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barbieaemond · 11 months ago

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

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iloveboysinred · 6 months ago

Text

Miracle [Keith Kogane]

18+ angst|Keith Kogane x reader

synopsis; During a battle with the Galra you and Keith are cornered, you give up your life to save Keith, and leave him a gift to remember you by.

cw; fem reader, angst, character death, sad Keith, mentions of blood, violence, strangulation, stabbing, heavy grief, survivors guilt.

this will probably be the last angst request I'll write given that I'm not the best at it and i hate putting out work I'm not proud of ;/. Hope you enjoy anon!

masterlist - ask

Adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you ran down the dark halls of a Galra ship. It was an endless labyrinth of walls and turns, the darkness suffocating. You'd swear you were running in circles; every time you thought you'd found another way, you were just met with another band of sentries, shooting at you, chasing you, hunting you down. You tried to keep up with Keith, his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, but your legs were starting to get tired, and your mind was foggy and confused. You didn't know how much longer you could endure. "Lance? Pidge? C'mon guys, where are you?" you heard Keith shout, trying to reconnect his damaged helmet to the others, but to no avail.

Your mind flashed back to Earth for a second. To when you and Keith were garrison trainees. You were close, seeing through his cold exterior and becoming friends quite quickly. From then on, you have always been there for each other. Supporting each other in training and comforting each other through the good and the bad. So of course, when he had come to you for support after he caught wind of Shiro's re-appearance, you had gone with him. Never expecting to be where you are now, fighting a galactic war and constantly putting your lives at risk.

"Fuck!" Your heart dropped to your stomach when you stopped, staring up at the wall in front of you. It was a dead end. You glanced behind you; they were gaining. Keith pulled you behind him, activating his bayard. You stared in fear when the sentries parted, a large Galra soldier advancing towards you. "It appears the universe has granted me a gift," he sneered, stopping a few feet away from you and Keith. His ugly yellow teeth peeked out from under his lip in a menacing snarl, his glowing yellow eyes pinning you with unsettling malice. You felt Keith tense, his grip on your wrist falling, raising his bayard defensively. "Lord Zarkon will be pleased when I bring him the heads of the red lion's paladin and his co-pilot." He got into his own defensive stance. He was big, standing about 5 feet above you; his body was strong and muscular. His teeth shone in the dim lighting, sharp as blades. "This will be fun. I think I'll take you first, Paladin. Your death will be just the beginning of the end for Voltron. How will your pathetic band of earthlings form Voltron if they're one paladin short? It'll make it all the easier to take you out one by one." You narrowed your eyes, reaching into the band of your boot and gripping the concealed dagger you'd made sure to bring, just in case the situation got dire.

"Cmoooon Keith. Let me drive!" You whined, leaning over Keith's back, trying to reach for the controls of his cruiser. "No way, y/n. Knowing you, you'll drive us into a cliff. "Oh, come on! You doubt my skills that much??" Keith gave you a blank look, shrugging you off. You grumbled, sitting down and wrapping your arms around his waist. He smirked, revving the engine and taking off. You flew through the desert, sand spraying in your wake. The air whipped your hair at the speed you were going exhilarating. You grinned, blood roaring in your ears. "Oh shit!" you cheered every time Keith dodged an obstacle. You gripped his waist tightly, pressing your chest against his back.

"Keith? Keith!" You heard Lance's voice ring through his helmet, the connection glitching. "Lance! Where are you guys!? We're kind of in a situation here. The Galra have me and you cornered." "Don't worry, we know where you are. We're coming to get you in just a tick." The connection cut off once more, the radio chatter blocking out anything else being said. The Galra soldier ran towards you, swinging a large blade right towards you and Keith.

"Y/n.. I have something important to tell you." You and Keith sat in front of his house; the night sky was clear, and the moon was shining down on you. "yeah?" You looked up at him from your bowl of noodles, your cheeks full to the brim. Keith's eyes softened in adoration. "Well, I've been picking up a lot of chatter on my radar. A space vessel is approaching Earth, and I think it might be Shiro." Your eyes widened, and you swallowed your mouth full, leaning toward him intently. "Really? that's great! But... what do you think you should do?"" "Well, I was hoping we'd find the landing sight and go see for ourselves." Keith blushed at your close proximity, looking away from you, bashful of your eagerness. "Oh my gosh, we totally should! When do you think it'll land?" "My guess is that in two days, will you come with me?" You gaped at him in disbelief. "Of course I will! Are you kidding?" Keith smiled at you. You leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss on his cheek. "We're in this together, okay?" "Okay."

You flinched as Keith's body hit the floor, quickly blocking the Galra's attack with his bayard. He had him pinned to the ground, his face a few meters away from his. "I have to admit, you do put on a good fight. I wouldn't expect anything less from a Paladin of Voltron," he snarled, bearing his teeth in a sneer. His tail slapped the bayard from Keith's hands, the weapon clattering as it hit the ground a few feet away. The sentries aimed their weapons at you, stopping you as you tried to run towards them. You stood there, helpless, as you watched Keith struggle. Then, the ground shook as the wall behind you suddenly rumbled, the blue lion appearing from a newly made gap. "Cmon guys, we don't have much time. Galra fighter jets are coming quick!" Your eyes locked on Keith, and your heart raced as the blade inched closer and closer to his throat. Grabbing the dagger, you ran at the soldier, narrowly dodging a sentry blade. Using as much weight as you could to knock him off Keith, trying to give him time to escape. You slashed as much as you could, drawing blood from any skin you reached. "y/n!" Keith shouted, running to try and come to your aid, but a sentry slashed at him, causing him to fall back, holding his side where he had been hit. "K-Keith! Go! Get out of here!" you screamed, trying to hold the Galra soldier down as best you could. "No! Not without you!" he grunted, trying to stand up. You felt your body hit the ground as the soldier flipped you off of him. The air escaping your lungs from the impact. You couldn't catch your breath; the soldier was holding you down by the neck. All you could hear between Keith's shouts and the footsteps of more sentries crowding you was the fast beating of your heart. "KEITH! WE HAVE TO GO!" Lance's voice rang in your ears, but you couldn't move; your neck was starting to ache. You kicked and scratched at the galra, but the lack of oxygen was starting to weaken you. Mustering as much strength as possible, you clumsily gripped the dagger, driving it into the soldier's side, but it did little to penetrate the armor covering his body. "Even if I can't bring him the corpse of your little boyfriend, Lord Zarkon would be just as pleased knowing it's one paladin down. Ever closer to wiping out all of Voltron," the soldier purred, putting more weight down on your neck.

"You know I love you," you murmured, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Keith turned his head, pressing his lips harder, holding you close to him. You threaded your fingers through his hair, smiling as you pulled away. "I love you more," he whispered, gazing into your eyes with so much emotion that it made your heart flutter. "Pfft, big softy." He glared at you, pulling you to his chest and laying back on his bed with you.

"y/n! We can't leave her, Lance! we can't-" "Keith. We don't have time. You'll bleed out; we have to go!" You felt your vision begin to blur, and the grip on your neck felt heavier. You glanced over the Galra soldier, watching as Lance hauled Keith into the blue lion's mouth, shooting at any sentry he could. "Lance, let me go! Let me fucking go!" Keith shouted, struggling against his hold. But he was weakening; the blood streaming out of his wound was making him dizzy, and his movements were uncertain. As his vision became more and more unclear, his panic increased. Where were you? what's happening? The last glimpse he got of you was your unmoving body and the sentries crowding around you. His eyes teared as he struggled against Lance weakly, his fists clenching when Lance pulled him into a hug, constricting his arms. His vision blurred both from his tears and the blood loss. Sobs racked his body as the blue lion's mouth closed, flying out and away from the ship.

You glanced blankly at the ceiling, refusing to look the soldier in the eye as your life slowly faded. "I love you, Keith; don't worry, I'll see you again," you thought, your body going still when your breathing ceased, your heart's beating coming to a stop.

Keith might as well have been dead himself. At least that's how he felt. His heart was hollow, his mind swirling with thoughts of you and how you had passed—to save him. He couldn't even hurt anymore; he didn't feel anything most of the time. Most days where he was stuck in his head about you, he would feel pure, unbridled rage, lashing out in training sequences, pushing himself harder than he ever did before. On nights where he suffered your absence the most, he felt cold grief grip his heart so strongly that he struggled to breathe, becoming inconsolable. Tears fell heavily from his eyes when he cried. He would scream, gripping his chest through his shirt. Shiro would rush in, enveloping Keith in his arms, and he would thrash around in his hold, slightly settling down when he started to tire. Shiro comforted him, assuring him it was going to be okay. Keith couldn't hear him, zoning out and staring blankly at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Going on missions felt like torture. His attacks were uncoordinated, and the team had to make up for his lack of focus. The arguments that ensued between him and Lance almost broke into full-blown fights, Keith's heart only building more and more resentment for everyone in the castle.

Months later, here he stood, watching as Allura pressed a final kiss to Lance's lips, tears falling from their eyes, trying to savor whatever they could before they ran out of time. "Keith, look," Shiro whispered, placing his hand on Keith's shoulder. He paused for a second, the bitterness of the situation making it hard to care about what Shiro was saying. But he glanced up anyway, tears rising along his waterline. The Paladins of old—Allura's father and Zarkon's family—stand right in front of them. He felt his heart squeeze as you appeared from behind the crowd, smiling sweetly at him. You looked so beautiful. A sight for sore eyes to Keith. He ran towards you, his eyes shining with so much love and so much pain. You welcomed him into your embrace. Holding him close as he hugged you, burying his nose in your hair. You quickly pulled him into a kiss, savoring the feel of his lips one last time. "I miss you so much, Keith," you whispered, cupping his face in your hands. Keith felt his heart stop, drinking in every feature of your face, knowing he wouldn't see it for a while. "I miss you every day of my life. I love you, Y/N. So much," you smiled, pulling away from him and keeping his arms in your hold. "I love you more." "I wish you could come back to me. I should've been there with you. I'm so sorry." you shushed him. "We'll be together again. Hopefully not any time soon though!" Keith chuckled, the weight of his grief making his voice shaky. "But I've got to go, Keith. I have a gift for you. Please, heal, and forgive. I'll always have you in my heart." Keith's chest ached as you pulled away from him, taking your warmth and scent with you. "I love you." You smiled at him sweetly, Allura following you. Slowly, you disappeared again, dissipating into the air and leaving everyone feeling bittersweet.

Keith was taken aback when he felt something shift in his arms, looking down to see a moving bundle of cloth. He heard muffled babbling, making him hurriedly unravel the bundle in shock. A pretty baby girl stared up at him; somehow she looked like you, having his dark hair and nose but your eyes, lips, and eyebrows. He gaped down at the baby, holding it close to his chest. "What ?? Where did that baby come from??" Pidge asked, coming up to peer down at the child. "Y/N left her; she's the gift." Keith whispered, his eyes crinkling in a bright smile, pressing a kiss to the baby's forehead. "She's mine. The baby's mine," he whispered, rocking the baby in his arms. The little girl glanced up at him with wide eyes, soft babbling and cooing coming from her as she happily laid in her father's arms. "How is that even possible?" Hunk whispered, glancing down at the baby, adoration in his heart. "It's a miracle." Lance whispered, standing next to Keith. Keith glanced at him for a second, mixed emotions coursing through him. He felt resentment and hatred for the man. Grief still swelling in his chest, but your words echoed in his mind: "Heal, forgive," and he gave Lance a ghost of a smile. "Yeah, she is."

The story of both you and Allura's sacrifices became sensational, with old allies of Voltron helping construct statues of you and the Altean princess standing side by side. Every once a year, the team would unite and visit the statue, sharing updates on each other's lives and recounting old missions. At every meeting, Keith would bring his daughter, making sure she was present for every story the team would share about you. "Y/N and Allura should be here. But it's because of them that we can all continue to keep peace in the universe. I can't imagine anyone braver than them." Coran sighed, glancing up at the statues with bittersweet love in his gaze. Everyone solemnly agreed, toasting to both you and Allura's legacy. Keith glanced down at his daughter, snuggled up next to him in her own chair, staring up at the statues with shining eyes and wonder. He smiled, knowing that as long as he had his miracle, he had something to live for, and some piece of you was still with him here on earth.

#{anonask ੈ✩‧₊˚ ฅ^. .^ฅ}#keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #vld keith #voltron legendary defender #vld angst #❥iloveboysinred

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throneofsapphics · 11 months ago

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midnight panic

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Request: dark!Rowaelin x reader angst to fluff, she wanders around the castle and they can’t find her and think she ran or something.

Summary: Rowan and Aelin find you missing in the middle of the night

Warnings: darkish rowan/aelin, sleepwalking, hypothermia, fighting, toxic relationships

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: this is a standalone, but also fits between parts 4 & 5 of my dark poly!rowaelin series (have your little girlfriend), but you don’t need to read the actual series to understand this one!

Aelin squinted, the light from the full moon hitting at the perfect angle to shine directly on her face. Keeping her eyes shut, not wanting the sleepiness to disappear, she turned back towards her, reaching her arm over to pull her back into her side, to cuddle into her warmth again.

Aelin’s hand hit the bed, the space beside her warm - but empty, her eyes shot open. Majority of the time, she slept between her and Rowan. Lifting her head, she wasn't on his other side. Things had been … testy, lately. She couldn’t shake the feeling that y/n wanted out, wanted to leave the two of them, to escape to gods-know-where. She listened carefully for sounds in the bathroom - or even the sitting room, but nothing. How had she left without them noticing?

“Rowan,” she said, trying to keep her voice low enough she wouldn’t startle him. Wouldn’t trigger the battle-honed instincts. A grunt, and he rolled towards her, reaching his own hand out and - his eyes shot open as well. Rowan checked the bathroom, and she peeked out onto the balcony - empty. Nothing was out of place, no missing items, if anything she’d left with only the clothes on her back.

“What the hell,” she muttered under her breath.

“She was here an hour ago,” Rowan said, all traces of sleep gone. A good bit of distance could be covered in an hour, especially if she’d shifted into her animal form.

I’ll check inside the castle, she said silently

I have the city, he assured her. In bird form, he’d be able to cover more ground. Signal if you find her. If we don’t in two hours, meet back here.

One they’d used throughout the years - a pulse of magic, strong enough the other could recognize, but subtle enough to not cause alarm to the general public.

It was midnight, and absolutely freezing. There was snow on the ground, ice covering the windows, the temperatures well below freezing. Even inside the castle, a bitter chill set in. Within minutes, they were dressed warmly and armed with their usual assortment of weapons. Rowan propped the window open, and with a flash of light a white-tailed hawk soared into the night.

Aelin knew all of the routes to take to avoid any guards or sentries. It went without saying that they’d keep this under wraps. When they found her, there’d be hell to pay. She raced through the halls, checking her workshop, the private library, every place she usually liked to spend time. Every scent was faint, she hadn’t been there in the last few hours. Each minute she grew angrier and more worried.

Tracing back, on impulse she checked on of the older passages out of the castle - and caught her scent. Running, she’d tried to run. Breathing deeply to tamp down her anger, threatening to flow over into her magic, she focused her senses. There’s no way she’d let her get away. A mating bond was for life. There’s nowhere she could run that her mates wouldn’t find her, even if it took years.

Rowan flew over the city, backtracking through every route she could take out, searching for any trail of her scent. He spotted Aelin, following a path out of the castle, and shot down, shifting to fall in step with her.

“She went this way,” Aelin said quietly, and he picked up on the same trail. Fae, at least she hadn’t shifted, that would make this much easier.

This was familiar, something they’d done in their time before her. They were going on a hunt.

Did she really think they wouldn’t notice? He needed to figure out how he’d given her the impression he was that stupid, and fix it.

They trailed her out of the castle grounds, past the gates - a guard currently sleeping on duty. He’d quickly find himself out of a job in the morning, but he didn’t have the time to address that now, instead sending a sharp wind towards him when they were out of sight. A shield wrapped around them, hiding their scents as they stuck to the shadows, tracing her steps.

She led them out of the city, just past the gates, right to the edge of the forest. His anger was rising to dangerous levels, and he knew that. Rowan prayed she wouldn’t fight them.

Aelin held a hand out, as they paused just before a clearing.

They’d found her, and it wasn’t what he expected.

Barefoot, in only her nightgown, not a weapon or any kind of provisions on her, she walked back and forth along the edge of the clearing. She crouched every few steps to pick up something, but her hands came back empty. Something was wrong - there was a daze in her eyes, murmuring random phrases under her breath, low enough he couldn’t hear. She didn’t drink any alcohol that night… Could someone have slipped her a drug? No, they ate all of the same food in their rooms, and he always made a point to check for any kind of poison.

Following Aelin’s lead, they slowly approached her.

“Y/n,” Aelin called. She didn’t react, didn’t even turn around. Aelin repeated her name - louder. Still nothing.

A warm flame caressed her skin, starting to warm her back up. Gods, she’d be hypothermic by now. He’s surprised she hasn’t passed out on the ground.

All Rowan wanted was to sprint towards her, to grab and shake her, to find out what the fuck she was thinking, but instinct had him moving carefully and slowly, keeping his footsteps purposefully loud.

Aelin met his eyes; what do we do?

His breath caught as she turned, but no recognition flashed through her eyes. Actually, it was like they weren’t there at all.

Aelin tried calling her name, again and again and didn’t get a single reaction. Nothing to register she was aware they existed.

An exasperated sigh, and she closed the distance, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Y/n screamed, stumbling backwards, her ass hitting the ground, hands scrambling on the rocks to try and get away. A wall of flame, but not one that would burn her, blocked the path. As she reached the warmth, something in her calmed. Almost like she’d recognized Aelin’s magic, even wherever she was right now.

Did she ever mention sleepwalking? Rowan asked her.

Not that I know of.

That doesn’t mean it’s not possible. There’s a chance she would hide something like this from them, probably not thinking it was important. He’d bet a decent bit of gold that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Gods, they’d be putting locks on everything now.

After five minutes of trying to reach her, five minutes of her increasing distress, five minutes of fear starting to fill the air, he gave up. Palms already bloodied, wiping them off on her nightgown, he crouched as close to her as he could get.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and pulled the air from her lungs, catching her before her head could hit the ground.

Mercifully, she stayed asleep as they ran back to the castle, moving as quickly as possible while staying hidden. Aelin kept the flames going, kept slowly warming her temperature back to healthy levels. Rowan had thrown her over his shoulder, one arm securing her legs in place. It didn’t look comfortable, but it was the quickest way to get back. Comfort could come later, after she was home, warm, and safe. Her mind whirled with the things she needed to do; find a way to secure the room, run a warm bath, hope she’d wake easily, and figure out if she was hiding this from them.

They made it back without incident, taking all of the hidden passageways through the castle. Nearing one in the morning. She’d been outside for two hours. Anything could’ve happened to her. Especially considering how gods-damned vulnerable she was. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but Aelin was still pissed off.

Not how they’d thought, but they came so close to losing her without even knowing.

She felt warm water around her, her muscles tense and aching. Wasn’t she asleep? How the hell did she get into a bath? It took more effort than it should’ve to open her eyes, but she saw Aelin, right there, watching her every movement. Relief flashed through turquoise eyes, followed by … anger or resentment.

“Do you know what happened?” Aelin asked, voice rough.

“What do you mean?” She moved her foot up and down, her leg feeling weaker than normal. The water was warm, she knew that, but a shiver still ran through her and she wrapped her arms back around herself. The bath heated a few degrees, and she felt Aelin’s magic running through the water. Soothing and comforting.

“We found you in the gods-damned forest,” Aelin hissed, struggling to keep her voice low.

The door swung open, revealing Rowan. She noticed they were both fully dressed, weapons still sheathed. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have you ever sleepwalked?” He asked mildly. A dangerous kind of mild, especially considering the rest of his body language, and the anger she could feel radiating down the bond.

“Not since I was a child,” she admitted. Green eyes darkened, fixed on her, like he’d located his newest target. Her throat bobbed, chest tightening. It was never good to be on the receiving end of that look.

“And you didn’t think to share that?”

“It’s been years,” she focused on keeping her tone quiet and calm, on staying steady, even as her hands threatened to shake. She didn’t like this side of them. Darting her eyes to Aelin, she found herself on the receiving end of that same look.

Liar, her eyes seemed to say.

“I never lied,” she knew what their reply would be.

“Lying by omission is still lying.”

She was tired, aching, and still dazed. Her mind could barely focus enough to actually get a grip on the situation. The forest. Sleepwalking. Lying. It was too much effort to speak, to keep her eyes open, darkness swirled in her vision.

“Stay awake,” fingers pinched her cheek, and she startled, water splashing over the sides of the tub. Fire evaporated it before it could reach the ground.

“I’m trying,” y/n mumbled, running a wet hand over her face. The water heated again. How long had Aelin been doing this with her? “I don’t understand,” she gripped her hair with both hands, yanking at it. Frustrated. None of this made sense.

Hands gripped her own, tugging them away from her hair. She was lifted out of the bath, towels drying her, leaning against someone as they slipped a nightgown over her - too weak to stand on her own. The next thing she knew, she hit soft and warm sheets, cradled between two warm bodies, and let sleep take her under.

Every so often, her name would be called, eyes blinking open, gazing up at either Rowan or Aelin, they’d give her a small nod and she understood that - she could go back to sleep. There wasn’t enough space in her mind to question what was going on, it was easy to listen to what her mates said, to sense and follow their intentions.

Aelin met Rowan’s eyes in the bathroom; she’s too confused.

We won’t get anything out of her tonight, he finished her thoughts.

Seeing the state of confusion, the distress, the vulnerability, all made it easy to just take care of her, to shove away the other emotions for now, to focus on making sure she’s safe. Free from anything that could harm her, including the sleepwalking. But, the major concern now was making sure her body recovered from her little adventure. Neither of them slept that night, Aelin didn’t try - she only grabbed a book and tried to focus on it. Inevitably, her eyes would switch to the clock, waiting for the next half-hour to wake her. It probably wasn’t necessary, or recommended, but she had to know y/n would wake.

When dawn broke, she finally felt like she could leave the room, Rowan still keeping a careful eye on her. Just a week away from Samhuinn, the days rapidly got shorter and shorter as they approached the coldest months. They’d get maybe ten and half or eleven hours of daylight today. The sun always disappeared too quickly for her liking.

A fire roared in the sitting room behind her, and she busied herself making tea, adding extra honey to y/n’s. She was out in the cold for a few hours, and her voice did sound hoarse earlier, Aelin figured she might have a sore throat. If not, she had a sweet tooth anyway.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Aelin heard y/n’s voice rising, “I can get out of this damned bed on my own.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Rowan snapped at her. She agreed with him, and carefully balanced the three cups.

Pushing the door open with her foot, she found Rowan standing over the side of the bed, ready to pin y/n to the bed if she tried to move again. She was propped up against the headboard, fists clenching the comforter. Aelin could tell y/n woke up ready for a fight. Good, she wasn’t feeling particularly calm either. But first, tea.

Aelin came back in, but y/n knew she wouldn’t be on her side. It was two-against-one now. Even as Aelin shoved the cup of tea into her hands, taking up the space next to her on the bed, legs crossed, and hands cradling her own cup. Silently, Rowan took the other from her, and dragged his chair closer to the bed.

Y/n knew exactly what the cups would have. A good amount of sugar for Aelin, plain and boring for Rowan, and based on the scent - honey for her. She’s not sure how, but Aelin picked up that her throat was sore. It was enough to soothe some of the sting from the impending argument.

Sure enough, honey exploded on her tongue - more than usual, but it was soothing her throat, and she wouldn’t complain. Complaining would only make her situation worse. She debated just accepting blame, letting them win this one, but truly - she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no indication to think she’d end up sleepwalking again. Gods, she’d forgotten about it.

“I haven’t sleepwalked since I was seven years old,” she kept her eyes on her cup, swirling the liquid to give her something to focus on.

“If we’re going to talk about this, you need to look at us,” Rowan said too calmly. Fuck.

Throat bobbing, she looked up at them. Seeing the gleam in their eyes, she went right on the defensive. “I was asleep, how the hell is this my fault?” Rowan stiffened, and she looked to Aelin.

“The problem is, you didn’t think to tell us,” Aelin’s voice was neutral, but she knew that was the sign of her growing anger.

“You never asked,” she hissed back at her.

“Watch your fucking attitude,” Rowan snarled.

Closing her eyes, a few deep breaths later, she tried something different, “my parents always told me it only happened when I felt safe, when my mind - even asleep, thought I couldn’t come to any harm.”

Emphasizing that she feels safe with them, that even though it was dangerous - the deepest parts of her mind believed she couldn’t come to any harm around them. At least she’s hoping that’s what they’d read out of the situation.

“We thought you ran,” Aelin said quietly, her hand reaching out, and y/n slipped her palm into hers, giving her a light squeeze. She could tell Aelin had already softened, that her anger was slowly ebbing out. Rowan, however, would take a bit more time, and maybe some more soothing.

“I’m not running,” she murmured. It’s the truth, she doesn’t want to leave, even if she craved some space away - something she could never tell them. Truly leaving them, she doesn’t think she could ever do that. Her heart and soul might not survive it, even if her mind says it could be better.

