drifting into your ears. Everywhere you looked reminded you of him- his touch, his smile, his presence- him. You couldn’t fathom that he was gone. That he was taken from you.

You would never hear his laugh again, never come home with him. You would never nag him about his shoes or slow dance with him on cold winter nights. You would never be able to hold him in your arms or tell him how much you loved him one last time.

You caught the glimmer of an object on top of the pile of scattered clothes and not being able to help yourself you slowly made your way over to the bed. With trembling hands you picked up Bucky’s watch from the bed, turning it over with your fingers.

“Till The End of Time.”

Whatever composure you had left crumbled along with you as you fell to your knees.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

You and Bucky had given your lives to saving the world- to being its protectors. He had suffered more than many could even imagine. You had given and given and given and just when you finally got to receive, it was snatched from your hands too soon by an unforgiving force.

He didn’t deserve to die. You didn’t deserve to be forced to know a life without him.

You were tired. You were robbed. You were distraught.

You were empty.

You clutched the watch in your fist so tightly you were sure the glass would shatter against your skin but as you struggled for breath, choking on your own sobs as they caught in your throat you lost control.

The ground beneath you came apart, the clothes that had once been scattered across the room spinning around you as the house you were trapped in blew apart and came together like a beating a heart.

You arms were thrown in the air, using every bit of strength you had to take down the titan in front of you. It was difficult, but you grunted as you felt the pressure weighing down on you- trying your best to keep his force from tearing you down.

When you heard your husband’s voice scream at you from across the battlefield, though, you lost focus. 

You slipped.

When your head was turned for less than a second, your guard let down, the mad titan wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you up from the ground.

Your powers were useless against him as long as he had the stones, so all you could do was wrap your own hands around his wrists- trying to no avail to lose his grip and allow yourself to be set free.

Bucky watched in horror as you struggled in Thanos’ grasp, kicking your legs against the air.

He focused himself quickly, trying to find any way to successfully set you free- to save you.

That’s when his eyes landed on it.

The gauntlet on Thanos’ hand.

His eyes glanced from the taunting stones to your struggling form in the titan’s grasp.

Years ago it would’ve been easy to make a decision like this- it would’ve been easy for him to lay down his life for the greater good. He had lived long enough. He had seen enough. He was tired.

But then he met you and it was like he was finally living a life again.

He would easily lay down his life for you, but he wanted so desperately for there to be another way.

He wanted there to be some clue- some answer- that would keep him with you. That would let him live out the rest of his natural life with you because even if he lived until two-hundred it wouldn't be enough. No time spent with you would ever be enough.

But you living though? That would be enough.

Bucky threw the gun in his hand onto the ground and with a running start, leaped towards the titan, briefly grabbing his fist in his hand.

Thanos, so consumed in his own rage, only swat Bucky away without even realizing what he had done.

As the air began to leave your body, Bucky stared at the six stones in his hand. Even with the vibranium, he began to feel the energy being sucked out of his body from the stones and the weight they laid on his senseless palms.

He looked up and saw your eyes fluttering and knew he had to act quick.

How did he live until one hundred and six and still feel as though he hadn’t had enough time?

With his trembling flesh hand, Bucky shoved the stones onto the vibranium knuckles of his other hand, biting back a guttural shout as the power burnt his��fingertips and the palm of his hands.

“Y/n!” He shouted, raising his vibranium hand.

Thanos loosened his grip just enough that you could finally gasp for breath but when you did, you saw the sight of your husband over Thano’s shoulders kneeling on the rubble, the stones on his vibranium hand with sparks of energy running up his arm.

You felt your heart stop in your chest in that moment, the world stopping around you as you locked eyes with Bucky.

Bruce’s words from earlier ran through your head-

“None of you could survive.”

You knew none of you could. You knew Bucky couldn't. You knew when he snapped his fingers it would be the end of the line for him.

You knew he lived such a long life, but how could you be asked to let him go? How could you let him sacrifice himself when he had finally found peace after so long?

In that moment you wished you had more energy- that Thanos hadn't nearly knocked the life out of you so you could utilize your powers. So you could kill Thanos yourself. So you could put a forcefield around the two of you and let the battle run its course. So you could- in the very least- use your telepathic abilities one last time to let your husband know you loved him- that you were proud of him. That even after years of fighting it- he was a hero.