Rowan was still assessing her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, and she read the words in his eyes instead, the silent communication; you didn’t think.

I’m sorry, she answered.

Are you really?

That I put both of you through that. Rowan seemed to be waiting, waiting for her to add something. And myself, she tried. He gave her a short nod, and she understood; conversation over.

She’d expected a much larger fight, but gods she’s glad it didn’t come to that. Y/n stretched, trying to place her mug on the table, but Rowan was there before she could get halfway, snatching it from her hands to place it there himself.

Another realization struck her. Rowan told her briefly that she nearly froze to death. Now they’d be absolutely insufferable until they were satisfied she was healthy again. Knowing them, it could take much longer than necessary. Maybe this was her punishment, she met Rowan’s gaze again, reading the gleam in his eyes. Yes, it’s definitely her punishment.

She debated reaching back into that part of her, trying to shift into her fox form - where everything would be easier.

Rowan - the bastard, sensed that. “Try to shift and I’ll rip the air out of your lungs.”

“A bit dramatic,” she huffed, but it put an end to that idea, and her attention switched to Aelin, who looked tired. A bit of guilt crept in, she’d been up all night for her. “Will you take a nap with me?”

She is tired. Sleep sounded very, very nice. Aelin latched on to the idea, almost chucking her mug at Rowan before sliding in next to her.

Aelin tugged her into her chest, their bodies molding together, legs tangling. Aelin ran her fingers through her hair, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. It was sweet, seeing Aelin in her fussy mode. At least this part of it. “Sleep, my love,” she murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. She heard Rowan rustling around the room, but every time she tried to look, Aelin tucked her head back in. Based on the movements, she figured it out pretty quickly. He was setting up something on the various doors in the room, some kind of noise or object would fall to alert them if she made it out over there. On the off chance both of them were asleep and didn’t notice.

Without having to ask, she knew there would be locks on the doors by the end of the day. Locks she wouldn’t be able to access the key to, at least during the night. It felt vaguely like a cage, but the bed dipped again, a strong arm wrapping around her waist, Rowan’s strong chest pressing against her back.

“Rowan,” she murmured, struggling to stay awake, “how the hell did I get past you?”

A low growl from behind her, and she hid her laughter, tucking her face into Aelin.

“I’m the one that found you,” she chuckled, hand resting on the back of her head, like she might protect her from the glare she could feel coming from Rowan.

Y/n jumped as he pinched her arm, letting out a slightly-embarrassing squeak, but heard Aelin slapping Rowan’s hand away, chiding him.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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wizardofrozz · 2 years ago

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Shadow Play

Commander Fox x senator!reader (fem), Senator Farr, Commander Thorn, and mention of Commander Stone

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: NSFW, this is literally just filth, unprotected sex, exhibition, creampie, fluff, Fox being a tease

Summary: Seeing their favorite senator getting wrecked by their commander was certainly not in the Coruscant Guard’s mission briefing for today.

A/N: I finally had the motivation to write some Fox smut thanks to this art. Huge thanks to @homie-one-kenobi for all the encouragement and help editing ❤️ Writing this has reduced me to a puddle so please enjoy 😂

Lights flashed across the rows of seats, making you squint as another Mon Calamari dancer twirled elegantly. You tried to focus on the choreography, praying it would hold your attention but no matter what, you still couldn’t force yourself to enjoy the ballet. Watching it for a third time wasn’t changing your opinion, yet it wasn’t like you could’ve declined the offer. Your eyes flickered to the balcony opposite you, noting Fox’s absence for the fifth time in less than an hour, borderline glaring at the unfortunate Corrie taking his place.

A small part of you hated the poor sentry, his red armor acting as a constant reminder that for the last 21 rotations and 17 hours since Fox left for an off-world assignment, your bed had been cold and empty. Your eyes finally drifted away from the trooper and just barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at the small group of senators whispering praises. While you agreed that the performers were exceptional, you couldn’t follow the plot, leaving you to count down the seconds until the next intermission. A small part of you wished that Riyo or Padme were there to make the whole experience a little more bearable.

Years of etiquette training was the only thing that stopped you from jumping out of your seat when a booming voice announced the second intermission. Your aid that was standing near the back of the senatorial box shot you a sympathetic look and you appreciated the gesture even if there was nothing they could do to help. Just as the door was within reach, the faint call of your name had you stopping in your tracks, forcing your expression to remain pleasant.

“Senator Farr,” you greeted, managing a small smile. You had nothing against the Rodian senator, you quite liked him, but you really weren’t in the mood for small talk. You expected him to ask for your interpretation of the ballet only to surprise you when he ushered you into the bustling hall.

“How many more acts are there?” he whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation somewhat private. Your mouth twisted to the side in a poor attempt at hiding your amusement.

“Three,” you replied, chewing on your top lip when Senator Farr’s already large eyes seemed to grow bigger. “I plan to feign a stomach bug for the next two.”

“Will it be any less believable if we both do?” he mused, glancing over your shoulder at the cluster of senators still talking about Act 2.

“Probably more believable,” you snickered, scratching the corner of your mouth to cover your persistent grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

“Hm, now that you mention it,” Farr sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a show of distress that you found quite impressive. He chanced one last look over your shoulder before gently nudging your arm and hurrying toward the bathroom. You allowed yourself a fond laugh before heading in the direction of the lady’s room, making a detour through the nearby door at the last second. The click of your disgustingly uncomfortable shoes was deafening in the silent stairwell, making you pause at the top of the first flight to check no one had followed.

Once you were confident you were in the clear, you took the last flight at a slower pace, contemplating burning the fucking torture devices you called shoes the entire way. You paused one last time at the top of the steps, just to be safe, before slipping through the door at the top. A warm, orangish glow washed over you, melting some of the tension in your neck and shoulders as you stepped into the cupola.

It had been far too long since you’d ventured into the little hideaway, only able to admire the beautiful stained glass windows from afar. Most Coruscant residents had no idea there was even a room atop the opera house, meaning they missed out on one of the most beautiful views. You lazily wandered toward the window, lightly brushing your fingers over the marbled glass, watching the slightly distorted ecumenopolis below. Your original intention had been to find a refuge from the torture of sitting through three more acts but standing there, looking out across the capital world, all you felt was lonely.

The soft whir of the door was lost to your aching heart but there was no mistaking the muted footsteps approaching. Anyone else would’ve felt fear in that moment, yet you only sighed, knowing the taste of solace you found had come to an end. You let your hand linger on the cool glass for another second before dropping it, turning to face the presence lingering off to your left.

For a moment, you were convinced you were hallucinating, that maybe you were sick, when you turned to find a Coruscant Guard member watching you. There was no mistaking the pattern you had sought out in waves of red armor time and time again. He canted his head and it was so painfully familiar, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted, your manners suddenly tumbling to Coruscant’s surface. Not that he minded.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Fox countered. Just hearing his voice, the unique inflection in his words that set him apart had your shoulders slumping like the marionette strings folding your facade up had been cut. Something between a sob and laugh tumbled past your lips, the sound seemed to break through the barrier Fox built around himself. The second his stance lost some of its rigidity you were moving, throwing your arms around his shoulders. The collision punched a grunt out of Fox but he barely even swayed, catching your weight with ease.

“What are you doing here?” you repeated, the words muffled against his shoulder. It had been three long weeks since you saw him before he went dark for a security detail off-world. Fox smelled of blaster fire, caf, and sweat, a mixture that should’ve had your nose wrinkling, but right then, it was so perfectly him you pressed closer.

“Thought I’d pick up a security shift for a few senators spending the night at the opera,” Fox sighed, pressing the hard edge of his helmet against the side of your head. That had you pulling away, staring into his dark visor. How long had he been back? The question must’ve been written all over your face because Fox laughed, a soft, beautiful sound. “Relax, we landed maybe an hour before it started.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you mumbled, threading your fingers together at the back of his neck.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fox snorted, pulling you as close as he dared. The bite of plastoid against your body was uncomfortable but you’d take it over his absence any day.

“Drama queen,” you huffed with a fond eye roll. His helmet tipped down and you assumed he was pinning you with a dark glare, something you had never wanted to see more than you did in that moment. You carefully broke the seal, slowly lifting the bright red helmet off, not realizing you were holding your breath. Fox blinked a few times, gently shaking his head, tousling his longer-than-normal curls. But instead of a scowl, you were greeted with a soft smile that melted your heart.

“Hey,” he breathed, gently tracing the curve of your back.

“Stars, I missed you,” you rasped just before surging forward to capture his lips. Fox let out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips before gently cradling the back of your head, and leaning into the kiss. The bitterness of caf lingered on his lips, a taste you shouldn’t have missed seeing that you drank it just as often as Fox, however, it always seemed to taste better this way.

The kiss had started out sweet, a slow and tender brush of lips that made your heart flutter wildly. You intended to pull away until Fox started to knead the back of your neck, molding you against the curve of his chest. Every ounce of fatigue and anxiety you had been holding onto melted away as you coaxed his mouth open. Fox groaned softly, using his hold on your neck to angle your head back with an urgency you weren’t expecting. The shift had your head spinning to the point that you hadn’t realized you were moving until your back met the cool window.

“Missed you too,” Fox mumbled, dragging his lips away from yours to pant against your cheek. “So fucking much.”

“Mm, playing bodyguard for one of my colleagues wasn’t engaging enough,” you teased, carding through his messy hair. Fox nipped at your ear in retaliation, forcing a half-gasp, half-giggle past your lips. He tugged you tighter against his chest, the unforgiving plastoid of his codpiece pressing into your thigh, tempting you with what waited behind it.

“Like any of them could compare to you,” he breathed, nuzzling into your neck with a shallow roll of his hips. Maybe it was because you weren’t used to him being gone for long stretches of time but you were suddenly aching to feel something beyond GAR blacks and rigid plastoid. Fox yelped at the impatient tug on his codpiece, pulling back to dart his eyes between your hand and your face.

“What - what are you doing?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Yet he didn’t try to move your hand, letting you trace the shape at a torturous pace.

“I’m trying to indulge in what I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks,” you huffed, playfully tugging on the clip holding the armor in place. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed before his expression shifted, brown eyes somehow growing darker in the low light.

“Right here?” Fox mused, crowding you against the window and pinning your hand in place. Daring you to bow out. “Now what if one of the boys looked up and saw us? How would they feel seeing their favorite senator being ruined by their commander?”

“Fox,” you gasped, closing your fist in his hair, and grinding into the curve of his thigh plate. The idea should’ve scared you, should’ve filled you with a numbing dread at the thought of anyone catching an esteemed senator with a Guard commander. Instead, you clenched around nothing, mouth falling open with your strained pants.

“Oh, you like that, honey,” Fox purred, his gloved hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt. Even through a layer of fabric, his touch left a trail of heat across your skin. The quiet whine that followed the first brush of his fingers over your cunt made him shiver in your grip. “Maker, you sound even sweeter than in my dreams.”

“You - you dream about the s-sounds I make?” you panted, rocking forward in time with the drag of his fingers.

“Oh, I dream about more than that,” he chucked, bumping his nose against yours.

“Care to share?”

“How long do you have?”

“For you?” you whispered, barely brushing your lips against his. “All the time in the galaxy.”

“Is that so?” he mumbled, moving to pepper kisses down the side of your neck. You caught a glimpse of redness high on his cheeks just before a digit sank into you with little resistance. Your cunt clenched around his gloved finger, a strangled moan bursting from your lips as he pumped his finger once. The rough fabric of his gloves never bothered you before but the desperate, clawing need to feel the warmth of his skin had you squirming.

“Take your gloves off,” you all but begged, “please.” You almost wished you hadn’t asked when he slowly, torturously, pulled away. He caught your eye, pinning you in place with a heavy look, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand toward his face. You had witnessed Fox bring down a mercenary single-handedly after losing his blaster, seen him dissolve a full-fledged riot, and hit what should’ve been an impossible mark without batting an eye. Yet somehow the sight of his tongue curling around the soaked finger of his glove was more electrifying, setting your teeth on edge.

He pinned you in place, closing his lips around his finger; his lashes fluttered, a muffled groan filling the air as he savored your taste. Your lungs suddenly felt too small as you watched the slow drag of his digit over his full bottom lip. Fox was putting on a show, the twinkle in his lust-blown eyes giving him away and you were undoubtedly enjoying every second. A flash of white teeth sinking into the tip of the glove made your breath hitch, your eyes staying glued to the hem of the fabric as Fox tilted his head back, revealing strong, calloused hands.

Fox’s now bare hand came to rest lightly against your chest, following the curve of your body but your focus was zeroed in on the glove dangling from his teeth. He looked far too pleased with himself, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he paused, letting you admire the view. The feather-light brush of his fingers over your heated skin jerked you back to reality but your eyes still followed the fabric when he turned his head, letting the glove fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you.

“Better?” he rumbled, brushing through your folds before sinking two fingers into you, his smug grin never fading. Your head bobbed in an almost frantic nod as you tried to bite back a moan. Fox’s smug smile wasn’t helping either.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, tightening your grip in his hair. Fox hummed in the back of his throat, lazily pumping his fingers like he had all the time in the world. You were suddenly reminded of your hand placement when he shifted his weight. If your brain didn’t feel like it might leak out of your ears, you would’ve been more impressed with the skillful way you unclipped his codpiece in one swift movement.

“You’re getting too good at that,” Fox groaned, rocking into your hand.

“You only have yourself to blame,” you laughed breathlessly, tracing the shape of his hard length. He surged forward, his finger brushing a devastating spot inside you as his lips slammed into yours, muffling your incoherent cry.

“Will–will you let me,” he stammered between kisses, the sloppy roll of his hips growing rougher, “let me fuck you for all of Coruscant to see?”

“If–fuck–if you don’t–” you warned, trying to sound commanding, but your ability to form words was quickly narrowing to nothing more than curses and Fox’s name. That seemed to be all the permission he needed though as he licked into your mouth again, the hand that had been buried in your cunt coming up to grip your jaw. In a flurry of movement, you were suddenly facing the expanses of Coruscant, Fox’s warmth pressing against your back as he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips.

“Put your hands on the window, honey,” he rumbled, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear. You obeyed without a second thought, bracing both your hands against one of the orange panels; your heart fluttered when one of his large hands filled the space beside yours. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see our handprints every time I pass by.”

The thought that you’d leave behind a reminder, something only you and Fox would know about, had you pushing back into him. He seemed to catch on, unceremoniously tugging his pants down just enough to free his weeping cock, slipping it between your thighs. There was a brief moment where he paused, his tip barely pressing into your folds like he was savoring the buildup before he pushed in. The stretch felt endless, your head falling forward as you panted around soft whimpers until he was fully sheathed.

“Stars,” you chuckled, feeling dizzy with how full you were, “almost forgot how big you are.” Fox’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, punching the air from your lungs. His free hands slowly followed the curve of your waist, catching on the flashy fabric of your outfit, pausing briefly to brush a thumb over your covered nipple. A shiver tore through you when his hand gently curled around your throat, never squeezing, only using his grip as a way to hold you in place.

“Guess I’ll have to remind you,” he growled, pausing long enough for the words to sink in before he moved. The first thrust tested your ability to hold yourself up but Fox barely gave you a moment to steady yourself before he picked up a brutal pace. If you weren’t so high above the bustling crowds, you might’ve been worried about how you cried out, throwing your head back against Fox’s shoulder.

“F-Fox,” you moaned, needing him to hear the desperation pumping through your veins. You mindlessly curled your fingers over the smooth window pane, forcing your eyes open when you met warm skin. Fox’s hand was still braced against the window, your hand half covering his after your frantic scrambling. You were so mesmerized by the sheer size difference that you didn't notice right away when Fox shifted his weight, hitting a spot that made your eyes cross. You blindly grabbed onto the back of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. Fox instinctively closed his hand, pressing your fingertips into the rough skin of his palm. He nuzzled against your cheek, his ragged breathing raising goosebumps along the length of your throat.

“Fuck, you - you feel so good, cyar’ika” he whimpered, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek. You were both spiraling out of control, climbing higher and higher with each galaxy-shattering thrust. Fox’s usually composed attitude was long gone, leaving him just as desperate and pleasure-drunk as you were. The heat building under your skin had reached a scalding level but you just couldn’t seem to fall over the edge.

“I– I’m so close,” you whispered, turning your head to try and find his lips. Fox mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch before his hand slid over your chest, coming to rest on your stomach. The pressure of his hand made each punch of his cock somehow more explosive, reminding you both just how deep he was; Fox’s strangled moan overlayed with yours, his hips losing their rhythm.

“Never - fuck - never leaving you behind again,” he panted, leaning heavily against your back to drop his hand lower. Every muscle in your lower half clenched when his fingers brushed your clit, ripping an unusually loud moan from deep in Fox’s chest. The movements of his fingers were sloppy but you were so lost in the blinding pleasure that it didn’t matter. It finally, finally, crested, throwing you over the edge with a cry of Fox’s name as you gushed around him.

It only took three more thrusts before Fox went rigid, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, shaky moan.

Your thoughts cleared slowly, the fog of arousal melting away as you drifted back down to Coruscant. The empty cupola felt oddly quiet without the slap of skin on skin, leaving you to focus on Fox’s slightly labored breathing. Your eyes drifted back to where your hands were still braced against the stained glass, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth when you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around Fox’s larger one. Flashing speeder lights caught your attention, drawing your gaze to the traffic zipping past the opera house.

“Think anyone saw us?” you wondered absently. Fox laughed, loud and unguarded, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and the sound alone was enough to make your stomach do a funny little flip.

“We may never know,” Fox snickered, kissing the base of your neck. The deafening chirp of Fox’s comm brought you crashing back to reality, but you did your best to not let your disappointment show when he reached up to tap a button on his vambrace. “Fox.”

“Gotta question for you, Commander,” Thorn said in place of a greeting. Fox propped his chin on your shoulder, humming softly when you let your head drop to the side, resting your temple against his.

“Yes, Thorn.” There was a pregnant pause, your brows pulling together when you swore you heard a muffle laugh through the channel.

“You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be in the opera house’s cupola, would you?” Thorn snickered. Your stomach plummeted to your feet while Fox stiffened behind you. There was no denying it since Fox’s cock was still buried inside you. You tilted your head down, searching for a few dots of red in the sea of creatures, easily finding them near the opera house’s entrance.

“No,” Fox replied stiffly, only making the situation worse.

“Oh really?” a slightly different voice huffed. You glanced to the side, arching a brow in question. Fox rolled his eyes but mouthed, Stone, before returning his attention back to the comm.

“Heya, senator!” Thorn shouted. You only knew it was him because just as the greeting came through, you saw one of the dots with more red paint raise an arm, waving it wildly.

“How’d you know?” Fox grumbled, sounding close to pouting in your opinion.

“We can see your shadows, shit for brains,” Thorn wheezed, barely getting his sentence out between fits of laughter.

“Go do your fucking jobs,” Fox snapped, punching the button to end the call a little too hard. You had managed to keep a straight face throughout the call but you were steadily losing the battle against laughter. “I’m glad you find it funny.”

“I’m surprised you don’t,” you giggled, lightly resting your head against his temple. Fox huffed and hid his face against your shoulder, faintly shaking his head.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he groaned, mindlessly squeezing your fingers that were still intertwined with his.

“About getting caught,” you wondered, letting a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth, “or how hot it looked from their perspective?” Fox sounded defeated as he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Both.”

Taglist: @techs-feral-wife (thank you for your help too Max ❤️)

#commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander fox smut #cc-1010 #star wars #the clone wars #marshal commander fox

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glittergelpensblog · 1 year ago

Text

In the Dark (II)

Eventual Azriel x Reader

Witch!Reader Word Count: 2,122 Summary: You were a witch made into High Fae by your family, kidnapped by the King of Hybern. After he attempts to use your power, you are saved by the Night Court Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, canon violence, graphic descriptions of death, torture, fire, scars, mentions of SA, but nothing happens to reader, panic attack, please let me know if I missed anything! Note: Finally some Azriel interaction!

Prologue Part I

The fire was too much.

You tossed and turned into the sheets, unable to find any position that was comfortable enough to lull you to sleep.

Perhaps you should’ve told Amren, but your pride shoved your voice down. She wouldn’t understand, and if she did, you didn’t want to confront her pity filled face.

The fire that had burned your home, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of your people being burned alive.

It was too much, too recent, and it was dragged into the present by conjuring your magic in that form.

Perhaps that was why she did it, a way to make you stronger, face your past.

But by the Mother, you would’ve given anything to try to conjure your magic in a different form, any form, in the thousands of ways you could wield your power.

Pure magic was what you were cursed with. Magic that you could bend to your will, take any form. Fae had been trapped to gifts passed down through blood, taking form in healing, bending water, or even the darkness of night as Rhysand’s power had manifested.

It was magic one could kill for.

You shivered at the thought, and then shoved it down.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You got no sleep.

You looked at the sunrise from the garden of the townhouse, the orange and the pink on the horizon blending into the purple that eventually kissed the blue from the leftovers of night. The last of the stars were beginning to twinkle out, and you swear you had never seen stars that shone so bright before.

“You missed breakfast.” Azriel stepped onto the patio, softly closing the door.

You turned to face him, a gust of winter wind biting straight through the leathers that had been left on your dresser the night before. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as your eyes met Azriel’s.

“Yeah,” You muttered. “I didn’t want to get sick before training.”

“Sick?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, and heat filled your cheeks at the question.

“I wasn’t really… fed in the dungeons.” You looked down at your boots. “It’s been hard to keep anything down after barely eating for months.”

“We have a healer,” Azriel stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body reaching yours. You almost flinched at it, how little distance there was between you. “She can make you a tonic, to help with the nausea.”

You were still looking down, your gaze brought to his hands, covered in whirls of scars, almost as if they were burned.

No, they were burned.

The flames flashed in your mind, the heat kissing your face, the screams of people, the burning flesh–

“Are you alright?” Azriel stepped even closer to you, you were almost touching, the guard was touching–

Your breathing quickened, shallow frantic breaths, and you felt your magic bubble, going up to the surface, up up up.

Azriel gently took your hand, and you squeezed your eyes shut. It was him, it was that nasty sentry–

“Don’t touch me,” You rasped, your knees almost buckling beneath you as you took a step back. “Please, please.”

Azriel’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, the smell of fear rolling off you in waves, felt the rumble of power as you shook.

You are not weak. You are not weak. You are not–

“Y/N, it's Azriel, you're not there anymore. You’re in Prythian, you’re not in Hybern.”

You couldn’t hear him, you couldn’t hear anything over the screaming, your family, your aunt, your nephew, the crackling of wood, the shattering glass–

A hand was on your shoulder, and the power, you couldn’t stop it. “I said don’t touch me.” You shoved against a chest at the word, your power shooting behind it.

You heard a grunt, and rumble of a male as he was slammed against the far wall of the patio. The ground shook from the force, and you opened your eyes.

Bright morning from the sunrise, the harsh winter breeze, and the smell of jasmine filled your senses.

And to the wall was Cassian, currently being helped up by a wide-eyed Azriel.

Cassian, he must’ve come outside, to investigate the surge of power–

“Oh my god,” You rasped, rushing over to the males. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Now imagine what that can do on a battlefield.” Cassian's eyes met yours, and there was no pity, no fear. Just amusement and that cocky grin he constantly wore.

“Are you hurt?” You were now kneeling by him, peeling his head from the brick wall.

“No, Y/N, I’m fine.” Cassian assured, stretching out his wings as he stood up.

“I don’t believe you.” You stood on your tiptoes, your fingers examining the back of his head once again. You were proven correct when blood met your fingertips.

“Oh, mother,” You gasped, as you stepped away turning to Azriel. “The healer.” You stated, your voice firmer. “You said there was a healer, where is she?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The world was miles beneath you.

Beautiful, long, distant miles. Azriel banked, the force of the wind ripping your braid free.

“Are you okay?” He spoke over the wind. He seemed hesitant to fly you himself, but Cassian’s wings were still healing, and it wasn’t worth the risk for him to carry you.

“Yes,” You breathed, “It’s– perfect.”

The world was nothing but a map beneath you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his voice almost a whirl of the wind itself.

You looked up from the land beneath you, meeting Azriel’s gaze through your locks flying in the wind. You didn’t dare let go of his shoulders to push the hair back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You stated, “I was the problem. It wasn’t you, I wasn’t scared of you. It was…”

You swallowed your pride, as if you hadn’t already been destroyed earlier. Leashing your magic out on a man trying to help you.

Pathetic.

“I was back there. In my village. And it wasn’t you touching me, it was that damn Hybern sentry, Aruhn. The thought of him being there, of his hands on me, I just…”

His eyes hardened, “Did they, did they ever–”

“No, not like that.” You swallowed, not wanting him to finish his sentence, to say the one thing you were spared from. “Aruhn specialized in torture, but no, never that.”

He heaved a sigh, and his eyes softened.

“I should be the one apologizing,” You said, glancing at Cassian flying to your left, and he gave no indication as to whether or not he was listening to your conversation. “I couldn’t contain my power, couldn’t control myself. What happens next time? When will I take it too far?”

“That’s what the training is for.” Azriel assured. “Not just with us, but with Amren, also. She may be… harsh. But she knows what it's like. To wield power in an unfamiliar body.”

And unfamiliar yours was. You had barely been a fae for a few months before Hybern came to take you. The sneers of your village did nothing to help you accept your elongated limbs, your pointed ears.

“And you?” You asked, “Cassian told me most Ilyrians needed one siphon to harness their power. He said that when you’re in battle, you wear seven.”

“Mine is a different story than Cassian’s.” He stated, flying lower to the streets of the city, “I started training a lot older than most Illyrians start.”

“I think that makes your story more similar to mine, then.”

Azriel landed softly on the cobblestone street, before gently guiding you to stand from your spot curled in his chest. You shivered in the absence of his warmth in the winter morning.

“I guess it does.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel took note of every step you took as Cassian guided you to Madja’s healing quarters.

The trip was useless, as Cassian’s head wound had most likely healed on the flight there, but the sheer determination in your eyes when you demanded the male see a healer kept every arguing word from leaving his mouth.

And even if Cassian needn’t be healed, at least you were doing something other than trying to control that unworldly power.

It had been almost a week and a half since Hybern, and all you had done was sit in the living room with Amren, conjuring your power. And when you weren’t doing that, you were reading with her, learning of the history and inner workings of Prythian. Unsurprisingly, living in a secluded village with distaste for Fae, you knew nearly nothing of the history. Just exaggerated stories of the abuses of magic and your kind.

What was once your kind.

How did you handle it, being the one creature hated by everyone around you? Nevertheless, being made into the one you were raised to fear? Azriel’s chest ached at the history similar to his. To be hated by all around you, left with no family, to be feared by everyone because of a rare but deadly gift.

And Hybern of all people had found it, probably using the very Cauldron he dipped Feyre’s sisters into.

And he had tortured you for months, trying to break you until you did his bending. A weapon of no other by his side.

What would you think of him once you knew his job was to do the same? Not just the spymaster, but one who carved up men just as it had been done to you? How sometimes, when the torturing went too far, he would revel in the pain of those at his hands.

For the first time in almost 200 years, the thought of torturing someone made his stomach churn.

You turned around to look at him, hair still wind blown and cheeks still red from the flight. And while Azriel was keeping an eye on you for any spouts of anxiety in the bustling city, your eyes were shining bright, and a small smile graced your lips.

Azriel remembered it too, his first visit to Velaris. His first time seeing life outside of the Illyrian mountains and Windhaven. The awe of the happy city, the joy of its citizens as they milled about their day.

Maybe this was what you needed, to be out in the world, to see life, rather than being cooped up in the townhouse all day. Azriel tucked away the thought for later.

He gave you a reassuring smile before you turned around and followed Cassian into the healers quarters.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

While Azriel didn’t say it, you knew from the look in his eyes that he thought a trip to the healer was useless.

But you didn’t think it was, as you watched Madja patch together the small remnants of the wound on Cassian’s head, taking note of the way her magic patched him back together.

And after that, you watched how she made a quick inspection of his wings, noting the differences she spoke of that showed the healing of them, and sneakily swirled out an invisible strand of your magic, just as Amren taught you, and examined her power with your own. Whether or not the healer felt what you were doing, she didn’t say anything.

If you could truly bend your magic into any form, then you were sure you could use it for healing, and that the power would be useful if Hybern truly wanted war.

If you could use your magic to heal, not hurt.

The ride up to the House of Wind was just as cold as earlier, your re-braided hair whipping behind you.

“So you had other intentions of seeing Madja other than Cassain?”

He really doesn’t miss a thing.

“Of course,” You feigned, meeting the Shadow Singer’s eyes, “You said she could make me a tonic for nausea.” Indeed, in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Azriel’s neck, you clutched the tonic and a tin of salve for sore muscles–one that Cassian stated you would need after today with a wink.

“I am the Spy Master for a reason, you know. I saw how you watched Madja, and my shadows could sense your magic.”

You swallowed at his words. Were you truly that much of a threat? That Azriel constantly had to monitor your magic? Why had they even taken you in? Just so that Hybern didn’t have you as a weapon?

You kept your face cool. “If my magic can turn into anything, it can turn into healing. I might as well learn to clean up the messes that I make.” You shot a glance at Cassian.

“Y/N, that could’ve happening to anyone learning–”

“Not everyone is as powerful as me.”

Azriel didn’t reply as he neared the house, shooting down for the training ring.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list: @lizziesfirstwife @waytoomanyteenagefeels @starryhiraeth @knmendiola @bionic-donut @caosfanblr @lena-davina @starriestarlight @younxii @starsdoulikedem @lucyysthings @esposadomd @naturakaashi @carolinaflicker @missusbarnes-rogers @vlysseve @lollipop974 @whydohumansss @spaxxxi @graciereads @dumb-sailor-jay @jesssicapaniagua @we-were-beautiful @judig92 @littlemisslovestoread @toriluvsfics @nightless @cassiefromhell @in-luvais @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @poshestpigeon @alainabooks143 @princesslolaasworld @thelov3lybookworm @vickykazuya @fussel9913 @hayley-jadee @cleverzonkwombatsludge @hereticdance @kodokunarisu-blog @alainabooks143 @forsiriussake @fussel9913 @marvelouslovely-barnes @blurredlamplight @i-am-infinite @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @the-hidey-hole @amieinghigh @rorel1a @microwaveallthedemons

#acotar #acotar imagine #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acomaf

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ms0milk · 2 years ago

Text

𝟕 | 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again."

cw remember when i told you to trust me? angry bkg, angry y/n, shouting, some manhandling. repeated use of "sir" nonsexually though bkg does briefly take pleasure in your power imbalance. y/n's patience is unmatched bless her heart. civil teammates -> enemies. my favorite closing lines ive ever written 2.1k

this chapter officially concludes a hymn to black water part 1, thank you for reading this far with me! and have no fear, part 2 will begin next week :) can't take a break from this story who am i kidding it's just getting good

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She’s been terrorizing you for the better part of the evening. Doctor Chiyo Shuzenji, Takoba’s infamous: Recovery Girl. An evening meant to be spent finding clothes and dinner and Prince Bakugou’s guest chambers so that you could take up sentry outside of his room.

How could you begin to thank him? Declarations and taken knees occupy the gray space in your brain between constant kisses and ramblings about antivenom. You’re held hostage on hospital linens with thoughts of protective canonfire rage.

“And when I got back– poof! Injured Alderans keep me up all night, I leave for one blessed hour, and come back to six empty beds.”

There’s nothing you can say to appease the doctor as a plate of tea sandwiches is thrust into your lap and the kisses begin again. Your companions were moved to their permanent rooms sometime in the throne room-interim and you were just as surprised to come back to a hospital empty of their warmth as you were to hear such a commanding voice come out of such a tiny woman. Shuzenji's magic bubbles at the surface of your skin like it would be comforting if she wasn’t so agitated.

“How you even managed to stay conscious is– it’s– you’re lucky the adrenaline didn’t course the poison straight to your heart! And the prince! Summoning you from the hospital of all places–”

“My prince?” You interrupt with half a mouth full of bread.

She shakes her head, “The little Todoroki.”

“I thought I was summoned by the queen?”

“My queen is not so stupid.”

You submit to treatment again quietly and nurse the plate of food Shuzenji had rushed from the kitchens for you. Was Prince Todoroki in the crowd today? Does he look like his mother? Spiderlace has webbed across your image of the queen and naught but her thin silver hair can be seen behind it.

The doorknob jumps as the doctor pours herself into your discharge instructions, and when she thinks the champion is the one trying to sneak inside again she huffs at the opening door,

“Mr. Eijirou, if you interrupt this examination one more time–”

It felt cruel to make Kirishima watch so you told him to go find his room and something to eat after he escorted you back upstairs. You told him that you would be perfectly fine for the night. He poked his head inside every now and then when you made a particularly loud yelp at the doctor’s prodding, but left to go find dinner an hour ago. He even said goodnight and slipped your halberd inside by candlelight.

“Kirishima, really I’m–”

“Eh?”

The grunt opening the door doesn’t match the person you thought had been knocking, and not only that. Instead of Kirishima, and his big soft worry, the prince emits a cloud of vex so thick that you taste metal. He mouths confusion at the scene.

“Perfect timing Katsuki, you’re next.” Shuzenji beckons him inside from her seat at your bed. He closes the door again wordlessly.

Chasing Prince Bakugou down a Takoban hallway is not going to make it into your daily report, partly because it’s indecent, and mostly because there’s no proper way to recall hunting a prince like game sport.

“Highness, please wait!” Chasing though, is a generous description. You’re more just walking quickly and rather close behind.

As doctor Shuzenji tried to hobble after him, images of the prince hurling diplomats flashed in vivid memory and you sat the old woman back in her seat. You wouldn’t put it past him to launch tiny old women someplace very far away indeed.

“My prince, please–”

“Please what,” Bakugou growls when you’ve finally pushed him past the shallow threshold of avoidance and squarely into confrontation. You couldn’t drown in the shoals of his patience for how very dry they are.

When he stops marching and turns to you his shoes catch sparks before his words do, “You are not my guard and certainly not my companion– leave me be or die.” And the honesty of his violence stalls your image of protection.

The chase has taken you from the hospital wing and into that wide foyer under skylights and for hours now the moon above has effortlessly outshone candles. Competing lights illuminate only white marble and a blue hallway runner, with no other decoration to fight over but the two of you standing in front of each other.

“The doctor,” you slow down fast enough to leave the prince a wide berth but still stumble over words in remembering names, “she– Shuzenji needs to finish her examination. I’m–”

“No one needs anything from me, least of all you.”

Why is he upset? When the prince snaps at you, as he has done a hundred little times over the past few days, he makes a point to swell. He thinks he’s very clever. He’ll dip his chin into the modest curve of your body and tower over you, as if you aren’t already trying as hard as you can to make him feel big.

“It’s important that the doctor sees you, sir.” One of his red eyes twitches a bit by the brow when you call him sir, and you add it to the list of things you’ve done to piss him off, “Please come with me.”

The prince settles with his hands in his pockets, “And if I don’t?” He’s on the precipice of a smirk when he continues, “Are you gonna make me?”

Did Doctor Shuzenji let you chase after him because the headache might kill her? “No,” you frown, “of course not.”

The moon is so bright through the windows above you that the candles can only throw limp shadows across the subtle bones of Bakugou’s cheeks. He doesn't up straight. His broad shoulders round in on you in a generous size difference as you attempt to avoid the eye contact he hates so much. He cocks his head. There are no clocks or bells inside the castle and still the oppressing awareness of time makes you feel as if you are running out of it; fifteen years crush you under their weight in a second. Fifteen years living together in Aldera castle and only two conversations to show for it. Three, if this game he’s playing counts as conversation.

“Go to bed then.” The prince still manages to look menacing in white linen and woolen slippers and he throws words like dung, “Go anywhere away from me.”

When he turns around to skulk back into the dark you don’t mean to say anything at all and you’re sure you don’t. You’re sure you’re only staring after him- watching his earrings catch the last of the moonlight before turning down a dark corridor.

“Why did you come back?”

Bakugou is also sure you didn’t just speak up again, but still he stalls under an archway and creaks his neck back to you all the same. Your question hangs in the stretch of white hall.

You’re hungry, you are delusionally hungry and drunk on Shuzenji’s magic because nothing under heaven, not even the end of the world, could possess you to to pick a fight with this man, and you must have been drugged or, or you’re still exhausted or wounded, anything. The prince is advancing on you now because of course he is.

He’s charging. He growls so low it’s almost a whisper, “Stand at attention.”

Bakugou doesn’t leave any space between you when he approaches this time. His hair has been knocked into every direction gravity will let it fly, but mostly it falls over menacing red eyes and beads of blood between sharp tooth and bitten lip. Jeanist really deserves a medal; even three-hundred miles away, he is right as always. Staring is an incorrigible habit of yours.

“You get concussed in that crowd?” The prince’s voice is still bitingly quiet when he thrusts a palm against your collar to test how much pressure you’ll withstand before failing his orders to stay still. Your dragonbone broach digs into your chest.

“Please excuse me.”

There’s no way to tell how short a fuse you’ve cut for yourself now, so you continue standing exactly at attention, the same way you’ve spent more hours of your life than you’ve spent sleeping. Your fingers don’t so much as twitch with a pulse while you hold them at your sides under squared shoulders. His eyes graze your cheeks.

“Aldera sent me a beaten puppy as a babysitter on mission that has taken years off my fucking life.”

“I only–”

“Only what?!” Bakugou reaches forward and snatches a bit of your nightgown skirt in his fist. You’re jerked suddenly against his chest in his anger, “You’re fucking naked! “You represented Aldera in a nightgown and now you’re chasing me down the hall with your body sketched in satin for any plum, fae, or stray cat to ogle at their shiteating leisure!”

It hasn’t quite clicked, until now. The reason why the prince hates you. He releases your skirts and clenches crackling fists at his sides, “What did I tell you about those creepy fucking eyes?”

You don’t mean to stare this time, and you’ve tried so hard, for days you’ve tried, not to look at him, but for the first time since your bloody meeting in the countryside he is finally, truly, looking at you and the eye contact conjures up nothing but static.

It didn’t even make any sense, how someone you’ve never so much as shared a meal with could feel anything strong towards you, negative or otherwise. But it was clear inside the throne room today and you were just too stupid to see anything past the blue silk cloak gathered like a gift for you in his arms.

The prince was never concerned for your safety. He is embarrassed by you.

“What did I say?” Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again.

You glare unabashedly deer-like from the space between your bodies where ire is so thick you could grasp it. At his eyes, his lovely ash lashes and the downward quirk of a snarl. Bold of him, to call you naked in linens that barely hide his chest.

“Apologies.” And for the first time those words burn when they come out of you. Like a lie. You lower your gaze. Bow your head too.

It is the slightest consolation that Bakugou forgot, in his anger, that he’s pulled you close enough for gold to glint clearly in your periphery. His jewelry is artifact forever in the forest somewhere, so the earrings he’s wearing are yours. His mother’s– your little gold suns jerk and tremble with his temper.

If he remembered he was wearing your charity, he would shout again, but his fury has gone smug at your concession so he presses on,

“Did Jeanist not teach you to say anything else?”

Your fingers twitch at the mention of the name.

“Well? Go on, five days together and you still haven’t introduced yourself to your prince.”

Even with your eyes to the floor you can catch a sneer in the tips of his voice. Bakugou is so close that his breath pricks the skin of your bare neck.

“Put on a show.”

He doesn’t let you move away from him. When you step one foot back he comes one step forward. You take your skirts in subtle fists and bend your knees in a curtsey, and you anticipate his single huff of laughter before it even escapes him.

“Y/n. Apprentice to the Master Jeanist, Head of Royal Guard. Subject of the Alderan Queen, bound by blood and at your service, my prince.”

“Is that all?”

It goes against natural impulse not to watch the thing that is trying to kill you, closely, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes down when the prince’s body is so close you can count each embroidered stitch of his bedclothes. Years ago, when Jeanist allowed you to work in the castle, on your own shifts without supervision, the queen would stop when her path crossed your post. She’d call your name and you would answer immediately, though eyes down like you’d been told to do. In these early days she crouched in front of you, cape, gown, armor and all, to try and take a peek at your face, or lift your head up with a finger under the chin.

“Pretty eyes, Y/n. Don’t cast them down for anyone.”

Bakugou has your chin now, in a tight hot hand. He jerks your head up hard enough to make you flinch, and gods he’s growling, rumbling like a machine, at both your lack of response and the fact that you haven’t left yet. The pair of you stare.

“Fuck off, Y/n.”

It is your every itching instinct to strike him.

“Yes, sir.”

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @jctaro @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawler @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifujin @mmmaackerel @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @dududubebo @falling4fandoms @katanaski @babitchsuki @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @madmayo @bakugouswh0r3 @heart-of-haunt @zukowantshishonourback @420mitskilover <- thank u for your sweet comment! @ultracrii

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couldn't tag for some reason :,(

#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au

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nekoannie-chan · 11 months ago

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Flesh wound

Title: Flesh wound.

Fandom: Marvel, The Gifted, X-men.

Ship: Lorna Dane X Mutant!Reader.

Word count: 241 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Lorna was hurt escaping from the Centinels.

Major Tags: Flesh wound.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @multifandom-flash, Annie-3002 & square 7:

"Only a flesh wound.”

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighsss @marvelatthisonee @caplanbuckybarness @sapphire-rogerss @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot5555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard

The deafening sound of the Sentinels chasing them was the most unbearable thing. You had lost count of the times they had had to flee from them in recent years.

Suddenly, a larger and more imposing Sentinel than the others appeared. You swallowed with difficulty; it seemed that they were modernizing their enemies. It also seemed that the robot could adapt to attacks, which made it more dangerous. In a moment of distraction, the Sentinel managed to land a blow to Polaris' side.

"Lorna!" he exclaimed, watching as she recoiled, holding her injured side. "Are you okay?"

Lorna forced a smile. "Only a flesh wound, don't worry. I'm still standing."

You gritted your teeth, frustrated that you weren't quick enough to avoid the attack. But before you could say anything, another sentry rushed at you. Polaris acted instinctively, deflecting the attack with a magnetic shield.

"It was only a flesh wound," Lorna insisted, noticing the concern in your eyes. "I'm fine, really."

But something wasn't right; they had to get out of that place immediately. Maybe Turner was nearby. You grabbed Lorna by the arm and forced her to start running. Suddenly, they saw an open portal and entered.

"I thought you would never get there," you commented when you saw Clarice.

"We had a little trouble," John said.

"Lorna is hurt," you pointed out.

Clarice nodded and took her to one of the rooms where they would check the wound.

#multifandom flash bingo #round 3 #lorna dane x reader

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ikemenomegas · 2 years ago

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Gave my love

Portgas D Ace x Reader || Shooting Stars

a/n: Make a Wish prompt fill for panda-anon. I am crying because my first draft spun off into the void of my own technological mishaps, so I hope the second version is satisfactory. I'm sorry it took so long (it took forever for me to do the rewrite these last few weeks have been a bit hectic) I hope that you enjoy it! I apologize if Ace seems at all ooc, it's been a long time since I last took a deep dive into his character. He reads to me as someone who would be kind of a tsundere about romantic feelings but able to be happy if he told himself it was "just friends" so he could pretend to be normal about it. The boy has so many excuses: Butterflies? he's happy to see you, feeling hot? he's made of fire, jealous of your attention? you were his friend first... (also the linked song aged remarkably well, it's fun and noisy and is where the title came from) Thank you so much to my friend who braved an omegaverse fic to edit for me. I hate editing my own stuff and she did such a good job making sure that things weren't too obtuse. cw: omegaverse, alpha!reader, Ace's canon compliant self worth issues

The trouble with narcolepsy isn't the daytime hours. He'd learned to manage those when he was a kid. The trouble comes at night, when his body is visited with the opposite impulse.

Ace rolls over for the nth time. Now, with the same insistence it had put him to sleep, his body pulls him awake.

He follows that pull with heavy, silent steps. He stretches his arms above his head and feels his back pop. He leaves his hat by his bunk, suddenly eager for the sea breeze through his hair.

He hesitates for a moment. Though he no longer gets cold, he considers wrapping something around his shoulders. His pillows and blankets still smell faintly of you. He looks at the bed.

No one is around to accuse him of something so treacherous as longing, but he still jerks his head away and pretends as if he hadn't spent much too long considering such a thing.

When he leaves the covered floors of the ship a bird - he cannot see where it come from - flutters down and nearly clips his head. It's not a seagull. He wonders for a moment, could it be?, but he quickly casts the thought away. Probably not.

A flash of light streaks across the sky, distracting him.

The worn railing is smooth, almost soft, beneath his fingertips when he leans over it. He folds his arms and lays his head in the cradle of his elbow.

He's been dealing with insomnia for the better part of a decade, either waking in the night or not sleeping at all. He'd see Luffy, sprawled out on the floor of the hideout, snot bubbles and not a care in the world. Even though his little brother didn't often notice his midnight absences, even when Ace would show up with prey in the morning, being unnoticed had not left him feeling unwanted.

Knowing someone was waiting staved off the loneliness. Becoming Whitebeard's son had been the best decision of his life. Yet tonight, he has no desire to disturb the sentries or wake a crew member for company.

A glossy black crow lands on the rail within easy reach. It cocks its head at him, warbling low in the back of its throat. Ace narrows his eyes at it, staring until the crow shrinks back, feather ruffling. This was the bird that had almost hit the back of his head, he's sure of it.

It looks almost sheepish at it places a little bag on the rail between them.

When he doesn't pick it up right away, the bird pushes it closer with one delicate claw, bobbing its head.

He picks it up slowly, keeping an eye on the bird. It tilts its head back and forth, clicking in the back of its throat. It takes him a moment to catch it in the dim light: the reflection of your Eye in the black marble of the crow's.

A grin showing teeth makes its way across his face.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi." Sound comes out of the crow's open beak like there is a microphone in its throat, like there's a snail in its belly. It doesn't move in synchrony with the words, but in an unsettling sort of pantomime.

Your voice is made ragged by the crow, but even with one word he knows it is yours. His grin goes lopsided and he weighs the pouch in his hand.

"Fancy seeing you here, pretty bird" he says.

The crow makes a hacking sort of cough he knows to be its version of your scoff coming from its mouth, but the bird rubs its beak against the gleaming wood of the ship, as though to take the sting from the sound.

"I do occasionally have good timing," it says with your voice.

He leans his head on his arms and looks directly at the bird. His gaze cuts through the animal in front of him and to you on the other side. One side of his bangs falls across his eye.

He has some idea of what you do, but not exactly. He knows it's dangerous, for a certain value of dangerous. You go to places he hasn't seen yet.

When he asks you where you are, you tell him about places you've been, never where you recently were. You don't relent even when he pries, whining low in his throat at your typical evasiveness. The crow speaks the rusted over name of some island he's never heard of.

When he asks you how training is going, the bird does some funny little movements that require it to over-correct when it nearly falls off the rail and imitates the sounds of bo staffs colliding.

The sentry peeks down from a higher level. Ace waves them off, feeling suddenly defensive. He wants to keep this moment a secret.

The bird freezes, looking up from where it's hunched over in an all too human kind of expression that reminds him of the last time you were a guest of the Whitebeard pirates and you'd raided the kitchens with him, sneaking around with unnecessary stealth, pressing back as if to hide him from every passing shadow until he was giggling into your shoulder, you scents mingling as you sweated under the hot atmosphere of a nearby volcanic island.

He snickers as the bird shakes its feathers flat again, giving an experimental little croak and finally straightening up when the noise doesn't immediately bring the sentry back running, looking out for his crewmate. The bird bumps his hand, as if to draw attention to it, and Ace draws his fingers through the soft, smooth feathers.

When you creakily ask him about his own recent adventures, you offer tidbits from the news to get him started, and it warms him in a very strange way to think you've been keeping an eye on him.

Eventually, the late night catches up and a comfortable quiet settles around the two of you.

Ace listens to the crow's low gargly kkqrk as it moves on its perch. He smirks to himself at the sight of the shining black bird shifting against the star scattered, velvet night.

"Are you going to open it?" you, finally ask. The bird pecks emphatically at the rail by the velvety bag.

All of the bird's expressive hopping and pecking for excited emphasis is so very un-human. It amuses him to imagine you puppetting the creature, instructing it to dip and flap for his benefit, even though he knows it is more akin to the bird itself interpreting your emotions.

Even so when the bird, looks at him, he can almost see the pleading look only you can pull off. Truly and delightfully uncanny.

He sighs as if it is all a chore, bobbing the pouch up and down on the string wound around his fingers. The crow follows with the movement with its beak and then its whole body.

"Should I?" he muses. "Suppose I save it-"

The bird all but stamps its little grey scaled foot in expressing your impatience and he laughs at you, at the odd humanity of the motion, as he finally does open the bag, drawstrings tangled in his fingers.

The contents of the pouch glitters, even in the starlight.

"How nice," he says, opening the mouth of the bag wide to reveal an array of crystals inside. "A good bit of shine."

All pirates of course liked things that gleamed. As did crows. The bird tilts its head between his face and the bits of rock in his hand.

He shifts them around in the bag. There are many colors.

"You should try one," it - you - says, shifting its weight. The bird stayed almost perfectly still, head tilted as it took in his incredulous expression.

"I am not dumb enough to eat rocks."

"I know."

The bird, peers up at him, blankly expectant.

Ace looks back in the bag and eventually plucks one of the crystals out. It's orange bleeding into purple like a storm ridden twilight and edged like the inside of a geode.

He glances once more at the bird, at you, but the creature just shuffles its wings to sit more primly against its body. Ace has never been very good at backing down from a dare.

Still he bites down very very carefully.

The crystal cracks apart under his teeth and spills sweetness on his tongue - plum and passion fruit, tart and bright and dark again, like the last touch of a setting sun. The outside is hard and cool like stone, but falls away to jelly by the time his bite sinks to the center.

He cannot help the way his eyes go slightly wide.

"Where are these from?" he asks.