Even without words, though, as your sights set on him through teary eyes, you understood everything that was going on inside his head. Love, you thought,  sometimes had the ability to be stronger than magic and you were grateful in that moment to have such a shared such a passionate life with the man in front of you.

As desperately as you tried to shake your head to deter to him, to stop him, to let you find any other way to save yourself, he only smiled and nodded.

“I love you!” He shouted as his fingers moved into position.

“Buck, no!”

But it was too late as you watched his fingers snap in front of your very eyes.

Thanos dropped you from his grasp immediately upon the colorful blast exploding around your husband. You scrambled to your feet as you ran over to him, dropping to your knees as soon as you saw his frail body lying amidst the rubble.

You had seen Bucky in pain more times than you could count, but you had never seen him so weak, so colorless, so... so lifeless.

You felt your lip tremble as you examined him.

The vibranium had burnt into the skin up his neck and across his chest, his pupils blown and blood dripping from his mouth. You rested your hands on his chest and ran them up his skin to cup his cheeks and when you did, you let out the sobs you hadn’t even realized you were holding in.

“Buck?” You called, as his eyes focused on you. “James. James, you can’t leave me okay? I- I can’t do this without you. I... I didn’t have enough time. I need you. I need you to stay with me.”

You knew it was impossible. You knew there was no way he would ever be able to come back from this, but your heart wouldn’t let him go. You couldn’t let him go.

As his eyes began fluttering shut, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into your embrace, your face falling into the crook of his neck.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?” You sobbed. “I love you. I love you, okay? I’ll find you this time, James. I’ll find you. I love you.”

As Sam felt the ground rumble beneath his feet, he turned around, only to notice that the house behind him was surrounded in the familiar golden glow of your magic- the siding floating in the air as the house came apart in front of him- floating in the midst of your energy.

“Shit!” He cursed, rushing into what was left of left of your house. “Y/n!”

Running through your foyer, Sam watched as the staircase in front of him began falling apart in front of his very eyes. As the floorboards separated from one another, Sam swallowed and with a running start hopped onto the first step, and then another- nearly losing his footing before getting the hang of it and making it up the rest of the way.

“Y/n!” He shouted once more.

As the walls came apart briefly, he saw your sunken figure on the floor of yours and Bucky’s shared bedroom, the air spinning around you as objects were thrown across the room by an invisible force.

Watching his footing, Sam hopped from floorboard to floorboard before shoving open what was left of your bedroom door and rushing to your side, dodging your night stand along the way. 

When he fell to his knees behind you he was almost afraid to stop you, but watching his broken friend hunched over on the floor sobbing, he knew what needed to be done.

“Y/n?” Sam said, laying his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n, listen to me-”

“It can’t be over, Sam.” You said between sobs, gripping the watch tighter in your hands. “I wasn’t ready-”

“You’re never really ready, Y/n.” Sam said, shuffling around to kneel in front of you. “But you can’t bring him back-”

“But what if I can?”

Sam’s eyes widened in horror at your proposition as he adamantly shook his head and squeezed your shoulder.

“You can’t Y/n.” Sam said. “Even if you could bring... bring something back... that wouldn't be Buck. He wouldn’t want you to do that.”

Heeding Sam’s words you nodded and looked up to meet his eyes. Staring around you at the mess you’d caused, the world still spinning around you, you glanced down at the watch and back to Sam before another sob escaped your throat.

“It’s not fair.”

He had never seen you so completely and utterly shattered and it broke his heart just to look at you.

Nodding along with your words, Sam moved his hands from your shoulders to your back and pulled you into his embrace. As soon as he did, you quickly wrapped your arms around him, sobbing into his black suit jacket.

“I know,” He said running his hands up and down your back. “I know.”

As Sam opened his eyes from soothing you, he watched as the house slowly began to fall back into place as your breathing slowed. The floorboards began sliding in one next to the other, while the light that had been pouring in quickly dimmed as your walls built themselves up once again. Sam watched in awe as the clothes on your floor found themselves back on hangers in your closet and your sheets folded themselves neatly on your mattress.

When everything had settled in your once dilapidated house, only the music on the record player downstairs still floating throughout your home, Sam pulled away.

“I know it’s hard and none of us can ever replace him,” Sam said. “But you’re not alone, okay? We’re all here for you.”

Sniffling, you nodded your head.