"I made them," your voice slips from the bird's parted beak, almost shy. "The King of Kettles taught me," you add fondly.

He nibbles on more of the crystal, candy he now knows. Rock candy, he thinks as he grins to himself. He's not sure when the last time someone brought him candy of all things. Sugar is expensive no matter its source, and sometimes hard to find among the islands. Even syrups made from fruit would take a long time to make.

"Make sure to brush your teeth!" The crow interrupts his thoughts with a trumpeting, too loud, cackling sort of caw.

He stuffs a corner of the crystal into the crow's beak, interrupting the sound with a choking, fluttering, sputtering.

One thing about birds is that regardless of interpretation, they are sometimes not very good at managing their volume.

The crow hunches over, sending Ace as dirty a look as it can manage. You consider having it play dead, just to get back at him, but the shuffling attention of the sentries has you, the crow, freezing in his shadow.

You are reminded, somewhat guiltily, that your welcome on Whitebeard's territory does not give you unrestricted access, even for stolen moments like this.

But again, Ace waves off the inquisitive sentries, and they go, because he is the commander of the second division.

Ace can tell that they're curious, but this is for him, for now. In the morning if they or anyone asks, he will tell and laugh and tease. And it will be real.

This is real too. He feels protective of this moment, even if it is only a crow with your Eye as a glossy, curved reflection. It's his little secret.

It's not in his nature to keep secrets. Not for long. But for a while, he wants to keep this one. Not out of shame, not like the other, but because this one is warm like a glowing coal.

It is his, to follow the direction of a falling star and have a bird deliver him a gift and a conversation. You can't tell him where you are or where you're going, but you have frequent, funny little names that are familiar enough that you can tell him stories and he knows of whom you speak. The King of Kettles, Catfish, the Forlorn Maiden - all of them people he has never and likely will never meet.

Do you have a secret name for him, do you tell people about him? Something meant to safeguard him from the world?

Will there ever be a time when he isn't the secret? When that secret doesn't drag a darkness along behind it to cover those who know?

Another flash of light goes across the sky - blink and you'll miss it.

He sees it, you don't, going in the same direction as before. It flies away into the night.

Slowly, through the odd technicolor vision of the crow, you see a closed off, thoughtful expression take the place of the easy smile from before.

"What are you thinking of?"

The crow's hissed approximation of a whisper should be unsettling but it isn't.

Ace leans his arm on the railing and looks over at you, at the crow. The corner of his mouth lifts up, but he can't put enough of his heart into it to cover the melancholy.

He finds himself wishing for your scent. Sending a bird is one thing, but if he had not seen the Eye, he wouldn't have even been able to tell you it was you there, and not some well trained pet.

"I wish you were here," he sighs, reaching out to run a finger over the bird's smooth head feathers.

The bird ruffles its wings and says nothing. There is a long moment of nothing, long enough that Ace thinks of going back to bed. Sleep is finally reaching for him, he can feel the chill of it on his skin.

It's through the quiet of the dark that it finds him, a dull sound, almost at the edge of hearing.

He reaches out with his awareness, scanning the sea for any creature stupid enough to attack one of Whitebeard's fleet. A Sea King would be a bit of bedtime fun. Or it might be the distant sound of canons, although intuition tells him that isn't it.

The sound gets closer. It is not canons or the writhing movements of a deep water monster. It is more like someone shaking out sheets, but as regular as a sleeper's heart - the flap of wings.

He sees a shape, black on black, in the distance. It vanishes between one blink and the other, melting into the night. Another shimmer of light falls overhead while the wingbeats suddenly disappear.

Ace remembers owls and the way they hunt, swooping silently down upon their prey. He looks up to see if the watch is at all disturbed, and then to his left. The crow is gone.

The wingbeats return, now soft and so close. Right below him. He looks over the rail and a familiar face rises up to meet him.

This crow upon which you sit is longer than him if he were to lay down, feet and fingers pointed as far as they would go. It drifts upon the shallow eddy stirred up by the ship, drifting alongside.

"Hello," you say. You're smiling. Teasing snatches of scent get caught in the sea breeze.

From behind, the crow that had been your mouthpiece swoops down upon your shoulder.

"Willful thing," you say to it.

It croaks, head bobbing cheekily.

"Hi," he says. His heart feels like it's soaring, light alongside you, every whoosh of blood a wingbeat.

"I heard you," you say, nudging the crow's chest with your finger.

"You do occasionally have good timing," he says, grinning wide.

The enormous bird flaps a few times, slowly, up to the level of the rail.

He catches you when you slide over the side of the ship and step onto the deck. He never feels the flames when they come from him, but your palm sliding over his makes him feel like he's burning.

"I think I'm going to be in trouble with your Father," you say, shrugging a shoulder, "for the bird."

It croaks again, and then caws, as if to prove a point. The both of you wince.

"I'll tell him you came for me," Ace replies. He doesn't bother to keep quiet now, but that's alright. The bag of sweets you brought him dangles around his wrist like a charm.

You're a little breathless when you look at him. He can see stars reflected in your eyes.

"Whenever you want me."

#portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #it's implied that the reader is somehow involved with the revolutionary army #alpha!reader #omegaverse #panda anon #thank you so much for your patience #this was super fun to write #and i really enjoyed getting back into his character a little bit #hope that i did it justice!#i forgot how young and repressed ace is XD #he will absolutely reject outright romance so you can't tell him that shhhh #just pretend there's another reason he's special and it'll be fine and give him time to figure it out #prompt fill #make a wish prompt fill

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barbieaemond · 1 year ago

Text

A snake in the bosom (teaser)

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: darkish Aemond, angst, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (more to be added)

Author’s note: Aemond brain rot is brain rotting. Based on that scene from the trailer. Coming soon!!

SNEAK PEAK

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time.

The thunder echoes in your chest, slides through your ribs and then rattles them to break free. A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightnings. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head, devoted to obedience, and her tight corset to choke to death any desire.

And you did.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around a sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering, with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

FULL FIC HERE

#once a teaser always a teaser #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #dark aemond #aemond smut #hotd fic

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starsstuddedsky · 2 years ago

Text

As It Was

reader x seungkwan

summary: working as a bodyguard for one of the most famous pop stars in the world turns out to be a lot different than you expect, and somewhere along the way, you find out you aren’t nearly as different from him as you thought…

genre: angst, fluff somewhere, celebrity au

warnings: food/diet mention, swearing(?), mentions of burns/injury, lmk if i missed any!

wc: 10.2k

a/n: ahhhhh!!!!!! I’m back <3 this story is angsty than my usual stuff, I’m not sure how it turned out :) thanks for reading as always! p.s.: stream as it was by seungkwan <3

You lean against the wall. It’s unprofessional, but it’s been a long day and your knee is beginning to ache. The concert is well underway by now, so, being assigned to guard the empty dressing room, there isn’t anything to do but wait.

The music pauses, and Seungkwan’s voice rings out, amplified so loud you could hear it clearly even while backstage. He makes a couple jokes that earn a roar of laughter. A couple of moments later, they cheer as he announces the next song he is going to perform.

The starting chords play, switching to an acoustic guitar with no other accompanying instruments. His voice fills the stadium as he begins to sing his earliest ballad, the first song he released after the break-up of the band. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard this song. The person you were when it was first released is so different from who you are today. You think about that kid, who was still full of hope, who still dreamed. That kid was used to hearing cheers for themself, the person that does instead of did.

That kid is gone now, and it’s your job to pick up the pieces of the life that’s been left behind.

You straighten as the song ends. It is the end of the official set list, meaning Seungkwan will return to change and recover before going out to perform the encore. The concert is almost over.

A flurry of movement surrounds him as he descends from the stage, his makeup staff not bothering to flash their badges at you as they enter the dressing room. In the two months since the start of the tour you’ve become familiar with the regular staff: John, the manager who seemed to be doing five jobs at once navigating Seungkwan’s insane tour schedule and coordinating the staff; Seungcheol and Mingyu, the bodyguards who’d been around since he was still a part of the band; Soonyoung, the young doctor who joined the staff after one of the dancers sprained an ankle. You might call some of them friends, if things were different.

You settle for nodding at them as they pass by. Seungkwan disappears into the dressing room, smiling at you as he passes. Maybe it was because this is your first real job, but you didn’t expect him to be so… nice.

You keep an eye out for anyone without a backstage pass, but you don’t see anyone you don’t recognize. After a couple minutes, Seungcheol and Mingyu appear by your side, joining you as sentries outside the dressing room door. The crowd has taken to chanting Seungkwan’s name, distant voices calling for him to return.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, though if there had been anything you would have heard it over the earpiece. Even if there was something, it was most likely that venue security would take care of it. You don’t know what you expected taking this job, but “professional bodyguard to international pop-star and San Francisco’s own sweetheart, Boo Seungkwan” was definitely more exciting in your head.

Mingyu shakes his head. “Another good show.”

“Don’t you get bored down here?” Seungcheol asks.

“Sometimes,” you say with a shrug. “But doesn’t listening to this show over and over again get boring?”

“You should have been here when he was promoting for the first time,” Mingyu says with a shudder. “We were on a night show every day of the week, I think I could still perform ‘I Want to Know All of U,’ even Seungkwan’s adlibs.”

“And yet you stayed,” you say.

“You will, too,” Mingyu says. “Or maybe not, you still haven’t joined us for drinks.”

“You can’t force them to come,” Seungcheol says. He at least pretends to be strict when you’re at work.

“Oh please, I had to stop you from calling them while drunk and threatening to get them fired if they didn’t come,” Mingyu says.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I would never. Unlike someone, I have class.”

“Class?” Mingyu snorts. “You couldn’t buy class if you won the lottery.”

“You’re right, the class that I have can’t be bought,” Suengcheol says. “I was born with it.”

“You sound like a makeup commercial.”

You shake your head but you still smile. Their bickering has become a comfort, even if never-ending.

“One minute!” Someone announces. The door flies open and a couple flustered stylists leave. Through the open door, you see chaos, Seungkwan dressed head to toe in his own merch, with patchwork jeans rolled up and Soonyoung rubbing some cream onto his shin where the skin was bright red.

“How do you drop a curler?” Soonyoung asks. “Why was it even on? His hair is straight!” He sounds angry. You glance at Seungcheol and Mingyu but they don’t show any signs that you should intervene.

“It was an accident,” Ha Won, the head makeup artist says. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, so stop trying to point fingers and just get him ready to go on stage. We’ll deal with this later.”

Seungkwan lets out a tiny gasp as Soonyoung apparently presses too hard, though he doesn’t flinch.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung mutters. “You don’t have to go onstage.”

He shakes his head immediately. “No, I’m just being dramatic about it, I’ll be fine.”

Soonyoung looks like he wants to argue more, but Seungkwan stands, rolling his pants down. He takes a couple steps, wincing as the fabric must brush against the burn but quickly changing his expression to a bright smile. It shocks you how easily he changes from pain to an award-winning smile.

“Thirty seconds!”

Seungkwan walks past you, Mingyu and Seungcheol flanking him. He waves off his manager before he can try to stop him, letting the tech put on his mic pack and set up his in-ear. He takes his mic last, bright pink. Rumor is that it is the same mic he used when (group) was still together. The cheers explode as he emerges on stage, belting the lyrics to a fan-favorite song before they can even see him. You settle back against the wall to wait for the concert to officially end.

Seungcheol and Mingyu are supposed to be in the garage, making sure the van is ready to go, but they appear at the end of the hall with frowns.

“There may have been a breach,” Seungcheol says. He stops at the door, listening to the second earpiece that is connected with venue security. Before he can relay the information, there’s a shout from down the hall.

“If anything happens, you get him out,” Seungcheol orders, yanking the door to the dressing room open and shoving you in. “Mingyu, stay by the door, I’ll-” You don’t hear anything else, because the door swings shut with an ominous click.

“Is everything okay?” Seungkwan asks. He’s sitting on the sofa, and you realize that no one else is in the room. In a security sense, you know that he is the only one inside, but it is different to actually be with him, the small space feeling too intimate to share with someone you’ve never actually spoken to before.

You wonder if you should lie, but you don’t see a point to it. “There’s a threat,” you say. You hesitate, but add, “it’ll be okay.”

You stand at attention by the door, hands behind your back, posture rigid. You wish he’d sent Mingyu instead, feeling the tension grow as Seungkwan sits on the couch.

“Can you…” He pauses. It’s strange to hear him speaking to you. You’ve gotten used to hearing him speak on stage or to the other staff. Never to you. He sounds nervous, avoiding your eyes and opening and closing his mouth a few times before attempting to ask again. “Can you relax?”

You frown. “Relax?”

“It’s sort of stressful to think that at any second someone is going to break down the door and swarm me, and you standing like a soldier just makes it worse,” Seungkwan says.

“Oh,” you say. You let go of your hands, folding them over your chest instead, and relax your shoulders a little. “Like a soldier?”

He shrugs. “Not a soldier… Something else.” He claps his hands. “You were an olympian! Y… y/n?” You nod and he grins. “I knew you looked familiar!”

You met a lot of famous people back when you were still competing, but none were like Seungkwan. The closest you could think of was meeting the other athletes in the Olympic village, but it was still nothing like the way Seungkwan is in front of you, smiling as if you were old friends.

“You were broadcast all over the country for a year, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you until now!” He says.

“Well, I got replaced by you,” you say. “There was a billboard I passed by every time I came home from the airport and one day I came back with a gold medal and you were up there instead.” Technically there were four other people on the billboard too, but you think it’s poor taste to bring that up.

“Sorry,” he says. “If I had it my way, you’d still be up there. Seok-” He pauses, and you think you see a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I used to get teased for being a fan.”

“I wish I could say the same,” you say. “Though one more show and I think I could probably go up there and do the whole thing with you.”

He laughs. “That’d be fun. I’m sure the crowd would love to see you knock me on my ass.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I’m not sure I could even do it anymore.”

“That’s not very comforting to hear when someone may or may not be breaking in to murder me.”

“Who said anything about murder?” You ask. “At worst it’s an overly dedicated fan, Seungcheol and Mingyu can handle those in their sleep.”

“You didn’t say anything about your own skill,” Seungkwan says, pouting his lip and studying the wall next to you.

You scoff. “I could stop a grown man with one hand.”

“That’s a lie,” Seungkwan sits back against the couch, folding his arms.

“You can believe me or not.” You shrug. “It doesn’t change that I can do it.”

“Prove it.”

“What?” You frown, losing your perfect posture.

He shrugs. “All we are doing is waiting, at least this distracts me, and if you aren’t bluffing, I’ll learn some good self-defense.”

You ponder it for a moment. “Hold out your hand.”

He frowns but eventually extends his hand. You take a few steps so that you’re standing in front of him. Your hand hovers over his as you wait for a nod of approval, then gently wrap your fingers around his hand. Your thumb comes to rest in the space between his thumb and pointer finger, the rest of your fingers curling around his palm.

“This is-” He stops when you press your thumb down. “Ow!”

You smile, letting go before you press too hard. “There’s a pressure point,” you explain, pressing lightly so that he can feel where it is. “Press hard enough and twist,” you say, turning his wrist so that his hand flexes and points downwards, “And you can stop anyone.”

“I believe you!” He says, “You win, I tap out, just let go!” You release his hand, watching him shake it out. He is exaggerating because you barely held enough pressure to cause real pain, and didn’t twist nearly enough to do anything. You think he’s humoring you, but it still makes you smile.

“Where’s the pressure point?” He asks. You offer your hand, pointing to the spot in the open skin between thumb and finger. His thumb wanders before finally settling over it.

“You can push harder,” you say when he barely presses down.

“And maim you like you maimed me? Hardly,” he says.

“Well, if you were really trying to hurt someone, you’d want to-” You are guiding his hand to show him how to twist in a direction that would cause the most pain. He stops before you feel anything, letting go. You are about to return to your position at the door, but he pats the couch, inviting you to sit beside him.

“Oh, just sit,” he says when you pause. “I need you to look at something.” He pouts his lips, just a little, and widens his eyes, an irresistible beg, even for your sheltered heart. You give in and sit beside him. “Okay, I’m going to trust that you’re not squeamish because I am, and I cannot look at this, so please just tell me if I’m going to lose my leg or not.” He pulls up his pant leg to show the burn that he’d gotten earlier.

The skin on his leg is still red, though it’s darkened and isn’t leaking any fluids. It’ll likely scar, but it doesn’t look too bad.

“You’ll survive,” you say, looking up to meet his dark eyes. You laugh at his disgusted frown.

“Thank you for looking,” he says, tenderly rolling the pants back down. “I don’t do well with gore.”

“There’s isn’t much gore,” you say, but he shakes his head.

“Anything red or bloody is out of the question, if I look at it, it makes me sick.”

You nod. You’ve known plenty of athletes who were the same way, though it never really made sense to you. Still, it’s their bodies, and their minds.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask.

“Sure,” Seungkwan lay back against the arm of the couch, facing you.

“Why not take a longer break and get that actually treated?” You point to his leg.

“You said it yourself,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I owe my fans a lot more than a whiny excuse for not finishing the concert. It’s part of the job.”

Something about that doesn’t sit right with you, but before you can say anything, the door opens. You jump up, standing at attention again out of habit more than anything else.

Mingyu stands in the doorway, his face a mask of seriousness. “Everything is under control, but we’re getting you out, now.” He doesn’t look at you, ushering Seungkwan out of the room. You fall into step next to him, standing behind Seungkwan as Seungcheol appears in front to take the lead.

The tiny dressing room had been a refuge where, for a moment, you were just yn, and he was just Seungkwan, but as soon as you stepped outside, he turned back into Seungkwan, the brand, the Grammy award-winning singer, former member of The Secret Boys, and heartthrob known around the world. And you were still just yn.

Seungkwan likes the day before a concert much more than the day after. Sure it’s hectic because there’s always something wrong with the venue, or traffic is horrible, or someone breaks into the hotel, but Seungkwan still hasn’t gotten tired of the pre-concert nerves. His heart hasn’t learned this is regular life now, even after years of fame. Nothing makes him feel more alive than just before he’s on stage, hearing the crowd chant his name.

The day after is different. His body aches, even though he’s still so young. It hasn’t adjusted to tour life, spending more time traveling than in any one place, and though he didn’t dance nearly as much as before, it is still enough to cause his legs to ache as he rolls out of bed, sliding his slippers on to protect his toes from the chilly tile floor of the bathroom.

The only noise comes from the rumbling of the AC and the distant traffic of the city. It’s late morning, characterized by commuters honking and the revving of engines. Still, it feels far away from Seungkwan, alone in this room. He remembers what it’s like to tread quietly to not disturb the other person snoring. Back then, he wished for his own room, but now he’d do anything to not feel so alone.

There’s another ache that is deeper inside that he only feels the day after a concert, an emptiness deep within that whispers curses he knows aren’t true. It’s a lot harder to ignore them when he’s alone.

He brushes his teeth and washes his face, the routine helping his breathing to slow and erratic heart to calm. The warm water helps bring him back to reality, reminding him he is alive and breathing. He leaves the water running longer than he should, reveling in the warmth. He wishes he could shower, but he slept too long, and now it would have to wait until he got to the next hotel, which was a thirty minute drive and two hour flight away.

At least it doesn’t take long to pack, since he never had the time to actually unpack. He changes into the pre-chosen clothes set out by his stylist that are comfortable but still trendy for the airport and leaves the room after a final sweep for chargers and dropped cards. Finding nothing, he leaves. The entire floor has been booked by the company, and he doesn’t miss the security guards by the elevator. They must be hotel security, because he doesn’t recognize them. He still wonders whether he really needs all of this.

He stops by John’s door, knocking once. His manager appears as if he’d been waiting by the door for Seungkwan, yanking it open.

“You’re already ready? Of course you are, you’ve always been punctual,” he says. “We’re not going to leave for another hour, there’s been a slowdown with the vans, I’m on the phone right now trying to fix it. Have you eaten? Go down and get something,” he says before Seungkwan can answer. “Just make sure Seungcheol or someone is with you.” He waves Seungkwan off without a word.

This used to bother Seungkwan, but he’s used to it by now. It’s not because John is ignoring him, but especially since the breakup of the band and the other managers dividing among themselves with who to stick with, he’s been overworked to say the least. Seungkwan is grateful that he has any help, even if it’s exasperated and exhausted.

He knocks on Seungcheol’s door next. It takes much longer to open, revealing Seungcheol struggling to button the cuff of his sleeve and the crashing sound of someone dropping something in the running shower. Seungkwan smiles at Mingyu’s voice that can be heard over the running water, cursing and whining.

“Going out?” Seungcheol asks. He turns behind him. “Yn, you’re on escort.” You appear from the room, wearing a simple black polo and pants. Your face is serious, the mask that he’s used to. Last night was the only time he’d seen you smile.

Seungkwan walks to the elevator, the soft taps of your shoes on the floor the only sign that you are behind him. Even in the elevator when he leans against the wall, you find a way to be his shadow, folding your arms and frowning at the floor. Maybe it’s because you’re the newest staff member, but he wonders how long it will take before you can be comfortable with him. It sets him on edge, though he knows he is the one that has so far been spoiled by familiarity of the people around him.

“Have you eaten?” He asks. The elevator dings as it opens on the ground floor.

“No,” you say. He feels more accomplished than he should at simply hearing your voice. He sits in the restaurant that’s attached to the hotel. Surprisingly, there’s no staff, which means he’s going to be alone. With you. He isn’t sure if it’s right that he’s excited by this, but he’s too tired to care.

“Perfect,” he says, glaring at you until you sit across from him. He waits until you pick up the menu to study it himself. Until the food comes, it’s a little psychological battle that he wages, waiting for you to wave down a waiter, waiting for you to order first, and waiting for you to speak first. He loses the last one.

“So how are you enjoying the tour,” he finally asks when he can’t think about anything else. There’s other questions he wants to ask but he knows you aren’t ready to answer them yet, so he settles for any kind of conversation.

“As a member of your security team?” You shrug. “Uneventful, though that’s sort of the goal.”

“What about as someone who has heard my show eight times? Are they getting any better? Please don’t say worse, my ego can’t take it.” This earns the hint of a smile, the corners of your mouth turning up just a tiny bit.

“It’s good,” you say. “You’re really good with the crowd, and your voice is amazing, obviously. I think it would be more surprising if the show was bad.”

“Is that a compliment?” Seungkwan asks.

You shrug. “It was as good as I expected it to be?”

“I’m going to call that a compliment,” Seungkwan says.

“Well, I’d say the same thing about this breakfast, so don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you on that,” Seungkwan says, swirling his spoon in the oatmeal, lip curling into a frown.

“Who orders oatmeal,” you say, “I mean, nothing beats breakfast food, but oatmeal is definitely not what I’d choose.”

“Me neither,” Seungkwan says. “But it was the only thing on the menu that I’m allowed to eat.”

“Allowed?” You frown.

“Well, I’m not on an official diet anymore, but one time I gained two pounds and the stylist freaked out, and I got lectured on the importance of appearance, so it’s easiest to just stick to what my nutritionist recommends.” He looks longingly at the potatoes on your plate. “Though I can’t say it’s that much fun.”

You’re quiet for so long Seungkwan wonders if he said something wrong. He can’t decipher the frown on your face as you stab another cheese covered potato. His mouth waters, imagining the taste.

“Have you really never done any martial arts?” You finally ask.

It takes Seungkwan a moment to answer, surprised by the question. He shakes his head. “Singing was pretty much my entire childhood, and then I was fourteen and recording an album that somehow blew up, so, I didn’t really have time. Josh… One of my old… friends used to boast about doing jiu jitsu but I’m pretty sure he was bluffing.”

“You should take some lessons,” you say.

“That’s what I have you for,” Seungkwan says, flashing a smile.

“Don’t you want to be able to take care of yourself?” Though your voice is still light, Seungkwan doesn’t miss your gaze, the way your eyes settle on him.

“I’d love that. More than anything. But some things in my life aren’t for me to decide. Even if I learned the most basic self-defense, it wouldn’t change much. And like I said,” He pauses, glancing at you from over his oatmeal. “I have you.”

This earns an actual smile from you, one that Seungkwan savors in. “I’d give you lessons, if you had any time, but for now you’ll have to rely on me. And Mingyu, and Seungcheol, of course.”

“I’ll remember that,” Seungkwan says. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He doesn’t think you’ll answer, but you suddenly turn serious. “I never do.”

Your side aches every time you breathe deeply. The hospital air is frigid, the thin hospital blanket doing little to keep you warm. You don’t understand why it’s so cold when the whole point of being in the hospital is to get healthier. Right now, you feel like someone is trying to give you the flu.

You shiver under the blankets, trying to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, you’ve been in bed almost all day, sleeping through most of it, so even though it’s past midnight, you’re wide awake. And cold.

The door slides open, distracting you from your whiny thoughts. You sit up as someone walks in, softly closing the door. Though the lights are still off, you recognize Seungkwan. It’s your job to recognize him, whether he’s standing in the middle of a stage dressed like a disco ball or he’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and trying to disappear into a crowd (which rarely works).

“What are you doing here?” You ask. He stands straighter, stepping less carefully.

“You’re awake.” He crosses the room and stands by your side. Standing next to your bed, he towers over you, brow furrowed into a little frown. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” You repeat. “I asked first.”

He sighs, dropping into the chair at your bedside. “Can’t I visit my favorite crippled bodyguard?”

“I’m not crippled yet,” you say.

“You fell down a flight of stairs.”

“They were carpeted, it barely hurt,” you say. “It was just my knee locking up, it’s hardly the first time it’s happened. Being on the flight of stairs was bad luck.”

“How is that supposed to make things any better?” Seungkwan shakes his head. “But are you okay?”

“My ribs are barely bruised,” you say. “Other than that I’m fine. I really don’t need to be here, but apparently someone said that I had to stay here.”

Seungkwan avoids your gaze. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you going to answer me now?” You ask.

“Maybe I just missed my favorite bodyguard,” he says.

“Mingyu and Seungcheol are going to be offended,” you say. “But I don’t believe you.”

“Apparently it’s good press to visit sick staff members while on tour,” Seungkwan says. “Nice for covering up bitter family members that know more about yourself than you do and will say anything for a couple grand.” He won’t look you in the eyes but you can still see guilt in his slouched shoulders, thumbs fiddling with each other.

“I was worried about you,” he says. “I just wish coming was my choice.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you say. “I get it.”

He smiles at his toes. “That doesn’t make it any better.” You’ve never seen someone look so pitiful, as if he wants to melt into the chair and disappear forever.

“You haven’t asked why I did it,” he says. He doesn’t have to say anything else. Seungkwan leaving The Secret Boys was the most infamous moment in music history, the greatest cause of pain and chaos in the history of teenage girls (at least according to the New York Times article that was published a week after the announcement). Depending on who you asked, Seungkwan left the band because the other members were bullying him, or because he selfishly wanted to make all the money himself. Having met him, you know neither are true, at least not entirely.

The official statement that Seungkwan has stuck with at every event with the press, who have yet to stop asking him about it, was that it was mutual agreement and for the best of everyone. But it’s only Seungkwan who has blown up past the already astronomical growth of their band, so you know that can’t be the truth either.

“Would you tell me the truth if I did?”

He’s quiet, staring at the moonlight that falls through the window. “It was a suggestion from John. He thought my individual popularity was a lot higher than everyone else, and that I’d make even more money going solo. He was the first to bring it up, but I said no.

“I didn’t want to do things alone. We dreamed together, I barely knew who I was without them. I’ve known them my whole life, you have to understand, I really didn’t want to betray them like this.

“But Seokmin overheard the rumor and before I could even deny it, everyone suddenly already had opinions, and then it was announced, and then one day I was alone.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I haven’t talked to Seokmin in three years. Jihoon still writes music for the label, sometimes for me, but he barely talks to me. Joshua and Jeonghan are the only ones that still call me, but I can’t ever confide in them, and I can feel them slipping farther and farther away every time I talk to them.

“I…” His voice grows soft. “Sometimes I wish I never said yes. Maybe then I could at least still talk to them. Maybe I wouldn’t be so alone.”

You’re not alone, you want to say, but you don’t because it isn’t really true. He has John, except his main priority is making money, regardless of whether that’s what Seungkwan wants. Though most of the staff has been around since he was still in the band, it’s not the same as his band mates. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu, who protect Seungkwan as if he’s their little brother, are only around when needed. When he doesn’t have a schedule, they aren’t around.

And you? You hardly knew him. You’ve only been around since the start of the tour, three months ago. You’ve found that Seungkwan is as kind and caring as he’s reported to be. He likes to chat and hates when the people around him don’t smile. He can’t stand awkward silences and somehow befriends everyone he meets.

But to say he isn’t alone? You won’t lie to him just to try and make him feel better.

“You never asked why I stopped competing,” you finally say. You lean back against the pillows, folding your arms over your chest to try to retain some warmth. It doesn’t work very well.

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”

He’s right. But if it helps him forget about his own self-pity, even for a little bit, then it’s worth it. And maybe talking will help you dig yourself out too.

“It wasn’t because I got hurt,” you say. “Though I did mess up my knee, and then I didn’t go to rehab so it got worse. But that's not why I stopped.”

“You don’t have to talk about it just because I did.”

“I want to deserve your trust,” you say. “Anyways, I got hurt and ended up basically on bed rest for a week. All I could do was think about how I spent most of my life working to be who I was now.

“I loved competing once, but it changed somewhere along the way and I became obsessed with winning. No matter the cost. It wasn’t until I got hurt that I realized the toll it was taking on my body. Everything in my life was regimented, from my meals to my training, every second of the day planned out. I didn’t realize I hated it until I tried to go back to it.

“I did try. I tried to force myself to go back but even though my body was recovering, I was starting to hate myself for it. So I quit.” It’s the first time you’ve said it all out loud. You watch Seungkwan, trying to determine what he’s thinking. His poker face is annoyingly good.

“Are you happier now?” He finally asks.

You shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. But I don’t hate myself anymore.”

He nods, continuing to study the moonlight. It occurs to you that he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since he came. It’s been a long night for him, coming right after the concert.

“You should go,” you say. “It’s beyond late and I’m pretty sure you have a flight in the morning.”

“We have a flight,” he says. “And I’m staying.” He finally looks at you, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

“Do you want to stay?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The chair doesn’t look very comfortable and you don’t miss the way he shivers in the cold. You can’t imagine that he’ll say yes.

His eyes shift back to the floor. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then stay.” You smile at him. He smiles back, and it still doesn’t quite reach his eyes but it’s not as forced this time. Maybe it is the way he looks at you, as if you’ve been friends your whole life, but your heart aches.

Seungkwan might be a bigger mess than you are, but somehow, the sound of his quiet breathing, which slowly evens out as he falls asleep, is calming. You know when morning comes you’ll have to confront these traitorous emotions and let go of them. Until then, you watch Seungkwan snore softly, until you fall asleep too.

The last show ends too quickly. The day flies by, the concert itself a blur in his memory. Seungkwan vaguely remembers crying as he said goodbye to his fans, and then crying some more at the dinner thanking the staff for sticking it out with him yet again (at least he had the excuse of being tipsy for that one).

He’s flying home now, finally. Home, where he’ll have a break for at least a couple weeks, to visit the family members that still speak to him. At least he’ll be out of the spotlight.

And there’s one more thing he has to look forward to. He glances at the front seat of the van, where you sit, staring out the window trying to ignore Seungcheol’s story about when he got lost trying to leave the airport.

At least he’ll still get to see you, as you’ll be escorting him all the way back home. There is some benefit to being from the same city, even if he’s usurped your stardom tenfold.

Seungkwan likes you. He doesn’t know the last time he’s had a crush like this, feeling like a teenager again. He supposes it really hasn’t been that long since he’s been a teenager. Still, the way his hands sweat when he’s around you, the way he stutters when you meet his eyes, the way his heart flips when he sees you: it’s a silly crush, no matter how he thinks about it.

He realized it the night he stayed in your hospital room, sleeping terribly between the stiff chair and freezing air. But after that night, you didn’t seem so cold and distant to him anymore, no longer a silent guard, though you still rarely smile.

You catch his eye in the back mirror glancing at Seungcheol next to you then raising your eyebrows. Seungkwan hides his smile, turning to look out the window so he doesn’t laugh. It’s early morning, the sun brightening the horizon though it hasn’t risen yet. He can still see some stars twinkling.

One of the songs that Jihoon wrote early on, when the band was just getting popular, was about twinkling stars reminding you of your lover as you go back home to them. Seungkwan didn’t understand it, until now. Even though you’re in the van with him, he can’t help but feel like he’s following the stars home to you. Maybe having feelings was making him sentimental. More sentimental, Seokmin would say. Would have.

Seungcheol drives from the airport to the hotel where the rest of the staff would stay until they returned to their own homes. From there, you pick up a local car to take Seungkwan home. He bids a final farewell to the staff, trying not to think about how he might not see some of them ever again. John is too busy for a proper goodbye, but Seungkwan is sure he’ll get a call from him during his break at some point.

Then he’s alone with you again, sitting in the front passenger seat as you navigate the chaotic rush hour traffic of San Francisco on a Monday morning. Your face is set in a permanent frown, though you hold the curses in.

He smiles, noticing the giant billboard plastered with his face.

“Narcissist,” you say without looking, making him smile even more.

“Should have come home with more gold medals, I guess.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. Between the past day of traveling and the tour itself, Seungkwan is sure you are exhausted, and the last thing he wants is to give you more reason to crash the car. He watches as the streets become more familiar, resisting the urge to tell you about the goofy childhood he had.

He does want to tell you these stories, but the truth is, he doesn’t want to talk about it because for every story he has about falling off a skateboard trying to go down a hill too steep, or running around the park playing ghost in the graveyard, he’s haunted by the memory of doing it with people that no longer speak to him. Jeonghan, Joshua, Jihoon, and Seokmin were more than just band members, and relaying happy stories of his childhood while omitting them is just wrong. But it feels just as wrong to talk about them like nothing happened. Like he didn’t destroy every single relationship with the most important people in his life.

You pull up at his house too quickly. He bought his parents a real house when he turned eighteen, a source of pride at first. Now he looks at the house and remembers the tiny apartment he grew up in, spending summers with Seokmin next door because his place was too full of people.

You unstrap your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle but he stops you, resting a hand on your arm. You turn back to face him with a curious frown.

Seungkwan’s heart is beating so hard he thinks you can hear it. He’s never been this close to you, able to pick out each individual eyelash. He could spend all day studying your face and your beauty would still amaze him.

The words stick in his throat the longer he stays, eyes flicking between yours trying to figure out how to say what he wants. How does he tell you that you make the mess in his head quiet? That he barely knows you but he feels less alone when you’re by his side? That you give him the hope that maybe one day he can fix things?

“I’m quitting,” you say.

Seungkwan blinks. “What?”

You lean back, folding your arms. “I don’t think being a bodyguard is for me. I… I’m trying to figure out what I want, who I am without taekwondo, and this experience was… good, but it’s not for me.”

“You’re quitting,” he says. He tries to imagine his life without you in it. He can’t.

“Yeah, Seungcheol told me I had to tell you myself,” you say. “He thinks I’ll come back, though. He’ll probably tell you that, but I won’t come back. I… I won’t.”

Seungkwan stares at you, realizing this is the last time he will see you. It’s horrible that this is the push that he needs to finally say it. But he has nothing to lose.

“I like you.”

Your mouth falls open, your eyes widen, and your eyebrows raise. For the first time that he’s ever seen, you’re stunned. He tries not to smile at how cute you look, though the longer you are silent, the less he feels like smiling.

“I just wanted you to know before you leave and considering the way you are looking at me right now, I’ll never see you again. I don’t really have the opportunity for crushes or anything, and I don’t expect anything from you, but I wanted you to know. And to thank you.” For listening to me, for being by my side, for being a source of my strength, even when you didn’t know it. He wishes he could be more sincere about not expecting anything. The truth is, he wants to be in love. He wants to be a stupid teenager, even though he’s twenty-two. He wants to call you at the end of the day just to hear your voice, to cry on your shoulder, to hold you while you cry on his. But you are already saying goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice is tiny. “I can’t.”

He nods, though he can feel his heart shattering. He forces a smile, doing his best to swallow the tears. “I figured as much. I hope you find your happiness.” He gets out of the car, thanking every god in existence he didn’t struggle to open the door. It’s as smooth an exit as he can hope for.

“Seungkwan,” you say before he can close the door. “You deserve to be happy too.” It makes his heart ache that this is goodbye, that even though you can’t give him what he wants, you still wish the best for him. He grabs his luggage from the trunk and walks slowly up the driveway. He puts on a smile for his parents, holding back the pain in his heart even as he hears the engine rumble away, and it’s not until much later that day, when he’s finally alone, that he lets the tears fall.

You stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, studying the glow in the dark stars that you stuck up when you were seven because your second grade teacher told you if you prayed on the stars, your dreams would come true. You thought you were smart bringing them into your room where you could see them, since the city lights made it impossible to see the real stars outside. And for a little while, it worked.

Your parents took down the medals while you were away. You hoped it would make it easier to be in this room, but now the shelves are only inhabited by the pictures that they had been too sentimental to take down, including the picture of you grinning while biting the gold medal. You turn on your side, studying the wall to look for a specific picture.

You finally find it near the middle, a picture of you when you won your first tournament, arms around the shoulders of your two best friends. Vernon and Chan grin, medals around their necks, too. You trained with them up until you joined the Olympic team, and even then, when you came home, you always came back to them. You should have called them while you were working, but thinking of them reminded you of what you left behind. Now you just miss them.

You hear the doorbell ring, but don’t think anything of it until you hear soft footsteps down the hall and the door to your room is thrown open.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were back?” Chan cries, practically tackling you in a hug. Vernon follows less enthusiastically but he still wraps his arms around you.

“I didn’t get the chance,” you say into someone’s shoulder. “I got back like five hours ago and then took a nap because I was up all night. I was about to call, I swear.” They finally let go, Chan sitting next to you on the bed while Vernon sits on the floor.

“Sure,” Chan says. “Just like you said you would call while you were gone.” Vernon smacks his leg, shaking his head. “What? It’s true, they never called.”

“I was going to call,” you say. “And ask if I could go to the studio.”

Chan and Vernon jerk their heads to you in unison.

“Are you serious?” Chan asks. “Wait, you already said yes, no take backs, let’s go.” He grabs your hand, as if he was going to drag you there himself.

“You really want to?” Vernon asks.

You shrug. “I’ve been running from it for too long.” You still have no idea what you want, who you are. But you knew it wasn’t as a bodyguard, especially not for someone you were starting to develop feelings for. You wish you could have told him how you felt, that you didn’t have to watch the hope drain from his eyes. To be the reason that it happened.

You push Seungkwan from your head as you walk to the studio with Vernon and Chan. You don’t dare to allow yourself to think about him, convincing yourself that it was the best decision. You remember how lonely he looked walking up that driveway alone.

You pause at the doorway to the studio. It’s the same place you went when you were a kid, and suddenly you remember that kid, dreaming of gold, ready to throw away anything for it. Chan and Vernon don’t push you, waiting behind, out of your line of view.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to go inside when you feel a tug at your side. A kid who can’t be older than six looks up at you.

“Are you yn ln?” She asks, eyes wide.

You smile. “What do you think?”

“It is you!” She gasps, bowing deeply. “I’m going to be just like you!” She points to the door. “Are you going inside?” She holds her hand out to you.

You take it without a second thought, letting her pull you inside.

You lay on the mats flat on your back, laughing as you tried to gasp the air back.

“I told you I wasn’t going to take it easy,” Vernon says over you. He offers a hand to pull you up but you shake it off, opting to stay on the floor. You pull the plastic sparring helmet, letting your head breathe. You need a break, after crashing a junior class and somehow ending up giving a guest lesson. Vernon and Chan both wanted to spar, and though you knew you needed to ease back into things, you found that you wanted to keep going too.

Despite what he said, Vernon did take it easy. The only reason you were on the ground was because you practically tripped over his feet.

He sits next to you on the blue mat. “Is your knee okay?”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ve been stretching and I’m going to go back to physical therapy now that I’m back home for good.”

“What’s your plan now?”

You shrug. “I’m trying this no-plan thing. It’s kind of nice.” You pause, glancing at him. “But I really liked teaching the kids.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was fun.” You finally sit up, rolling your shoulders.

You’ve been friends with Vernon for almost your entire life, so you know that when he’s quiet, it isn’t quiet because whatever he’s about to say is bad. He’s just trying to figure out how to say what he means.

“Why did you leave?” He asks. That’s the funny thing about Vernon. He’ll take so long formulating the question that he forgets to give context. You can’t tell if he’s talking about four months ago or today.

“I don’t love it anymore,” you say. “Competing like that was killing me, body and soul.”

“I get that,” he says. “But what happened while you were on tour? I thought the bodyguard thing would at least last a year. I mean, did you even get paid?”

“Yeah, what was it like to escort the most popular artist in the world?” Chan drops down next to him, finally returning from the bathroom.

“You’re still mad yn forgot to get you a signature,” Vernon says.

“I could have gotten so much money selling it, a t-shirt, a hat, anything.”

“You don’t have to lie, we all know you’re a fan, I’ve literally seen your Spotify wrapped,” Vernon says. He turns to you. “Don’t think you’re off the ropes. Talk.”

“It was a lot,” you say, trying to figure out how much to tell them. “I did enjoy some things, like traveling was really cool. But it was too much too fast, and most of the time it was boring, and I couldn’t even hope that it was interesting because that would mean someone’s life was in danger.”

“And Seungkwan?” Chan asks. “What was he like?”

You stare at yourself in the mirror, hair messy from the helmet, wearing a spare uniform they had in the back and a borrowed belt. You felt strange about that, but Chan dragged you out before you remembered to grab your own out of the box it had been tucked safely into.

What was Seungkwan like? You think about the Seungkwan you drove home this morning, so different from the charismatic man of confidence he is on stage. How do you tell them that he’s everything they think he is and also nothing like that? How do you tell them that he’s the reason you finally had the strength to come back here today?

How do you tell them that you are terrified of falling in love with that boy because you know he’s exactly what you need, so you pushed him away?

It turns out you don’t have to.

“You’re an idiot,” Vernon says. “You didn’t actually develop feelings for him, did you?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Oh my god you totally did!” Chan pushes you lightly, though you use it as an excuse to flop back to the floor.

“I’m an idiot,” you admit.

Vernon laughs. “You’re such a cliche. Is that why you quit, too?”

“I can separate work and life,” you say. “I quit because that job wasn’t for me.” You leave out the part where you didn’t tell Seungcheol until the flight home and had to fill out last minute paperwork in the airport.

“I’m sorry, we’re skipping over the fact that yn actually has feelings for Seungkwan? The Seungkwan?” Chan says. “Real feelings?”

“Yes, Chan, people have those sometimes,” you say. “One day you’ll grow up and feel it, too.”

“Shut up,” he pouts while you and Vernon laugh.

“So you just said goodbye and you’re never going to see him again?” Vernon asks.

“About that,” you say slowly. “He sort of told me that he likes me.” You roll into a backwards somersault to dodge them, landing on the balls of your feet and raising your hands to guard your face.

“The Boo Seungkwan said he likes you?” Chan scoffs. You jab at him but he easily blocks it.

“It was this morning,” you say, stepping to the side to dodge a kick from Vernon.

“And what did you say?” He asks, grunting as you suddenly advance on him with a flurry of high kicks.

“I panicked,” you say when you drop your leg to focus on Chan.

“What does that mean?” Vernon asks from behind you. You duck down as they both kick for your head and knock their feet into each other.

“It means I didn’t say anything and let him think the feelings were unrequited,” you say. In one quick movement, you hook your back leg behind Vernon’s and kick it from underneath him, swinging your arm into his chest to knock him onto the floor. “And now I’m freaking out because even though I know it’s obviously a huge mistake to even imagine being together, I wish I said something because I really do like him and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life imagining what if, and I know that it’s pure foolishness to believe that anything could ever happen, but I still want it.”

You turn on Chan, faking a round kick to the head to get him to raise his hand, then twisting your hips into a quick sidekick to the chest, jerking it back so that it knocks him off balance instead of slamming your foot into him. He raises his hands in defeat before you can fully finish him off.

You flop back down onto the floor, rubbing your knee even though it does nothing to ease the ache. “Why can’t I stop thinking about the what ifs?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Vernon asks. “What are you so worried about?”

“Because he’s Seungkwan and I’m me,” you say. “Let’s start with that.”

“You’re you?” Chan laughs. “Are you trying to act like you didn’t win an Olympic gold medal at seventeen? Like that isn’t a big achievement?”

“Even if you weren’t that,” Vernon says quickly, “Even if you were ‘just you,’ why isn’t that enough? To love and to be loved, what more can you ask for?”

You hate when he’s right. “What if it’s too hard?” You ask in a tiny voice. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“You don’t know if you don’t try,” Chan says. “And I will personally kill you if you don’t try. It’s Boo Seungkwan.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m aware.”

“You’re too young and you’ve lived too much to be scared of love,” Vernon says. “You have to give it a chance.”

“Why do you act like a seventy year old man?” You ask. “We’re the same age.”

“Wisdom transcends age,” he says, closing his eyes and bowing his head. “Respect your elders.”

“The only day I’ll respect you is at your funeral when I carry your coffin to your grave,” Chan says, eyeing Vernon.

“Nah, I’m getting cremated,” Vernon says. “I don’t want anyone touching my body after I die, and I definitely don’t want to rot in a box underground.”

“What if you get burned alive?” Chan asks. He yelps when you smack him. “What was that for?”

You shrug. “Whatever reason that makes you least upset.”

“So, you’re going to call him?” Vernon asks.

“Damn,” you mutter. You thought for sure the funeral discussion would have distracted them enough to drop it.

“That’s not a yes.” Chan raises his eyebrows. He pulls off his right glove, holding it menacingly as if he is going to throw it at you.

“I don’t even have his number,” you say. “Besides, he’s spending time with his family this week.”

“Do you hear that?” Chan looks at Vernon. “All I hear are excuses.”

Vernon nods, turning to you. “The longer you wait, the more he thinks you hate him and wallows in his feelings alone. He’s probably writing a song about unrequited love, as we speak.”

Normally you’d roll your eyes at a comment like that. But, though you know he isn’t writing a song, you do know that he’s definitely wallowing, and that you are the reason. Your stomach churns at the thought.

But how to find him? Even if you were to somehow get his number, he probably wouldn’t even see your message, let alone answer it. You know where he lives, but showing up on his doorstep feels like a step too far, a little too much like a stalker. Even though you are now his former bodyguard, you still think about his safety.

Security. Bodyguards. Of course! It’s trivially easy, now that you realize it. You grin at Vernon and Chan, sure of what you had to do.

Seungkwan sits in the backseat, glancing between Seungcheol and Mingyu. They were uncharacteristically quiet, not bickering with each other about anything, even as Mingyu runs a yellow light. Seungcheol purses his lips and glares at him, but doesn’t say anything.

They picked Seungkwan up twenty minutes ago but have yet to explain what is so important that his break is being interrupted. Seungcheol types a quick message and Seungkwan catches the barest hint of a smile, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Areyou at least going to tell me where we’re going?” Seungkwan asks. He asked when they first showed up at his doorstep but all they said was to get into the car and “it’s important.” He realizes that his manager didn’t call him, and this could easily be a kidnapping.

No, Seungcheol and Mingyu would never do that. They’ve been around too long. Unless they have been playing the long game to gain his trust and are now turning against him. Or Seungcheol has a kid that he doesn’t know about that’s sick and needs surgery and someone offered him a lot of money to kidnap him. Or…

Or maybe he should stop watching so many dramas.

“It’s easier for you to see than for us to explain,” Seungcheol says. “We’re almost there.”

Seungkwan raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, staring out the window instead. It feels like so much of his life is spent sitting in the backseat watching everything pass by.

A couple minutes later, Seungcheol pulls up along a little strip of businesses. This late, most of the stores are closed, dark lights on the street. Only one of the buildings is still lit, San Francisco’s Best Taekwondo. He frowns at the two in front of him.

“What is this?”

“We’ll be right outside if you need us,” Seungcheol says. “Go on in.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Seungkwan’s stomach. “I don’t think I should.”

Mingyu turns back in his seat, studying Seungkwan. “There’s nothing else you want to say to them?”

Seungkwan thinks about his last image of you, his last goodbye. He said everything he wanted. That was enough, right?

It’s only been a couple days since then, but, against all reason in his head, more than anything, he just wants to see you again. Is there anything he wants to say? He doesn’t think so, but he does want to see you and he has a chance. He might as well take it.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door, shaking his head as Mingyu and Seungcheol cheer him on. Before he can lose his confidence, he strides into the building, the door swinging open easily. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor, which switches from tile to blue and red mats that form an alternating pattern. You’re wearing a t-shirt and athletic pants, and he wonders if this is how you look everyday, if you shop for groceries like this, drop off packages, do laundry. He wants to know what you look like doing everything.

You look up when he walks in and for a second he’s frozen, as if he somehow forgot what it’s like to see you and being in front of you now is reminding him of every detail he spent the last three days trying to forget. Trying to forget you.

It was a task for a better man than him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you say.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” Seungkwan says.

“Wait.” You frown. “Did Seungcheol and Mingyu not tell you that I called?”

He shrugs. “They said it was important.”

“And you went with them?” You stand up. “How have you not been kidnapped?”

“I’m a trusting person.”

“Too trusting,” you say.

“Maybe that’s true.” He smiles instinctively. Talking to you is easy, even when he’s on edge like this. You are the reason he’s here, but he still doesn’t know why.

“Well, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” you say. “But I do have something I want to tell you.”

Hope blossoms in his heart, even though Seungkwan knows he is an idiot for it. He slides his shoes off, joining you on the mats. He feels a world away from you all of a sudden, the mats strangely soft under his feet while you stand as though it’s natural. He can still tell that you’re nervous, tapping your fingers against your folded arms.

“I want to be here,” Seungkwan says. With you.