“Alright?” He said shooting you a closed smile. “Let’s get out of here for a bit, okay? I always thought this place was a little stuffy anyway.”

Letting out the first hint of a smile in days at your friend’s poorly timed joke, you shook your head and wiped the tears from your cheeks.

As Sam pushed himself up and off the floor in front of you, he reached out his hand for you and pulled you up. When you stood up and adjusted your dress, you brushed by Sam to your dresser where your wedding ring sat, it’s pair now hanging on a necklace with your lost lover.

You had taken it off before meeting up with everyone to bring half of humanity back. You hadn't wanted to lose it, but now as you held it in your hands again, you felt as though a piece of your husband still lived on within you. You could almost find peace in it.

Slipping the ring back onto where it belonged, you followed Sam out of your bedroom and down the stairs, making your way to his truck that he had driven you home from your husband’s funeral service in.

Although you couldn’t explain it, each step you took felt as though another part of you had returned. Just as you were about to cross the threshold, playing with the band on your left finger, you almost felt as if you were whole again. As if Bucky hadn’t left you. As if there wasn’t a gaping hole in your chest from his loss that you could feel the emptiness of every time you tried to breathe.

Then, you stiffened as you heard a familiar voice speak over the sound of “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” that had been floating from the record player into the foyer.

Slowly turning around, your heart stopped.

“Doll?”

[hotwings0203]

I JUST SAW FIGHT CLUB AND HOOOLLYYY-

Bro could you IMAGINE FightClub!Bakugo?

Tw:noncon, language, harassment

Okay okay get this: you’re down in the basement listening to the usual men holler and punch each other around while you do your job as their cute little “accountant”. While many of them have good jobs and a real life, the actual members don’t have time or the intellect to juggle the numbers and money around as fast as you can. You’ve been coming here for a while now, and you’re used to the jeers and wolf-whistles coming your way since you’re basically one of the few or only women who dare to come down here.

But there’s one fighter who just can’t seem to take no for an answer.

Bakugo fucking Katsuki.

The man is ruthless, he’s relentless, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. You swear he’s had to have taken a shitload of steroids in his youth, otherwise how else could he have built up that much muscle? There’s no way an average gym-goer has that kinda build.

He’s always the first and the last one out in the rink, swaying back and forth with his fists up, a twisted grin on his face that was so reminiscent of a wolf before it lunges for its prey.

It usually took more than two men to pull him off the unconscious bodies that he had just beaten to a pulp, effectively breaking one of Fight Clubs Rules: get up when someone is down.

But he’s too good to let go, no one has the balls to tell him to take his money somewhere else since they’re all scared shitless of him.

Which leads him to believing that he’s practically a god down here, that he can conquer anything: including you.

No one really calls it harassment because no one really cares. What’s so wrong in a guy having a little crush? What, you came down here seeing all this testosterone but you can’t deal with it yourself? Don’t be a prudish bitch.

“Bakugo, I’m at work right now, I don’t want to.”

“C’mon toots, this ain’t even real work, you’re just fumblin’ my hard earned cash.” He grins slyly and crosses his bulging muscular arms, leaning against the doorway of the little office you’re given to work your magic.

You turn in your rickety seat and glare at him, ignoring the way he licks his lips and lets his eyes roam all over your body. “If I’m so shit at my work then go somewhere else and stop bothering me.”

He chuckles in his baritone voice and shakes his head at you. “Naw, can’t do that sweets. If I did then I’d never be able to see your pretty face again now, could I?” Bakugo leers at you and you turn your face in disgust.

“I don’t wanna go out for lunch, or ever with you. Now get out before I have to call someone in here.”

“Oh, is that so?” He uncrosses his arms and steps through the threshold, his body growing larger and more menacing as he slowly draws closer to you. Luckily a fight had broken out near the office months ago so there was no more door from the aftereffects, but that didn’t mean you felt safe even with open space.

“G-get out. I’m serious, Bakugo-“

“-Call me Katsuki, angel. And you don’t really mean that, do you? Look at you, you can barely look me in the eye when you say such mean things.” His voice drops an octave as he comes to stand in front of your seated form, towering above your wide eyes, clenched fists and trembling figure.

He leans down and you flinch and gasp as his breath ghosts over your face. He places both arms on either side of your chair so you have nowhere to look but him.