You take a deep breath, studying your socks. “I like you. Like, I have feelings for you, and I should have told you when you told me, but I wasn’t ready to accept that they are real, and wasn’t ready to accept the reality of them.

“Honestly, I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of it, and I know it’s too soon to talk about dating, but my mind runs faster than I can stop it, and I’m so scared that everything will fall apart, that I’ll fall apart and drag you down, but I want to be young and spontaneous because my friend said apparently I didn’t have enough of a childhood, and I think maybe that’s why I like you, because I know I don’t have a shot in hell with you, except you like me, too, and everything is so complicated.”

“You like me?” Seungkwan says. “I’m sorry, I sort of didn’t hear anything after that.”

You smile. “Yeah, I like you. A lot. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“You like me.” Seungkwan smiles. His heart feels like it’s glowing, as though every piece that was fractured when he watched you leave was putting itself back into place and making his entire body fuzzy. He reaches out for your hands and finds they fit perfectly in his, just as he remembers.

You smile at him and he thinks maybe this is the happiest he has been in a very long time. “I like you,” you say, and finally he understands.

He has no idea what is going to happen but holding your hands, he thinks the future might not be so bad. There will be days he feels empty and days where he lives in his regrets, but there will also be days like right now, where he can hold your hands and dream of a future where he’s not so alone. He knows a relationship like this won’t be easy, but right now, he doesn’t care. Seungkwan squeezes your hands and for the first time in years, he isn’t scared that he will be alone.

a/n2: if u were worried, chan got his autograph

#🌟 stars galaxy #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt reader #svt #seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan #seventeen seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan angst

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platinumrosetail · 10 months ago

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Mlp masterlist (male and genderbend females):

Ideas:

All:

Gen 4

Dusk shine- twilight sparkle:

Butterscotch- flutter shy:

Elusive- rarity:

Applejack:

Rainbow blitz- rainbow dash:

Bubble berry- pinkie pie:

Prince Artemis- Princess Luna:

Prince Solaris- princess celestia:

King metamorphosis- queen chrysalis:

Dark horse knight- nightmare moon:

Sundown glare- sunset shimmer:

Star shine beam- starlight glimmer:

Prince bolero/charming- princess cadence:

Flash sentry:

Flash sentry x rival male tsudere!reader

Discord:

Tirek:

Gen 5

Sun star chaser/ sunny starcout:

Hitch:

Pippin petals/ pipp petals:

Issac moonbow/ Izzy moonbow:

Zephyr cyclone/ zephyr storm:

King haven/ queen haven:

Mist blossomforth/ misty blossomforth:

Alphabittle blossomforth:

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monstersandmaw · 2 years ago

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Male ‘yautja inspired’ alien x gender neutral reader - Part Ten (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Content: a reunion with a certain other non-yautja alien, lots of soppy, tooth-rotting fluff, and a revelation... Wordcount: 4022

Thank you so much for all your enthusiasm and kind words about this project. Honestly, this got WAY bigger and more unwieldy than I ever intended, but your engagement with it - reblogs and asking questions about it in particular - has just fuelled it and kept me going. Thank you.

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw), Part Eight (sfw), Part Nine (sfw)

You didn’t let go of Red’s hand as you walked by his side back towards the sentry gates, and his fingers held yours just as tightly. He was still rumbling softly to himself with every step.

When they saw you returning to the gate so soon, the two guards grinned at you and let you back in with a pair of knowing smiles and only a light ribbing.

“They are fond of you,” Red said, and it wasn’t a question.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they look out for me… I’m not military, but they seem to like me well enough. I think the way the Hunters treat me has a lot to do with it though…”

“The way we…?” Red cut himself off, confused. “I don’t understand.”

With a little laugh, you looked up at him. He had slowed his longer stride to match yours and had his head at a curious tilt as he regarded you. From that angle, you could see the shorter, bitten-off ‘dreads’ on the same side as the puckered scarring across his neck and collarbones from the shrike attack in the woods and your stomach lurched a little as fleeting flashes played out before your mind’s eye: Red’s feral roar, that thing latched onto his neck, claws digging in, green blood spurting… With a deliberate wrench, you tore your mind out of the past and back into the present.

“Whatever Croc said about me has clearly spread, because once they know who I am, Hunters treat me like some kind of… I don’t know, not quite a hero, but… there’s a weird amount of reverence that your people have for me that doesn’t match up to what I did…”

“You saved his life.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I leapt in front of a shrike to do it, Red,” you countered as you walked together along the road that led to the airfield. Somehow it hadn’t quite sunk in that he was really there after so long. “I just put a tourniquet on him and stopped him bleeding to death. Literally anyone with some basic first aid training could have done what I did… but it feels like every Hunter who knows my name treats me like a fucking war hero who saved, I don’t know, the High Elder! Not that Croc isn’t important, he is, but you know what I mean…”

Big Red shook his head and snarled softly. “Your first instinct was to help him. Our people respect warriors, but we also respect courage.”

“Is it really courage though, if attacking him had never crossed my mind in the first place?”

Abruptly, Big Red stopped and turned to look directly down at you despite the mask covering his eyes once again. “You took a great risk in helping him. You were alone, unprotected and… you had no idea if we would be hostile. Many of us would have killed you just for approaching when we were that vulnerable.”

A stern kind of pride rang in his deep, scraping voice as he articulated the words around his clicking mandibles, and you felt a flush of heat wash over your face at Red’s intense sincerity.

“And you are brave,” he went on. “We saw how you fought against the —” he clicked out the name in his own language and then translated “— ‘shrike’.” His compliments dissolved into another clicking, chittering, non-verbal growl and he spread his mandibles wide in a display of fierce admiration. A gossamer line of saliva connected top and bottom for a moment, but it broke when he shook his head. “If we hadn’t got there…”

“But you did,” you smiled, and squeezed his hand.

“You held it off,” he said. “You had no training, and no weapons that could kill it. When we heard your shout, I thought… I thought we would find you… dead… but you were still fighting…” He reached up and brushed reverent knuckles across your cheek with tremulous awe that stole your breath and made your chest constrict.

Embarrassed, you puffed out a little sigh and muttered, “Adrenaline is a powerful thing, I guess.”

In a vague attempt at diffusing the moment, you tried to walk on, but Red caught up to you in a single stride and snatched your wrist in his hand, physically turning you around to face him. His massive hand around your forearm was gentle, but unyielding as iron.

He growled at you again, and you found yourself almost unsettled by it; wrong-footed. “Red?”

He let go of you and huffed in frustration. “I wish… I wish you could see how…” He chittered a word in his own language and you smiled, cheeks heating when you caught what he said.

Slowly, you stepped right up into his personal space and pressed your left palm against his bare, muscular chest while your other drifted down to his slim waist. “‘Extraordinary’, am I?” you purred.

“You know, it is very unsettling that you can understand me now,” he muttered, looking away and clicking. He didn't try to step back though, or break the contact with you.

“You’ll have to watch what you say now, Big Guy,” you said with a playful, upward twist of your lips. “I might not be able to speak your language, but I know what you’re too shy to say to my face these days. You can’t hide.”

He gave a wordless clicking that still indicated pleasure despite his embarrassment, and he leaned down, hands tightening on your shoulders, claws pricking. As he moved his face closer to yours his mandibles opened and closed repeatedly in a slow, gentle pincer movement, and as he closed the gap between you, your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of the touch of talons against your cheeks again.

Just as those four pin-prick points pressed against your face in the lightest of caresses, a Hunter ship cruised overhead and disappeared out of sight behind the hangar and you chuckled. “Croc,” you whispered, but Big Red just squeezed your shoulders harder, drawing you even closer before finally kissing you, after his fashion.

His long, dark, forked tongue flickered out to taste your lips and you let him deepen the kiss. He rumbled with pleasure, a thunderstorm in his chest, then grabbed your waist, and slid his hands to the curve of your backside, gripping you and letting his hands wander up and down every part of you he could reach. He didn’t stop purring all the while.

“Come on,” you snorted, pulling back after a few dizzying moments. “Or I’ll get so worked up Croc will smell it anyway.”

“I can smell it now,” Red growled, chasing another kiss which you gladly gave him.

“Fuck,” you gasped as his mandibles scraped across your neck and left you hot all over and aching in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. “Fuck, stop,” you laughed, pushing him square in the centre of his chest. He responded immediately, but he was chuckling as he stepped back.

“Croc will not go easy on me either,” he said as you set off, hand in hand. “If that is any… consolation.”

“It’s not,” you snorted. “He’s a menace.”

“It is a good job he is mated then,” Red said and you stopped abruptly.

“Mated? Since when?”

Big Red just waited for you to start walking again and, when you’d kicked your feet back into motion, said, “Just over… what must be about one Earth year ago, I think? He is bonded to one of my crew, a large male, named ‘Midnight’ in your language. Together though, they are in a relationship with a human.”

“I’m not surprised it takes two people to love Croc,” you snorted. “He’s a handful.”

“In every sense,” Red hissed dryly and you snorted out a loud laugh.

The second ship was just lowering its ramp amid a hiss of steam when you and Red joined the tarmac. There were two Hunters already standing outside of Red’s ship though, apparently enjoying the night air and some quiet conversation with each other while they waited for Croc’s crew to appear, or for their own captain to return.

As you drew nearer, you could see that one of them was the same species as Red, with thin ‘dreads’ and a rusty, ochre colouring, though he was perhaps a little smaller and skinnier than Red, while the other one… He seemed to be one of Croc’s species, but he was a stunning, midnight blue. His skin was so dark it was almost completely black, but in the light spilling from the entrance of Red’s ship, you could see that there were patches of blue over his shoulders and some lighter, smoky coloured areas across his stomach.

It wasn’t his unique colour though that had made you stop in your tracks and caused Red to snicker at you. It was the Hunter’s size. He was… huge.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “That’s your new crew-mate?”

“Yes.”

“Does he even fit on your ship?”

Red chuckled.

“And that’s who Croc and his human are with?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” you repeated. Perhaps Croc had finally met his match after all.

Red leaned down and his mandibles brushed your ear as he whispered, “He’s very submissive.”

You looked at him with surprise. “No way?”

Red nodded again and straightened. “The females adore him.”

“They must be pissed he’s picked Croc and a human to mate instead.”

“You have no idea,” he said. “Come. I will introduce you.”

At that moment though, Croc strode out of his ship and down the gangway, and when he saw you he stalled, roared a greeting that rent the night in two, and spread his arms wide. Arms. Plural. On closer inspection, you saw that his left arm was a mix of metal and something resembling carbon fibre all the way down, and it had sharp, metal-alloy claws that matched his natural ones on the other hand.

Red leaned down and kissed the top of your head with his mandibles. “He hasn’t shut up about seeing you again,” he said. “All we heard on every communication was how much he wanted to see you again.”

Laughing, you thwacked Red’s stomach once with the back of your hand. “His poor mates,” you cringed.

“They understand that it is different,” he shrugged. “As it is for him and me.”

“I’m glad you get it,” you said earnestly, and then, when Croc gave another demanding, impatient shriek, you ran to him.

He was laughing as you approached, and when you reached him, he swept you up off your feet and into a massive hug. He swung you around like Red had done, and finally set you down, still laughing.

“It is good to see you,” he said, and then bowed his head down to touch his forehead reverently — formally — to yours. Well, he tried to touch your forehead, but because of his height he ended up resting his on the crown of yours instead, but you knew the gesture was one of deep respect, and you returned it as best you could.

“It’s good to see you too, Croc,” you smiled when he straightened. “You’re looking well! Love your new arm.”

“Me too!” he said, bringing it up between you in a cartoonish bicep curl and clenching his fingers into a triumphant fist. “I can finally beat your Big Red at wrestling.”

You snorted. “I hear you’re mated twice over now,” you said, and he chittered his mandibles at you in a bashful smile. “Congratulations.”

“Yes. My human mate is on board,” he said, “And you must have met Midnight already.”

“Apt name,” you muttered. “Red was just about to introduce me. I’ve only just got here.”

“You do not live… here?” Croc asked, looking towards the lights of the complex. “Our commander said this was your base.”

You shook your head and pointed in the rough direction of home. “No, I live off-base over there. I was on my way home when Red found me just now.”

“No wonder you smell like that,” Croc grinned, mandibles obnoxiously wide.

“Shut up,” you snorted. “I knew you’d have to make a comment. I should have made a bet with Red.”

“He’d never have taken it,” Croc said. “I’ll just have to lock the two of you in his quarters for a while,” he added. “You’ve got some catching up to do. He’s been insufferable since you left.” There was something else there — some nuance that you didn’t quite understand — but you let it lie for the time being.

“We’d be in his quarters already if you hadn’t shown up so soon to interrupt us” you quipped, biting back the urge to make a terrible ‘Croc block’ pun. He roared with laughter all the same and steered you closer to Red’s ship.

“Christ, he’s huge, Croc,” you hissed out of the corner of your mouth as Croc led you over to where Midnight was talking to Red.

The other of Red’s species had disappeared inside the ship, leaving the two of them alone on the tarmac. Midnight towered over Red at what had to have been nearly eight and a half feet tall, and his muscles were frankly enormous, but when he saw you and Croc walking over together, he tilted his head a little and then sank to one knee, bowing his head. He wasn’t wearing a helmet or mask of any kind, and you wondered fleetingly if they even made them that big. They must do, if the females were about his size, but still.

“You… saved… our mate’s… life,” he said in very slow and deliberate English. His voice was far deeper than that of any of the male Hunters you’d ever met, and it was as rough as a handful of rocks.

His onyx mandibles looked like they could puncture solid steel, and while his skin was an inky blue, the fangs and tusks at the tips made a lovely contrast in ivory white. He bore no scars or marks that you could see, and his ‘braids’ were long to his ribs, and thicker than Croc’s. His eyes were a brilliant, emerald green. No wonder everyone liked him so much; he was polite and gorgeous.

“Yeah, well, Croc saved me right back a few days later,” you said carefully. “Please, there’s no need for that. I’m honoured to meet his mate.”

From Croc’s ship behind you, a female voice yelled, “Are you lot starting the party without me?” A second voice laughed along with hers, and you all turned around to find two humans at the top of the ramp of the Hunter ship.

The one on the left was a gorgeous woman with warm, Mediterranean skin and dark hair, sitting in a manual wheelchair. She rocked back into a playful wheelie for a moment and then propelled herself carefully down to join you, her friend in military uniform following behind like a shadow or a bodyguard.

“Elena Lopez,” the woman in the wheelchair said, coming to a halt in front of you and extending her hand.

Her friend in military gear made introductions too, adding after a polite nod at Red behind you, “Croc and Midnight are my boys…”

“Pleased to meet you both,” you said, and then the penny dropped and you gawped openly at Elena. “Oh my God, wait, are you Dr. Elena Lopez? From the Madrid Centre for Extra-Terrestrial Studies?”

“The same,” Elena smiled.

“The paper you wrote with Dr. García was what made me sign up for the mission where I met these two in the first place,” you blurted in an awkward rush, nudging Red in the chest with the back of your head since he was pressed practically along the entire length of your back where he stood behind you, with one hand affectionately on your hip. His thumb kept stroking little soft, tender arcs across your clothes and you tried not to lean too noticeably into him. God you were tired though, and it felt so good to be in his arms again.

Elena laughed, a warm, bright, rich sound, and said, “You’re welcome then,” she snorted, her dark eyes glittering as she regarded Big Red too. “I’ve moved out of linguistics since then though,” she went on. “I’m working with Croc and Midnight here to integrate their tech with ours. Got myself a sweet exo-suit in the ship,” she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “We’re working on treatments for SCIs like mine. If Croc’s new arm interfaces seamlessly with his nervous system, we’re hoping to use implants based on it for both spinal cord patients and amputees, but Hunter tech doesn’t always play ball with our bodies. We’re getting closer to making it all work though.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Hanging out with these goofballs is half the fun,” she said and then glanced at her watch. “You’ll have to excuse me though. I’ve got to take a call from London in a couple of minutes, but we should all get a drink some time,” she said, taking in all three humans among the Hunters. “Compare notes on being mated to these goofballs.”

“Wait, you too?” you asked as she pushed away and her quiet friend nodded politely before departing as well.

Elena barked another laugh from the top of the ramp and nodded. “Ask your big guy. It’s a funny story.”

Red ruffled your hair before clicking something at Midnight about being dismissed for the night. He nodded at Red, then bowed at you, and followed the departing humans onto Croc’s ship.

“Dr. Lopez is mated to a female,” Red hissed and you spun round to face him.

“No… I thought they never left the mothership?”

“They don’t. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

Croc lingered outside after his mates and Dr. Lopez had gone. “Your Big Red has been our Big Pain in the Ass since we left you,” he said.

“Yeah?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at Red.

He grumbled something from behind the mask and shrugged. “Insubordinate runts. Because of Croc, my own crew calls me all sorts of names,” he said to you. “Even Midnight. ‘Big Moody’, ‘Big Grumpy’, ‘Big Idiot’…”

You poked Croc in his impressive pec with a finger, probably hurting yourself more than him. “You told me I should go when I did,” you scowled, not truly angry. “You told me that if I didn’t, the bond would be harder to break and that I’d end up hurting Red even more!”

“Peace,” Red growled, taking hold of your arm and pulling you gently away from his friend. “He was right. You did the right thing.”

Fuelled in equal parts by emotion and exhaustion, tears suddenly prickled hot along your lashes and you turned away from Croc, shielding your watery eyes and wavering lip from his sight against Big Red’s chest.

“Then why did it feel so shit?” you hissed, caught completely off-guard by the intensity of the feelings that had welled up inside you without warning.

Red brought his hand up to cup your face and he stroked his rough thumb across your cheek.

Croc switched to their own language and chittered at Croc, “You haven’t admitted you’re still bonded, have you?”

Red immediately snarled at him to shut up, and you lurched back, staring wide eyed. “You bonded?” you asked.

Behind you, Croc swallowed thickly, audibly, and croaked, “You… uh… You learned our language, then?”

“Yes I did,” you snapped without looking at him. “Red, is it true? Did you… form a… a bond? With me?”

All the anger drained slowly but visibly out of Red and he tore his attention away from Croc and nodded at you. “Yes,” he said. “I formed a bond with you on the first night we slept together. In the storm. It never faded.”

“In the storm? But… I thought you had to… like… have sex to form a bond?”

“Not always,” Red admitted. “It is rare though.”

From behind you, Croc piped up. “Bonds that don’t form with sex are the deepest. They can’t be broken.” After a short pause during which none of you moved or spoke, Croc added to Red, “I didn’t know that part.”

Big Red shook his head and sighed again, the air whistling through his lungs and mandibles in that familiar wheezing way. His huge, hulking shoulders dropped and he laughed quietly. “I never said.”

Croc stepped closer and you looked over your shoulder at the movement.

He tilted his head in a question at Red, and out of the corner of your eye you just caught the faint nod of Red’s head before Croc laid his hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “I will leave you two for tonight,” he said, and his tone was unusually sincere. “It is good to see you again.” To Red he added, “Please tell —” he clicked out an unfamiliar name which you assumed belonged to Red’s other crew member “— that he is welcome on my ship for as long as he likes.”

You picked up the message loud and clear. He was offering a bolt-hole so that you and Red could have the ship to yourselves. You tried not to feel too embarrassed.

Red snorted and then stepped around you. He took off his bone mask and bowed his head to lean his forehead against Croc’s in a gesture of long-standing familiarity and deep respect. They both closed their eyes, and in their own language, Red said, “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

Hunters had several words for ‘friend’ which all carried different connotations and which had no direct translation into English. The particular word he had chosen was translated literally as ‘beloved of my soul’ but without the romantic implications of a mate, and you choked a little as you recognised it. They brushed their mandibles fondly against one another’s and then Croc turned to you.

“You left him in my care,” Croc said. “Now I leave my friend in yours.”

With a watery smile, you slid your hand into Red’s and squeezed. Unable to form words around the lump in your throat, you just nodded in a silent, solemn promise, and the two of you watched as Croc walked away to his ship and up the ramp without looking back.

“I didn’t know you hadn’t seen him in a while either.”

Red just nodded.

You looked up at Big Red and bit your lip as your mind reeled back to your discovery of his lingering mating bond.

“Red…” you hissed. You knew just enough about mated Hunters to know that without physical access to their mate — not just sex, but simple, everyday contact — they could sicken and sometimes even die. Others gave in to anger and grief at the separation, and became what had been roughly translated to ‘berserkers’ in most human languages. Red just seemed… drained and reserved, and even quieter than before. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I hoped it would break,” he shrugged. “I thought I would be punished for allowing my ship to be shot down, and I never dreamed they’d send me back here. I thought I’d never see you again.”

You hugged him so tightly he wheezed again, and then you both laughed weakly.

“Come on,” Red sighed with a fond hand on the back of your head. “I promised you a shower.”

“Don’t you need to let your other crew-mate know he can go over to Croc’s ship?”

He shrugged. “He’ll keep to himself. He’s very shy.” When he caught the equally shy look on your face, he grinned his mandibles wide and said, “The walls of all our quarters are soundproof anyway.”

“Not sure I’m up to anything much tonight,” you confessed with a quick look at the time. “Ugh, I’ve been awake for about twenty one hours now.”

Red growled and steered you up the ramp with a hand at the small of your back.

“Later,” he said. “We will have time for everything else later.”

___

Croc! And what do you think of the new characters? I deliberately left the other human as blank as possible (except for the military uniform) so that if their story comes up with Croc in the future, it can also be a gender/body neutral reader, but boy did I have to do some metaphorical gymnastics to get around that in the text!

I was going to have some steamy reunion stuff but I decided to leave that out because a) our reader is super exhausted and b) it didn’t fit the tone I was going for. So... sexy times next time? :)

Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and kind words and asks and tags and reblogs on this project so far! It means so much to me!

If you do happen to have a couple of bucks spare, you could always drop a tip on my Ko-fi, but reblogs are just as welcome and just as helpful! As always, I look forward to your reactions to this one. Take care of yourselves.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#yautja #male yautja #feral predator #feral predator inspired #feral predator x reader #feral predator x human #yautja x human #exophilia #alien x reader #alien boyfriend #yautja boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #yautja inspired

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myherokatsuki · 3 years ago

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I HAVE A NAME, YOU KNOW | PART II

PART I (for @bakuroo-writings’ Romeo, Save Me collab)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bakugou Katsuki x Royal!Reader

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni, aged up characters, fem!reader, reader is called Princess a lot, mutual pining, forbidden relationship, infidelity (though it’s an arranged engagement), semi-public smut, fingering + oral (f!receiving), kidnapping, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, no prep, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, Bakugou��s not exactly that experienced either though, breeding kink, creampies, mention of pregnancy

a/n: A huge huge thank you to @super-predictable98 for being my constant cheerleader and sounding board through writing this fic. You’re the best, babe. 💚

Summary: With your wedding to Prince Monoma fast approaching, you and Bakugou begin a secret relationship, unable to keep your hands off each other, but what happens when your secret is out?

The next morning you could scarcely believe the events of the night before had actually happened. It had been harder than you could imagine returning to your room alone after that, and for a moment, you touched your lips, caught in a daze until a knock at your door jarred you from your thoughts. Before you could respond, however, your maid slipped into the room, tutting at the mess you’d left.

“Still abed at this hour, Your Highness? And look at the state of your room. I would’ve thought you’d be excited about your handsome prince being here.”

As soon as she mentioned Monoma, your mood soured and you flopped back amongst your pillows.

“Oh, no you don’t m’lady. I’m to get you up and around. He’s already been askin’ after you and your mother has a full schedule planned for you today. What with all the weddin’ planning and all…”

Begrudgingly getting up and around, your expression must have been as dour as Bakugou’s usually was, making Midoriya flinch as soon as he saw you. “G-good morning, Your Highness,” he exclaimed, quickly trying to cheer you. “How are you feeling today?”

“Where’s Bakugou?” you asked instead, ignoring his question and Midoriya faltered.

“Uhm, Kacchan is–”

Before he could finish, Bakugou rounded the corner, your favourite mug in hand, and the sight of him melted your sudden flare of apprehension. “Here, thought you might need this. You’re hopeless in the mornings,” he muttered, offering you the steaming cup, his fingers brushing yours as your eyes met.

“Thank you,” you murmured, unable to tear your gaze away for a moment until Midoriya cleared his throat.

Smiling into your mug, you sipped at your coffee––made just the way you liked it––as you fell into step between them. Moving closer to Bakugou’s side, you could practically feel the heat of his body radiating off him, and as your arms brushed you fought the urge to slip your hand in his, seeking the comfort of his touch.

“y/n!” Monoma exclaimed, glancing up as you entered the dining room, lowering the newspaper he’d been reading while his gaze traveled over you. “You look even more radiant this morning,” he insisted, flashing you his most charming smile.

You had a feeling your sudden radiance had something to do with last night.

Without a word, Bakugou stepped forward to pull your chair out for you, offering you his hand as you sat, and you couldn’t help but gape up at him. He’d never done anything like that before. His action seemed to take Monoma aback as well and you wondered if he was subtly trying to show off.

For a moment, Bakugou’s eyes met Monoma’s and a silent battle of wills seemed to take place, both men scowling at each other before Bakugou stepped back, taking up sentry by the door.

When you finally turned your attention back to the prince, his expression swiftly changed, shifting back to his self-assured smile. As he began to talk, you tried to pay attention, but your thoughts kept returning to the night before and the kiss in the gardens… and you wondered if Bakugou was thinking of it also.

This trend continued as the day wore on and the wedding planner arrived, forcing you to sit through guest lists and seating charts and dinnerware, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care any less.

“‘Scuse me, Princess,” Bakugou murmured, leaning in to get your attention. “The Queen’s looking for you. Wants you to meet her in her office,” he whispered and you frowned slightly.

Had she truly called for you or was Bakugou giving you an out? An excuse to leave the room?

“Oh! O-of course, I’ll go meet her,” you replied, pushing your chair back quickly—it wasn’t like your input really mattered much anyway.

“Shall I walk you?” Monoma asked, half rising before you held your hands up, swiftly assuring him you’d be fine, keen on taking advantage of the time away.

As soon as you were free, you yanked Bakugou into one of the empty rooms nearby, locking the door behind you.

“Thank you, I didn’t think I could take any more of that,” you exclaimed, tugging him toward you by his lapels and gasping as your back made contact with the wall behind you, Bakugou’s mouth already hot on yours.

If you had any lingering doubts about his feelings for you, the hunger behind his kiss quickly drove them away.

“Been thinkin’ about that kiss all damn night,” he admitted, gruff voice low as he tilted his head, trailing more insistent kisses down your neck.

“Me too,” you replied breathlessly, whining in your throat as he nipped at you, his hands tightening around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Couldn’t sleep cause you were thinkin’ about me, hah?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Something like that,” you teased, pulling back to look up at his face, Bakugou frowning as he chased your retreating lips.

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

Your question stopped him short and his frown deepened.

Of course he’d meant it. Out of everything he’d said since taking his post guarding you, that had been the most honest.

“Every damn word,” he whispered, his ruby eyes burning through you, stealing your breath before his lips found yours once more.

Over the next few days this became your routine—every spare moment you could find to slip away from Monoma was spent hidden away with Bakugou, his hands mapping your body as you mapped the castle grounds for new hiding places.

“Shh, c’mon, they’ll never look for you here,” you whispered, pulling him into your room with you one afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun pouring through your open curtains, bathing your room in a soft orange light.

“I dunno Princess, if anyone catches us here…”

Slotting your lips with his, you easily cut off his protests, your tongue meeting his in a tentative caress, melting his words into a deep moan.

“Fuckin’ persuasive ain’tcha, woman?” Bakugou grunted, letting you slowly slip his jacket off as you kissed him, the dark fabric pooling on the floor behind him.

“When I want to be,” you drawled, grinning up at him and Bakugou let out an amused huff, glancing over at your bed.

Just the thought of what he’d like to do to you there made him begin to sweat.

She doesn’t belong to you, remember?

Noticing his wandering gaze and the way his adam’s apple bobbed, you couldn’t help but want to tease him a little, relishing being able to see him like this—tough facade cracking and visibly nervous, vulnerable.

“Would you like to sit on the bed?” you asked innocently, taking his hand to lead him. Pulling him down next to you, you let out a content sound and laid back against your plush pillows, watching him loosen his collar and roll up his sleeves.

“I’m curious,” you murmured, pulling him down atop you.

“‘Bout what?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow while your legs intertwined. Letting you slip your hand in his, he watched transfixed as you mapped it with your soft touch, spreading your fingers and pressing your palm to his.

“Is this really what you wanna do with your life—follow spoiled princesses around? Don’t you miss being a hero?” you wondered, not trusting yourself to look up at his expression.

Bakugou grunted in response. “You ain’t like other princesses, remember?” he teased, avoiding your question. ‘Sides, right now I’m content being your hero.

“Katsuki, I’m being serious,” you sighed and you felt him tense next to you, a rush of air hissing between his parted lips.

“You like it when I call you Katsuki,” it was less of a question and more of an observation, and even as you said it he sighed again, his eyelids fluttering as he melted against you, your hand moving to his cheek, fingers tracing the shape of his face.

“Now you know how I feel,” you murmured, watching him with fascination as your finger skimmed down the bridge of his nose and over his mouth, catching on his bottom lip and tugging it down just slightly before he reached up to catch your hand, his eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed your palm.

“Yeah, and how’s that… y/n?” he asked, lips brushing your skin, a hint of a grin hidden in his tone.

The sound of your name in his low voice sent a shiver through you and your breath caught for a moment, unable to speak as he gently kissed the inside of your wrist.

“There’s nothing more intimate than using your lover’s name,” you whispered, swallowing, your stomach flipping as you realized you truly did love the man in front of you.

In the golden light of the setting sun, expression unguarded, he looked so beautiful, so at ease. You’d only ever seen him look this relaxed in the throes of slumber.

“Princess…” Bakugou sighed, a conflicted expression twisting his features and your stomach dropped. “We can’t keep doing this—“

“Katsuki, please,” you whispered, taking his face between your hands, fear twisting your gut. “I never asked for this! I don’t care about any of it!” you exclaimed. “I’ve decided I’m going to tell my father that I’m done, that I reject my birthright—“

“You can’t do that,” Bakugou interjected, voice hardening.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do!” you snapped, fingers now balled in the folds of his shirt, your shoulders shaking as tears welled in your eyes. “There are a lot of things I can stomach, that I would have done before out of a sense of duty. But you’re the one thing I can’t stand to lose.”

When your voice cracked, all fight left you and you dropped your face, hiding against his shirt. The sound of your soft sobs went straight through Bakugou’s heart and he pulled you closer, resting his chin atop your head as he wrapped his arms around you.

He couldn’t let you do that—give up everything for him—even as his heart leapt at the thought. Katsuki Bakugou was many things, but cowardly was not one of them. He wasn’t going to back down and run away with you, stealing you away like some sort of thief, even if that’s what you wanted. And deep down you knew that. His noble heart was one of the things you loved the most about him.

“Will you stay with me, at least until I fall asleep?” you asked, wiping the dampness from your cheeks and Bakugou nodded.

“Course I will, Princess,” he murmured, laying back so you could mold to his side, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

As the sun fell below the horizon, your breaths evened out and Bakugou didn’t even have to look down at your peaceful face to tell you were asleep. Careful not to wake you, he extricated himself from your arms, draping a blanket over you to replace his body heat before bending down to brush a kiss to your cheek, hesitating a moment longer to breathe in your scent before straightening and retrieving his jacket.

“Kacchan, what are you doing?” Midoriya gasped, catching Bakugou as he slipped out of your room, his voice serious, no trace of his usual grin on his boyish face.

Knowing Deku wouldn’t tolerate being brushed off this time, Bakugou drew himself up. “It ain’t like that,” he growled, meeting Midoriya’s unwavering gaze. “The princess wasn’t feeling well. She asked me to stay with her til she fell asleep. Nothin’ happened,” he stressed, scowling at his friend, but Deku didn’t believe him.

“I knew something was going on between you two. I’m not stupid, Kacchan!” he exclaimed, verdant eyes flashing a warning.

Bakugou’s jaw clenched as he stared the other man down. “Butt out Deku, it’s none of your damn business!”

“None of my—? Kacchan, do you know how much trouble you’ll be in if someone other than me catches you?” Midoriya cried incredulously. “You know how this will end, right? You’re both gunna end up hurt!”

At Deku’s words, Bakugou growled, grabbing him roughly by the collar and hauling him in closer. “I said butt out! It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it myself. I don’t need your damn lectures, Deku,” he hissed, putting as much scorn into the word as possible.

For a moment neither of them spoke, breathing heavily as they silently stared each other down before Bakugou let go, pushing Deku back with a huff. “You gunna rat me out?” he asked quietly, but Midoriya only sighed.

“No,” he muttered, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. “I wouldn’t do that to you. But Kacchan, please. At least think about what I said.”

Without looking back, Bakugou strode away, heading straight for the training yard. He needed to explode something.

Swishing the tulle of your gown around your legs, you stared at your reflection, readying yourself for the night of festivities before you.

“You look… beautiful tonight, Princess.” The soft awe in Bakugou’s low voice sent a shiver through you and you turned to find him standing in the doorway, watching you intently, as if he couldn’t look away.

Brightening, you approached him, reaching up to smooth his jacket, merely wanting an excuse to touch him. “Just tonight?” you teased, bringing a sardonic twist to his lips.

“You know what I mean, woman,” he huffed, fighting the urge to pull you into his arms. “Never seen you so dressed up before,” he continued, gaze taking in your gown and the way the bodice hugged your waist, accentuating the swell of your bosom.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” you mused, reluctantly stepping back—it wasn’t safe to be too handsy out in the open, anyone could walk past and see.

“Weird isn’t exactly the word I’d have used,” Bakugou mused and you grinned, swishing your long tulle skirts once more for him.

“Will you escort me, Katsuki?” you asked, taking his arm and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, let’s get this dumb thing over with.”

Tonight the palace would be full of guests and foreign dignitaries all there to attend a ball in your and Prince Monoma’s honour, mere days before the royal wedding. You, for one, thought the whole thing to be superfluous, not relishing the thought of being gawked at by so many people, but as always what you want didn’t seem to matter.

As soon as you arrived, you planned on finding your father and telling him you wanted out. Though the thought filled you with dread and churned your stomach, Bakugou’s steady presence helped ground you, reminding you what was important.

As soon as you entered the small anteroom, Bakugou stepped back, taking up sentry by the door and you gave him one last wistful glance before taking off in search of your father.

“Papa, there you are!” you exclaimed, picking up your skirts to hurry toward him.

“Darling, you look absolutely perfect.”

“Father, I need to speak with you, it’s important–” you began before Monoma appeared at your side.

“As important as our big entrance?” he exclaimed, taking your gloved hand with a flourish and bringing it to his lips.

“Can it wait, y/n?” your father asked as your mother swooped in to fuss with your hair and place a jeweled tiara atop your head.

“No, I–”

It was no use, no one was listening, and soon you were dragged into the fray, put on display at the top of the grand staircase as you and the prince were formally introduced to the waiting room of revelers.

“It’s our big moment, Princess,” Monoma smirked, leaning in close so you could hear him over the applause. “Soon we’ll become the most powerful couple in the surrounding countries. Aren’t you excited, y/n? The best deserves the best,” he drawled, leading you down the gilded grand staircase to the shining ballroom floor below, waving and smiling widely at the gathered throng, though his smile didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.

As soon as the musicians began to play he took you in his arms and spun you. “You look so beautiful,” Monoma exclaimed over the music, his crystal blue eyes flicking down to admire you. “Surely there is no one in this room more radiant than the pair of us. We make the perfect couple, everyone must see it,” he boasted, sweeping you along the floor in time with the spirited tempo.

Meanwhile, Bakugou couldn’t help but scowl as his gaze followed you and Monoma through the crowd, his fierce glower taking several guests aback when they noticed him.

“Kacchan, you’re scaring people,” Deku whispered under his breath as he followed his friend’s line of sight, not surprised by what he was glaring at.

When the song ended and you moved to pull away, searching once more for your father, hoping to slip away to get a word with him, Monoma seemed to sense your reluctance and only tightened his hold on your waist.

“Where are you off to so suddenly?” he asked, pulling you closer as the song changed.

“I-I’m getting a little dizzy,” you answered truthfully, your head spinning. There were too many people, too many colours and sounds all blending together to overwhelm you. “Please Neito, I need some air,” you exclaimed and finally he stopped, frowning.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I just–there’s so many people. I just need some fresh air,” you repeated, embarrassed at how faint you felt.

“Come, let’s sit, I’ll accompany you,” he murmured, leading you away from the dance floor, genuine concern on his face and you felt even worse.

“No, I–that’s alright! You stay here and enjoy the party,” you insisted, pulling away.

Whatever Monoma replied was lost in the crowd and you quickly hurried away, dodging guests and dignitaries as you searched for your parents. As soon as you spied them at the head of the room, overseeing the ball from their dias, you let out a relieved breath.

“Mama, Papa, thank goodness I found you–”

“What are you doing, dear? Where’s Prince Monoma? You should be out there enjoying yourself. This is all in your honour!” the King exclaimed, smiling fondly down at you as you practically vibrated with impatience.

Your father’s smile turned to a thoughtful frown however, when he finally tore his gaze from the ball to fully focus on you, taking in your distraught expression. “What’s all this now? What’s with that face?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head ruefully. “Whatever this important matter is, certainly it can wait,” he said, annoyance seeping into his tone as he gave a wave of his hand, dismissing you. “Go back out there and enjoy yourself.”

Finding it clear that you were not going to get him to listen until after the ball was over, you spun on your heel, fighting not to scream in frustration as your feet carried you to the nearby balcony overlooking the gardens. With a huff you ripped the gloves from your arms and tossed them over the edge before leaning against the railing and propping your chin in your hand. Looking skyward the warm breeze caressed your bare arms, soothing you somewhat.

“There you are.”

Bakugou’s husky voice behind you made you turn, glancing over your shoulder to watch him as he approached, leaning against the railing next to you. “Hey,” he murmured softly, gaze flicking down to take you in. “You okay?”

“Not really,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Though, better now that you’re here,” you admitted, leaning against his arm. “My father gave me the brushoff. He won’t listen to me until the ball’s over.”

Bakugou grunted. “In that case, you should dance with me,” he said, offering his hand nonchalantly.

For a moment you looked at it, surprised by the gesture.�� From what you knew of Bakugou, he didn’t exactly seem like the romantic type.

“You wanna dance or not, Princess? I ain’t gunna ask again,” he muttered, a faint dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks.

Smiling to yourself, you took his outstretched hand, letting him pull you closer. From your spot on the secluded balcony, you could just hear faint snatches of the music from inside, their notes drifting up to you on the breeze. Resting your cheek against Bakugou’s shoulder, you swayed with him, letting him take the lead.

“Couldn’t stand seeing his hands on you,” he muttered, remembering the searing rush of jealousy that had filled him when you’d danced with the prince.

“You know it meant nothing to me, right?” you asked, glancing up at him, catching the pout that crossed his face at your words.

“I know that!” he spluttered, growling under his breath, his face turning progressively redder. “I still didn’t like it,” he huffed, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re jealous,” you teased softly, eyes flashing with mischief.

“Think toying with my emotions is funny, is it, woman?” he barked, though his tone held no bite, and you had to fight back your laughter.

“I would never! You’re just so fun to tease.”

“Two can play at that game,” Bakugou retorted, his voice a low growl before his lips were on yours. Taking you by surprise, he swallowed your startled moan before kissing you breathless, his arms snaking around your waist to hold you tight against him as he dipped you.

When he finally let you up for air, you chased after his retreating lips, drunk on the taste of him and not ready for the kiss to end.

“Katsuki,” you whined softly, heavy lidded eyes blown wide with want as you peered up at him. “I’m tired of this ball, let’s go somewhere a little more private,” you breathed, catching your kiss swollen bottom lip between your teeth, unsure what had come over you. All you knew was that your skin was on fire and you ached, deep inside.

Bakugou groaned, hissing a sharp breath as your hands traveled down his chest, tugging insistently at his dark tie. He looked like a man torn, caught between what he knew he should do and what he wanted. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he took a shaky breath before making up his mind.

“Don’t blame you, this is a pretty lame party,” he replied, flashing you a toothy smirk before smoothing his tie and leading you out to the hallway. As soon as you were out of sight of any guests, you took his hand, giggling as you slipped unseen from the party and climbed one of the empty stairwells, finding a secluded alcove.

“Now, where were we?” you whispered, pulling him closer, your breaths mingling. Carmine eyes studied your face as Bakugou leaned in, hand caressing your cheek as his gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, finally pressing his lips to yours, kissing you slowly, this time savouring the moment, unlike the desperate kiss on the balcony.

Moaning softly, your hands slid up his chest as your tongue slid against his, exploring his mouth as he explored yours in turn, each caress growing more heated.

“Kats,” you gasped, arching your neck as his lips left yours, trailing open mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck, worshiping you as he gripped your hips tighter.

“Hmm?” he hummed gruffly, teeth grazing your skin.

“Touch me,” you breathed, chest heaving as his tongue found your fevered flesh, leaving a stripe of quickly cooling saliva in its wake. “Please. Need you,” you whimpered, slowly pulling your skirts up and guiding his hand between your legs, the ache between your thighs unbearable.

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou growled under his breath, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his fingers pulled aside the crotch of your panties, callused digits delving your slick folds. “Did I make you that wet, hah?” he grunted, cock already straining against his trousers.

“Mhmm,” you breathed, burying your fingers in the spiky locks at the nape of his neck as your hips bucked against his hand. “Do you know how many nights I’ve touched myself to the thought of you? Your fingers are so much better,” you moaned, biting your lip, your pupils lust blown and wanting.

You felt Bakugou smirk against your neck before his face lifted, his grin turning wolfish. If he was surprised by that revelation, he didn’t show it other than a slight dusting of pink across his cheeks. “That so, Princess?”

When he pulled his hand free, his grin widened at the needy whine that left your lips, canines flashing. “Wipe that pout from your face, woman, I’m gunna give you something even better,” he said, holding your gaze as he lowered to one knee before you and lifted your skirts higher.

When you felt his lips on your inner thigh, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, your breath hitched and you quickly covered your mouth. “Kats, what’re you–?” Your words cut off with a gasp as he kissed your clothed cunt, tongue lapping against the soaked fabric that yet covered your folds.

“Oh!” you cried, once more pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as he practically ripped the delicate lace pulling the garment down your hips and shoving it into his pocket before parting your sopping folds with his fingers to tease your clit with his tongue, lapping broad strokes to your delicate bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Katsuki–”

A broken moan burst from your parted lips and you pressed your hands to the alcove walls to stabilize yourself as he continued to feast upon your cunt like a man starved, showing you pleasure like you’d never known before and you never wanted it to stop. Throwing your head back, you ground shamelessly against his face, and the lewd wet sounds that filled the air only served to make you wetter.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Katsuki groaned, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs to part your legs wider, no doubt leaving bruises, but you were past caring. “Better than I imagined.”

Feeling your pleasure build in the pit of your stomach, you buried your fingers in Katsuki’s hair as his tongue rolled relentlessly against your quivering cunt and you clenched and shivered around his thick fingers that curled inside you to find that sweet spongy spot that made your knees shake.

Face buried between your legs like it was where he belonged, Katsuki pushed you over the edge and you bit your lip hard, stifling the keen that threatened to spill forth, your entire body going rigid with your climax, and your legs tightened around his head as you came, gushing against his tongue.

When he was satisfied, he gave one last tender kiss to your pussy before lifting his face and wiping his chin with the back of his hand, licking his lips with a smirk.

“That better than your fingers?” he taunted, fixing your skirts and rising to kiss you so you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“So much better,” you breathed, smiling against his lips. “I’ve never felt that good before.”

“I knew it!”

Monoma’s clear voice from the shadows behind you had Bakugou spinning to shield you from view, face twisting into a scowl, but it was no use.

“I knew something was going on!” Monoma cried, pointing furiously at Bakugou, his usually composed visage contorted with rage until his eyes fell on you.

“Can’t you see? He’s hoodwinked you, Princess, seduced you, taken advantage of your innocence, and for that I don’t blame you. You’re obviously the victim in this!” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes. “If you come with me now, all will be forgiven and we can put this mess behind us.”

Monoma outstretched his hand, clearly waiting for you to take it, but when you didn’t move his expression twisted once more, blue eyes darkening with anger.

“So that’s how it is then?” he snapped, voice growing cold, his hand falling to his side. “You willfully deceived me!”

“Neito, it’s not like that, I–”

“You love him? Is that it?” he mocked. “I hate to break it to you, Princess, but marriage isn’t about love. It’s about power, and if you throw this away, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. He’s a nobody, a washed up failed hero, I’m a prince. You could have everything!”

“I already have everything I want,” you countered, voice hard, not backing down, though your grasp on Bakugou’s jacket was tight enough to turn your knuckles white.

For a long tense moment Monoma stared you down before making up his mind.

“Fine,” he sneered, contempt dripping in every syllable, “if this is your choice, then so be it. The wedding’s off, Princess, just like you wanted.” Before he spun on his heel to stalk away, he pointed at you dramatically, a stray piece of hair falling into his eyes. “But be warned, there will be consequences. You’ll regret this, y/n.”

Without another word he stormed off and your legs nearly gave way, Bakugou the only thing keeping you upright.

“Katsuki, this is our chance!” you exclaimed, tugging at his jacket. “Let’s run away now, just you and me! We can start a new life. We can be free!” you cried, desperately entreating him with your eyes, fear clutching your heart, crushing it.

Bakugou, however, shook his head, not budging from his spot. “We wouldn’t be free,” he said softly, letting out a shaky breath, pain twisting his features. “We’d always be running, always having to look over our shoulders. Besides, your life is here.”

With every word that left his lips you grew more frantic and you tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes and caught in your lashes, but it was no use.

“There’s no future where we can truly be together, y/n,” Bakugou continued, his voice growing gruff with emotion. “All we had was some stolen time.”

Before you could argue with him, you were surrounded by guards, Midoriya’s expression tense as he came to stand in front of you. “The King wants to see you. Both of you,” he said, voice wavering.

As they escorted you past the crowd of gawking revelers to your father’s office, you felt numb. This was it. It was over.

Damn Katsuki and his unwavering sense of honour, you thought, holding your head high though your tears fell freely.

“What were you thinking?”

Your father’s words cut like a knife as soon as you were alone, Bakugou a statue at your side.

“I–”

“You weren’t thinking!” he continued, voice steely, not needing to raise it to make it snap. “Those were not the actions of a mature ruler, those were the actions of a selfish child. And you–” he intoned, turning his sharp gaze on Bakugou, whose face tightened further. “You’re fired. Your services are no longer required.”

“What? No! You can’t do that!” you cried, looking between your father and Bakugou.

At your words the King’s expression darkened. “Do you realize the ramification of your actions? Prince Monoma has threatened war over this offense. Instead of gaining a powerful ally, we’ve made a powerful enemy! My decision is final,” he snapped.

“If you would have just found the time to listen to me–!”

“It would have changed nothing,” the King interrupted, standing. “Did you think I would simply have allowed you to call off the wedding because you caught feelings for your bodyguard?” he scoffed. “You have ruined everything we have worked for. And you, Bakugou, I thought you of all people had more sense than this. I thought you understood your place. The moment you caught wind of my foolish daughter’s foolish feelings you should have shut them down. Instead, you-you defiled her!”

Bakugou’s gaze hardened and his jaw flexed, as if it were taking every bit of his self control to keep from exploding on the King, and part of you wished he would.

“Escort him out. I never wish to see his face again,” you father announced, glancing to Midoriya.

“But–!” you tried again feebly.

“You’re lucky I’m not taking his head for this.” Your father’s words stopped you cold, as if the threat had plunged you into ice water. “Take the princess back to her quarters while I figure out how to fix this mess.”

With a wave of the king’s hand, Midoriya escorted you and Bakugou out.

“Katsuki!” you cried, fighting against Deku’s grasp to try to reach him before he was surrounded by a hoard of other black suited guards. The pain in his vermilion gaze pierced your heart, but he made no move to fight.

“I love you!” you called after him, voice cracking as he was led away.

“‘m sorry, y/n,” Bakugou murmured, yanking his arm back when one of the guards tried to grab him.

“Kacchan, why didn’t you listen to me?” Deku muttered under his breath before the blonde reluctantly turned his back on you, shoulders tense.

“No, please, Izuku–! Just let me–!” you babbled as they led him away, still fighting, but Midoriya’s grasp on your arm didn’t loosen.

Defeated, you finally let him take you back to your room once Bakugou was gone, holding your tears in until you were finally alone, though you knew Deku could still hear your pitiful sobs through the door.

Before you realized it, morning had come. You’d barely slept, locked in your room sobbing all night, only falling into a fitful sleep when you’d grown too exhausted, your weary body giving out. In the weak light of dawn, your eyes were still puffy from crying and when a knock came at your door for breakfast you didn’t touch it, your appetite completely gone.

Throwing your arm over your face, you attempted to retreat back into sleep, but your mind wouldn’t shut off, thoughts swirling round your head. The more you replayed your father’s words from the night before, the hotter your blood began to boil til a thought began to take shape.

Rolling out of bed, determination slowly took the place of your despair and you began to pace. When your tray of lunch was delivered, your untouched breakfast taken away, you made yourself eat.

Solidifying your plan, you dressed in your most practical clothes––you were going to need to blend in once you escaped the castle grounds. Getting out unseen would be the easy part. Finding Bakugou would prove more challenging, but you weren’t going to let that discourage you.

Waiting for the staff’s shift change, you slipped out undetected, using the secret servants’ passage to make your way to the kitchens and taking a moment to stuff some supplies in the satchel slung over your shoulder before using the servants’ entrance to leave the castle.

Once you were through the side gate, you were free, your heart pounding in your chest. Out in the main city square, you kept your head down, paranoid that you’d be recognized while trying to gain your bearings. Stopping by a small tourist stall, you grabbed a city map from the wire rack before your gaze fell to a stack of newspapers.