“You’re such a nice breath of fresh hair down here, through all the blood and violence. You’re like a flower...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and breaths out a laugh when you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

“A flower, so fragile...a flower that smells so fucking good...” you feel like you can’t properly breathe as he leans in next to your ear and inhales deeply.

“A flower waiting to be deflowered herself.”

“What’s going on here?” A lanky body in the doorway appears.

Bakugo pulls back and turns his head ever so slightly towards the dude, growling under his breath at the interruption.

“We’re in the middle of something here, so you can just get the fuck ou-“

“-Well, it doesn’t really look like she’s into whatever you’re doing,” the man scoffs and takes in your pale face and shaking hands.

Bakugo stands to his fullest height, almost neck and neck with the man at the door.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear a complaint from her.” He cocks his head and stretches, allowing his muscles to ripple with each movement, something that didn’t go unseen by your much skinnier savior.

But he doesn’t back down. He only swallows and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, we’re all being called out to put our bets in for the next match anyways, so you better come out before we get our asses kicked.”

The blond grumbles about weak men and no balls, then casts a dark look at your frozen figure before shouldering past the man at the door, almost knocking him down.

As soon as he’s out of your line of vision, you exhale and relax into your seat.

“You okay?” The fallen soldier scrambles back up and cautiously approaches you, looking over your body in a way that didn’t remind you of Bakugo undressing you with his eyes...rather, it was a protective, and worried once-over.

“Yeah, he’s just...a lot to handle sometimes. Doesn’t know when to quit.” You laugh shakily and run a hand through your hair.

“No wonder the dude’s a menace. He’s used to getting what he wants, I guess.” The man acknowledges this grimly, and for the first time you’re relieved that finally someone hasn’t turned a blind eye to your harassment.

“Are they really calling us down for bets?”

“No, I just said that to get him off your ass. Didn’t seem like you liked whatever he was doing.”

You give him a wobbly smile and he returns it.

“Sooo we should probably run before he comes back up here, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” you actually giggle before leaping out of your seat and joining the man to bound up the steps two at a time to freedom.

You both end up bonding pretty well over the weeks, even going out for coffee and lunch dates here and there. You’ve come to really like him, his shyer demeanor more than a majority of the ragtag men down in the basements, his chivalry refreshing to you amongst the blood and foul language thrown around the ring.

You feel like a woman with him, not some piece of ass like you were used to.

Bakugo noticed all this, of course. You started avidly avoiding him, ducking your head down and hiding behind your new ally before he could open his coarse mouth and stalk towards you. He couldn’t find you in your dingy office anymore either, because your savior was up in a cafe doing the calculations with you, laughing away about the latest matches.

That has to change. Effective immediately.

“Yo, newbie. How you been? Haven’t seen you fightin’ here for a while,” Bakugo claps his meaty hand on the scrawny guy’s back, nearing sending him toppling over.

“Yeah, y’know, just haven’t been feeling it lately.” He rubs the stinging feeling away from his sore shoulders and side eyes the blond suspiciously. He had seen firsthand just how bad-news of a guy he was, and he didn’t wanna get caught up in all that.

But Katsuki wasn’t just all brawn. He had some brains, too.

“Look, I know I prolly gave off a weird first impression with Y/N back then. But it’s all in good health, ‘was just messin’ around like I always do.”

“Yeah, sure...”

“How ‘bout we get some coffee or somethin’? You seem like a solid dude, plus we got shit in common to talk about.”

Like fucking around with my bitch.

“Uh, you sure? I kinda’ wanted to see the last fight,” he trails off unsuredly, scratching his jaw as Katsuki steers him away from the growing crowd.

“There’ll always be fights, man. I wanna show you that I’m a nice guy.”

Bakugo Katsuki was not a nice guy.

And everyone knew that too, which is why when some shifted to give the duo a curious glance he met them with a death glare. Any gazes locked on Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the lanky guy’s shoulders were immediately casted down.

You didn’t see your savior for a while.

It had been two weeks since he mysteriously disappeared from his usual place in the outskirts of the crowd, because unbeknownst to you, a certain fighter was keeping him away from you and convincing him to have a friendly brawl over lunch.

You only found out about it on a Friday night, when a crowd much bigger than before was gathered in the dim basement, voices hushed and whispering.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?” You whisper to one of the usuals.

“‘Heard Bakugo’s fighting some dude that was handpicked by himself. He somehow managed to convince the poor bastard to have some kinda’ match with him.”

You felt your heart sinking.

“Who did he pick?”

“‘Dunno, some skinny guy, a newbie I think. Hasn’t been around for too long so I guess he doesn’t know how big of a monster he’s gonna be beaten by.” The groupie shrugged, and you felt the blood drain from your face.

Without saying another word, you spun around and started running around all over the place looking for either of the two.

You end up stumbling into the men’s bathroom, desperate beyond salvation to stop this bloodbath.

He’s there, he’s at the urinal and he yelps when he hears you barge in. You avert your eyes and let his adjust himself as he sputters indignantly.

“Y/N? What’re you doing in here? This is a men’s-“

“Don’t fight him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fight Bakugo, please, he’s gonna kill you, I know he is-“

“-Calm down, what’re you so worked up about? C’mon, I would’ve thought you’d had a little bit more faith in me to be able to stand my ground.” He teases you but you don’t find it funny, on the contrary you’re terrified out of your mind for his life.

“Did he put you up to this? How could you fight him, you’ve seen what he does to the other guys in the ring!”

“Well yeah, but he knows not to go that hard on me. Actually, he’s not that bad of a guy, we’ve gotten some drinks for the past two weeks and I was wrong about him.”

You gape at him. “Wrong? You saw how he cornered me that one day!”

He shrugs, not put off by the distant memory. “The guy just came back from a fight, he still had testosterone going through him. You can’t blame him for wanting to let a bit of it out, right? You should really give him a chance y’know, he talks about you all the t-“

But you can’t hear anymore, this is madness, there’s barely 10 minutes left until they’re going to call the two down for their death match. You need to find the source of this problem firsthand.

And somehow, a little voice inside your head tells you exactly where you know he is.

You round the corner to your office and there he is in all his glory, seated like a king on your chair, leaned back with his knees spread, carelessly looking through your bank statements and bet papers.

He barely looks at you as he says, “Oh there you are, I was starting to think you’d miss the show.”

You sink to your knees.

He looks up at that.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, your dry throat barely permits you to choke out, “Bak-Katsuki, please, please don’t do this. Please don’t fight him.”

He cracks his neck and leans forward, regarding you with dark vermilion eyes. He looks your position over appreciatively before speaking.

“Why not? He’s so good and great isn’t he? I’m just trying to show you how right you were, after all. I’m sure he’s got a fair chance of beating me.”

You shake your head vigorously, knowing what he’s playing at.

“No, no, you’re better, please. I was wrong about him, I shouldn’t have been friends with him, please don’t fight him Katsuki I’ll do anything-“

“-Oh you’ll do anything I say regardless of if I beat him to a bloody pulp or not. You wanna know why?”

You can barely contain a whimper as he stands and walks over right in front of you, his bulging crotch mere inches away from your face.

He suddenly grabs your hair and you cry out before he yanks your head up to meet his cold eyes.

“Because no one in here is gonna say shit to me. I run things here, toots. And if you want your little boy toy to live through today, you’re gonna watch every blow I give to him, and you’re gonna kiss the fucking knuckles I beat his face with. Got that?”

You sob as he grinds his clothed erection against your tear-streaked face, sniffling when he moans loudly and bucks into your open mouth.

A loud knock on the bare hinges stops Bakugo from pulling the front of his shorts down.

You both turn your heads and see a red-faced side-liner looking down and mumbling something about the match starting.

“‘Be there in a minute. Tell the guys to give my girl here a special front-row seat to this match, she’s gonna wanna see her man win, after all.”

The runner scampers off, leaving you both alone.

He bares his teeth down at you and you cower under his painful hold, the roots of your hair ripping from their strands.

He eventually tosses your head to the side after a few seconds of staring you down, and the second he does you clutch your sore cranium.

“I better see you down there in a minute sweet thing. You gotta get used to it anyways, since you’re gonna be getting accustomed to my rituals before and after matches.”

[outsidercocktail]

Song title: 空回り (In Vain) Arrangement: Comp, Paprika Vocals: Ranko Original song: The Battlefield of the Flower Threshold (Kasen Ibaraki’s Theme) Source: Touhou Shinpiroku ~ Urban Legend in Limbo Circle: Buta-Otome Album: Maiden Purgatory Vol.3