The headline made your stomach drop and you quickly picked up a copy, your eyes hastily skimming the front page.

“Royal Scandal! Royal Wedding Canceled:

After a shocking turn of events at last night’s ball of honour, the Princess was found in a compromising position with her personal bodyguard. Prince Monoma, her betrothed, caught the two in the act and immediately called the wedding off, leaving the country before the King could convince him otherwise. Sources say this may lead to war…”

Catching sight of a black and white photo of Bakugou’s familiar scowl, you grimaced, bracing yourself as you skipped down to read what they had to say about him.

“Ex-pro hero and former Chief of Royal Security, Katsuki Bakugou, faces backlash after his illicit affair with the princess was brought to light at last night’s festivities, leading to the cancellation of the Royal Wedding.

Bakugou was dismissed from his position at the palace and his current whereabouts are unknown, but it may be prudent of him to leave the country, if he hasn’t already.”

“Can you believe that?”

A voice nearby pulled your attention and you listened, discreetly peering over the edge of the paper in your hands.

“I know,” another fellow muttered in response, shaking his head at the newspaper.

“I thought this wedding was supposed to protect us, not make us a bigger target!”

“Ah, but haven’t you forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?”

“That terrorist group that was threatening the royal family because of the wedding in the first place?”

“So what’re you saying? That no matter what we’d be at war?” the first one scoffed.

“Maybe, but Monoma’s army isn’t as large as ours.�� I think it’s nothing but an empty threat.”

Keeping the men’s conversation in mind, you returned the paper and took off in search of the public records building. By the time you found a tenuous lead, an address that you weren’t even sure was recent or not, the sun hung low in the sky, throwing long dark shadows across the busy square.

Debating whether to find someplace to stay for the night and resume your search in the morning or continue on, the thought that someone would soon realize you were missing and come after you made up your mind.

Buttoning your coat up higher and gripping your satchel tightly, you took off, courage wavering once night fell completely over the warren of back streets you’d ended up in.

“Lost, are we?”

A voice from nowhere and everywhere at once asked, freezing you in your tracks and you quickly looked over your shoulder, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s dangerous all alone in the dark?”

No matter where you looked, you couldn’t find the person who’d spoken and fear bubbled in your gut, urging you to move, to run. Taking off down the alley in the opposite direction, you could sense a presence chasing you, his mocking laughter echoing in your ears.

Suddenly something caught your ankle, sending you sprawling forward, arms windmilling frantically. Before you hit the ground, however, something caught you, cushioning your fall, and a pair of pitch black arms surrounded you as a body emerged from the darkness beneath you.

“Who are you?! Let me go!” you demanded, voice wavering, but your cries were just as useless as your struggling. Icy cold fear slithered down your spine as the darkness continued to take shape, splitting into a toothy grin before your eyes.

“Prince Monoma sends his regards. Don’t worry, Princess, you’ll be with him soon.”

“Princess, can I come in?” Midoriya called from the hallway, knocking gently at your door.

You’d already eaten your lunch, but it had been awfully quiet all afternoon and Deku was starting to worry.

“Princess, I’m coming in,” he announced when there was no answer, pushing the door open and peering inside. One look and it was obvious you were gone.

“Shit,” Deku swore under his breath, hurrying in to search for clues as to where you’d gone, though he had a good idea. A hastily scrawled note atop your pillow confirmed his suspicions and he tore out of the room, knowing exactly where you were headed.

Alerting the other guards to search the palace grounds in case he was wrong, he sprinted to the gate, putting his cell phone to his ear. “Kacchan, pick up. Pick up!” he muttered, tearing through the square toward Bakugou’s apartment in the slowly fading light.

“Dammit Kacchan!” he hissed, shoving his phone back into his pocket when it went to voicemail for the third time.

By the time he reached Bakugou’s door he was panting hard. Barely pausing to catch his breath, however, he pounded at the wood hard enough to rouse the dead. After several minutes he finally heard movement from within and with a grumbled oath from the other side, the door swung open.

Bakugou loomed in the doorway, hulking frame filling the space as he blinked blearily at Deku, his ruby eyes red rimmed and bloodshot as if he’d been crying.

“The fuck do you want?” he muttered and from where he stood Midoriya could practically smell the stench of alcohol wafting off him.

“Kacchan, a-are you drunk?”

He’d never seen his friend even so much as tipsy before and the sight took him aback.

“What. The. Fuck. Do you want, Deku?” Bakugou repeated, filling each bitten off word with as much malice as possible.

Remembering why he had come in the first place, he shook himself out of it. “y/n’s missing!” he exclaimed. “I went to check on her and she was gone. I-I thought she might’ve come here.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, his words instantly sobering him.

“What?” he demanded, grabbing the front of Deku’s shirt. “She was left in your protection for one day and this is what happens?” he growled.

“I–I’m sorry, Kacchan! I was so sure she’d be here!” Midoriya stammered and Bakugou pushed him back, letting go of his shirt.

“Yeah, well how would she be here if she doesn’t even know where I live, hah?” he snarled, turning and heading back inside, rummaging for something on the kitchen counter while Deku hesitantly followed after.

“What are you doing?”

“I put a GPS tracker on y/n’s bag when I first became her bodyguard. If she has it with her we can find her using its signal,” Bakugou explained, fumbling to turn his phone on to access the app.

“Oh, that’s so smart, Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed, brightening once more, his fists clenching hopefully.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know it is,” Bakugou grunted. “HA!” he cried as a small green dot lit up on the map. “There she is, what’re we waiting for, y’damn nerd?”

Before long they were on their way, Bakugou propelling himself forward like a madman, his explosions echoing through the streets.

“Don’t you think you’re moving a little recklessly, Kacchan?”

“Don’t you see where she’s heading? She ain’t on her way to the border by herself. She’s been kidnapped,” he explained, “and we gotta get her back before they get there.”

Though you had a head start on them, Bakugou knew you’d have to stop to rest at some point and they’d catch up, coming right to you, even if they had to travel throughout the night.

About an hour from the border your blinking green dot finally stopped moving and the two former heroes took cover, searching for your location as the sun rose.

You couldn’t be far.

“Look, down there,” Deku exclaimed in a hushed voice, pointing toward the dark treeline at the base of the hill they were crouched atop. In the shade of the dense foliage Bakugou could just barely make out the shape of a small hut.

“Well, what the fuck are we waitin’ for? Let’s go!” he growled, pushing up from his hiding place, tiny explosions popping irritably across his palms.

“Kacchan, wait!” Deku hissed, catching Bakugou by the back of his shirt and yanking him back. “I want to rush in there and save y/n as much as you do, but we need a plan.”

As much as Bakugou wanted to argue, he knew Deku was right, and he clenched his teeth tighter, his nostrils flaring in frustration. “Fine. What do we know about the kidnapper?” he grumbled, peering down at the hut, catching movement at the window.

“Since they seem to be heading for the border, I think it’s safe to assume that whoever it is works for Monoma,” Deku mused, holding his chin as he always did when deep in thought.

Bakugou’s face contorted at mention of the prince’s name. “Makes sense,” he grunted, balling his hands into fists, his blunt nails biting into his palms hard enough to leave angry red crescent shaped indents. “Whoever this asshole is, he’s stealthy and can move quickly–”

“Vantablack!” Deku exclaimed suddenly, smacking the side of his fist into his other palm.

“Who?” Bakugou demanded, brows knitting tighter. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but where had he heard it? If only he hadn’t drank so much last night, he thought, head pounding.

“Remember the security dossier we received when the prince first came to the palace? It listed all threats to the prince, but also any that might be associated with him!”

Though Bakugou’s head swam, he fought to remember, his eyes snapping open as the memory came to him.

“Shihai Kuroiro.”

“That’s him,” Deku said before he began to list off what the intel had said about the man’s quirk.

“So, if stealth is his forte, we lure him into a close range fight and it’ll be over quickly,” Bakugou pointed out, cracking his knuckles ominously.

“Exactly!” Deku agreed, nodding sharply. “Our best bet will be at midday, when the sun is directly overhead and the shadows will be at their smallest. We’ll just need to get him out into the open. The middle of that field below should work.”

Bakugou frowned as he peered up at the sky. The sun was slowly climbing, but there was still a few hours til noon yet, and to have to wait while that fiend could be doing who-knows-what to you in that cabin chafed.

As much as he hated to admit it, Izuku’s plan was the best chance they had, but he didn’t have to like it. Settling in to keep watch Bakugou tried not to think about the aching worry that twisted his gut, or the painful emptiness that had engulfed him the night before.

The moment he’d crossed the threshold to his dark apartment, Bakugou had pressed his back to the door and slid down to the floor, curling in on himself and covering his face with his hands as angry tears came, steaming down his face freely while heart wrenching sobs wracked him. He’d laid his emotions out raw, finally face to face with the truth.

He loved you.

He’d let you in, dared to want you, and just when he’d gotten a taste, it was yanked away, and he would never see you again.

To dull the pain, he’d finally pushed to his feet and stumbled to the half empty kitchen, searching for the half full bottle he’d stashed away in the cabinet. Bakugou barely ever imbibed, not wanting his edge dulled, even if not on duty, but tonight he wanted to dull everything.

He’d just wanted to forget. But now there was a sliver of hope.

Bakugou didn’t know if he’d be able to keep you even after this. But as long as you were alive, that was all that mattered.

“What are we doing?” you asked as your captor shoved you into the rundown cabin hidden beneath the low hanging boughs at the edge of the woods.

“We’re resting before we make the final leg of our journey,” he explained impatiently, locking the door and peering out the windows.

In the dim room he practically melted into the shadows, his mop of white hair and the flash of his eyes and teeth the only parts of him you could make out in the darkness.

“But the sun’s barely risen,” you prompted, fishing for details about his quirk. You had a feeling he’d be weaker under the bright sun overhead once you left the shade of the forest.

“Stop asking questions,” your kidnapper snapped, fixing you with a knowing look before once more glancing out the window.

“Do I get to know your name, at least?” you muttered, plopping down on the dusty cot in the corner and drawing your knees to your chest.

For a long moment you didn’t think he would answer you.

“Kuroiro,” he finally said.

“Kurorio,” you repeated, resting your chin on your knees. “Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, not really expecting him to answer.

Kuroiro snorted. “What Monoma wants, Monoma gets.”

“But he called off the wedding, why would he…?” your words trailed off as the answer came to you, the pieces falling into place and Kuroiro sneered at you.

“Not so dumb, after all,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Our country wants that treaty one way or another, and if we have to use you as ransom to get it, then so be it. It’s nothing personal,” he said with a shrug.

“I actually thought I’d have to sneak into the palace to get you, but to my pleasant surprise you did most of the work for me,” he taunted.

Clenching your jaw in frustration, you closed your eyes.

Surely by now, your father would know you were missing and send an army of guards after you, but how would they even know where you were? How would they possibly find you out here?

Your stomach dropped further as another thought occurred to you.

Would Bakugou know you were missing? Would he come looking for you?

Something about the way Kuroiro kept nervously glancing out the window made you wonder, why was he so on guard? He seemed wary, as if there were someone out there.

“Did Monoma send you on your own?” you asked, wetting your lips, running through ways you could get out of the cabin and out into the sunlight, possibly to whoever might be out there.

Katsuki?

“If so, that seems awfully risky to me,” you continued, trying to draw your captor away from the door and create an opening.

“Shut up,” Kuroiro hissed, turning back to glare at you. “His Highness’s trust is well placed,” he continued, stepping away from the door to face you. “We just have to wait a little longer,” he mused, striding across the room to peer out the other window.

This was your chance! Jumping up from the cot, you raced to the door while Kuroiro’s back was turned.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he growled as soon as you made a break for it, disappearing into the shadows to grab you from behind as you reached for the doorknob. “Where do you think you’re going, Princess? Thought you could get past me, huh? I am the darkness,” he hissed in your ear as he pulled you back, your struggles fruitless.

“Fuck. You.” You grunted through clenched teeth, remembering Katsuki and Midoriya’s self defense training. While Kuroiro seemed to melt into the shadows, he was solid enough behind you and you repeated the acronym you’d learned, first jabbing him hard in the stomach with your elbow before stomping down on his foot and throwing your head back, making contact with his nose.

The groan of pain that ripped from his lips grew as you turned to knee him before fleeing, wrenching the door open as he stumbled backwards.

Running as hard as you could, you fled to the bright field, away from the deep shadows of the forest where Kuroiro would have more power. You knew as soon as he recovered he’d come after you, even without any darkness to hide in, but if you had a large enough head start, maybe…

Your thoughts faltered as Bakugou and Midoriya burst from their cover, and relief flooded you instantly, your heart soaring at the sight of Katsuki. You were safe. He’d come for you!

But this was no time for teary heartfelt reunions. They still had an enemy to fight.

“Get behind me,” Bakugou growled, stepping in front of you protectively, Deku at his side.

“Glad to see you’re okay, Princess,” Midoriya murmured, though his usual easy going grin was nowhere to be seen—his expression focused.

“Careful, he can melt into the shadows,” you warned as Kuroiro appeared, finally stepping out of the cabin door.

“Figured,” Bakugou huffed, not taking his eyes from the enemy.

“He’s gunna try to draw us back into the forest where he’ll have the advantage,” Deku exclaimed, rushing forward.

“I know that!” Bakugou snapped, taking off after him, throwing his hands behind him to propel himself forward.

Sure enough, Kuroiro slipped into the shadows and disappeared. “You can try to find me, but the darkness is my domain!” Kuroiro called, his voice seeming to come from all directions at once, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint his location.

“Just give up! Soon the sun will set and the shadows will lengthen, and I’ll take back your pretty little princess,” he taunted, bringing a frustrated growl to Bakugou’s throat, his lips curling back into a sneer.

“How about you shut your damn mouth, coward!” he snarled, sending a barrage of AP shots into the forest. “DIE!”

Kuroiro’s laughter echoed through the trees, only serving to fan Bakugou’s anger, his muscles tensing like a spring ready to snap.

Midoriya tried as well, directing a blast of air through the foliage with a flick of his fingers, to no avail.

“Ah, ah, ah, why don’t you come a little closer, hmm?” Kuroiro taunted.

Bakugou let out a guttural growl, growing tired of this game. “That’s it, we’re doin’ things my way!”

“Kacchan, use Howitzer Impact and I’ll grab him with my blackwhip—“

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Bakugou barked, already ahead of Midoriya, propelling himself upward.

With a fierce cry he threw his hands down toward the forest, palms blazing, the air around them shimmering with heat. You’d ever gotten to see his quirk in action before and a soft gasp left your lips as the explosion that lit up the sky seared into your vision.

“HOWITZER IMPAAAACT!”

With that, it was all over, Kuroiro didn’t stand a chance. The force of Bakugou’s blast and the light that lit up the forest knocked him out and left him know where to hide. Deku swooped in as soon as he saw your captor’s dark form, projecting a series of dark ropes that crackled with electricity, binding Kuroiro and pulling him out into the middle of the field.

As soon as Bakugou landed, sweat dripping from his brow and smoke yet clinging to him, you didn’t hesitate, leaping into his arms.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ scare me like that again, woman!” Katsuki growled, wrapping you up in the tightest embrace you’d ever felt. Though his voice was gruff, it wavered with emotion and you swore you saw tears clinging to his lashes before he pulled you against his chest.

“I knew you’d come for me!” you admitted, burying your face against him and breathing in his familiar burnt caramel scent.

“Course I fuckin’ came for you! Nothing’s gunna keep me from protecting you, idiot!” he replied, incredulous that you’d even doubt him for a moment.

Wiping your eyes, you turned your face up to him. “Not even my father?”

For a moment Katsuki gazed down at you, catching a stray tear on your cheek with his callused thumb before letting out a soft huff. “Specially not him. Nothin’s gunna keep me from you any longer.”

“Promise?”

“What’d I say, woman? Don’t believe me, hah?” he asked, lifting you easily into his arms, grinning at the surprised yelp that left your lips and the way you snaked your arms tightly around his neck.

“I promise,” he huffed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before turning toward the field.

“Uh, Kacchan, where’re you going?” Midoriya called after you, frowning as he lowered his cell phone, no doubt calling for backup and to let your parents know you were safe.

“Mind your own business, y’damn nerd!” Katsuki called back, glaring over his shoulder.

“But—!” Deku glanced between Kuroiro, who was still knocked out and restrained, and Katsuki’s retreating back.

“Stay here and watch him, we’ll be back.”

Midoriya looked ready to argue, but he didn’t object further.

Once out of sight of your other bodyguard, Katsuki gently laid you down on the soft grass and you smiled up at him. The clouds overhead slowly made their way across the pale blue sky, driven by the breeze that tickled your face.

“Kat,” you breathed, reaching up to cup his warm cheek.

“Hmm?” he hummed, leaning into your touch.

“I want you.”

“You already fuckin’ have me,” he groaned, leaning in to claim your lips, his hands dragging over your body, helping you pull your blouse over your head.

As soon as the breeze hit your exposed skin it pebbled beneath Katsuki’s large hands and he paused to press his lips between your breasts, exploring this new territory to claim as his own before he reached behind you to unclasp your bra, leaving you completely bare before him.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered, taking a long moment to admire you before shedding his singed tanktop at your hands’ desperate urging.

“So are you,” you murmured, lifting your hips to shimmy your pants down, letting him help you with the rest of your clothes, while he shed his.

At the sight of his chiseled abs and impressive cock, already half hard, you sucked in a soft breath, cunt tingling with anticipation.

“You ever… done this before?” Katsuki mumbled, face flaring hotter at the question and you glanced away in embarrassment.

“Not exactly…” you admitted before venturing: “Have you…?”

What a stupid question, you thought, wincing. Of course he has. He must have. People must have been throwing themselves at him left and right when he was a pro hero.

“Not as much as you might believe,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze as well. “I mean, a couple times, but…” stopping, he shook his head, forcing himself to hold your gaze.

“If you don’t wanna…”

“I do,” you insisted quickly, letting your fingers brush over the pink puckered scar from the gunshot wound he’d gotten protecting you all those months ago.

Glancing up at him, you kissed his chest where your fingers had just been, slowly plying him with soft kisses while your hand traveled lower, letting your fingertips map out each dip and swell of muscle until you reached his navel. Katsuki’s breath hitched and you felt his muscles twitch beneath your touch.

“I want you. Want all of you,” you murmured against his fevered skin as you touched him, slipping your hand along his length. “You’re so hard for me,” you moaned, awe in your voice, and the thought that you had that power over him sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, leaving you practically dripping, the anticipation too much to handle any longer.

Swiping your thumb over his head, you caught the bead of pre that had leaked out, and grinned as Katsuki twitched in your hand, a needy sound catching in his throat. Flicking your gaze back upward, you watched his expression as you guided him to your entrance, coating his tip in your slick and gasping as he rolled his hips, slipping his length between your sloppy folds to grind against you, his cock head brushing your throbbing clit.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you moved subconsciously, writhing beneath him, impatient to be filled.

“Please Katsuki, n-need you inside me. Need you so bad,” you whimpered, voice cracking as he slid into you, pushing past your first tight ring of muscle, slowly stretching you as your cunt sucked him in.

“Fuck,” he breathed, groaning as his mouth fell open and his eyelids fluttered. “So fuckin’ tight.”

“Mmm, I’m all yours. This is all for you,” you purred, swallowing as he continued to move, splitting your virgin cunt with his cock.

“Squeezin’ me so tight with this sweet angel cunt, dunno how long I’m gunna last,” he grunted, finally bottoming out and pausing to catch his breath.

Thankful he’d stopped for a moment, you tried to sync your breathing with his. The stretch of his cock stung, but you’d never felt more full before, and the sensation went straight to your head, making thought difficult.

All you wanted was for him to move, to fuck you dumb, and fill you up. You wanted him to take all of you.

“You ready, Princess?” Katsuki drawled in your ear, voice strained with how tightly you were clamping down on him, your perfect pussy trembling around him.

“Yes, please!” you cried, moaning brokenly when he pulled nearly all the way out, only to slide back into you, slowly letting you adjust to his size, but you were still impatient, craving the friction of his pelvis against your aching clit.

“Don’t hold back,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair and rolling your hips to meet his measured thrusts. “I’m not that delicate.”

“No. No, you ain’t,” Katsuki agreed after a moment of deliberation, his lips tugging into a wolfish grin, pulling back to reveal pink gums and pearly canines. “Came after me all on your own, hah? Headstrong little thing,” he grunted, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, stealing your breath.

“Nothing’s gunna stand in the way of what I want,” you replied, a fierceness to your words that surprised even you.

“Yeah? And what do you want, Princess?” Katsuki asked smugly, already knowing, but wanting to hear you say it; his thrusts becoming sloppy, filling the field with the dull slap of sweat slicked skin.

“I want you, Kat. Always,” you breathed, gasping as his mouth collided with yours and shuddering as his thumb found your puffy clit, rubbing frantic circles against it to tip you toward the edge, your desperate words nearly enough to make him cum.

“Don’t stop!” you commanded, nails biting into his shoulder blades as your pleasure swelled, the tight coil in your belly compressing tighter, ready to snap. “F-fill me!” you whimpered as he rut into you roughly, jolting your entire body with the force of it.

“Want me to breed this pretty pussy? Stuff you full, huh, P-princess?” Katsuki groaned, his movements turning jerky.

“YES!” you cried, body tensing on the plateau of your climax and you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, urging him deeper. You wanted him to fill you with his seed. To give your father no choice but to let him marry you.

Prince Consort Katsuki. It had a nice ring to it.

The spring inside you finally snapped and white hot light filled your vision, blinding you as you keened Katsuki’s name, pressing your face into his shoulder as he rode you through your high, finally burying himself to the hilt as he came, painting thick ropes against your cervix as he twitched and shuddered.

“I love you, Katsuki,” you whispered against his skin, burying your face in the crook of his neck as his chest heaved against yours.

“Heh, yeah. Love you too, idiot,” he murmured after a moment, as if saying it out loud might make him more fragile, holding you tighter and breathing you in, needing to be anchored to something. To you.

“I have a name, you know,” you teased lightly, fingertips ghosting over his sides, drawing a soft chuckle from his lips before he lifted his face to gaze softly down at you.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he grunted before sobering and looking you in the eye. “Love you too, y/n. Want you to be mine, always,” he said, repeating your own words back at you before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe we should get back. Deku’s probably getting worried,” you murmured with a mischievous grin.

“He can fuckin’ wait. I wanna hold you a bit longer before we have to face your parents.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then, a month later we got married,” you explained with a grin, stroking your son’s unruly blonde hair, nearly identical to his father’s. “And about eight months after that, you were born,” you continued, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“And then me?” another little voice asked, your daughter practically jumping into your lap from where she’d been playing on the rug.

“And then you,” you chuckled, pinching her chubby little cheek, “a couple years later.”

“Is Grandfather still angry at Father?” your son asked solemnly, the question taking you by surprise.

“No, not anymore,” you answered, smiling softly, glad that it was true, though it had taken a while.

“What about uncle Deku?” your daughter asked next, bouncing in your lap. “When is he coming to visit again?”

“Soon!” you laughed, smoothing her hair. “He’s coming back for your birthday party next month. He’s been busy being a hero again.”

“But what about the prince? Surely he got in trouble for what he did!” you son interjected, a serious look on his face that reminded you too much of Katsuki.

“He denied any involvement, claiming Vantablack had gone rogue and acted on his own. But don’t worry, my love,” you added quickly, seeing the way he opened his mouth indignantly, no doubt ready to ask if you’d be safe, even now. “Your daddy keeps me safe, nothing bad will happen to us,” you assured him gently.

“Oi, what’s goin’ on in here?” Bakugou’s voice at the door made you lift your head to grin up at him and his ruby eyes softened as his gaze swept the room, taking in the sight of his family gathered in one place.

“Just telling the story of how we met, how you saved me,” you answered, your daughter slipping from your lap to run over to him, wrapping her little arms tightly around his knee.

“Daddy, you were so brave!” she cried, stars in her eyes as she beamed up at him.

“Mommy was the brave one!” your son argued, pouting slightly and you had to cover your amused smile at the way Bakugou faltered for a moment before recovering, lifting his little girl and perching her on his hip before crossing the room to ruffle his son’s hair.

“Heh, you’re right about that. She’s the bravest, most headstrong woman I know,” he rumbled, slipping his hand along your jaw and tilting your face up so he could kiss you. “Really pretty too.”

“Ewww kissing!” your son cried in disgust before tearing out of the room, your daughter fidgeting til Bakugou set her down so she could chase after.

“Well that’s one way to get them out of the room,” you laughed, kissing him back as you stood to embrace him.

“You didn’t tell ‘em everything, did ya?” Katsuki asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at you.

Gasping at the accusation, you smacked his solid chest playfully. “Of course not!” you exclaimed, feigning offense. “What type of mother do you take me for?”

At that Katsuki chuckled, a rare smile pulling at his lips that wasn’t so rare when he was around you or the children. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m just kiddin’. You’re the best damn mother and wife there is.”

“You don’t… ever regret this life?” you asked softly, worry creeping into your voice and Katsuki frowned, pulling back to look you sternly in the eye.

“Never.”

“But—“ you began, thinking about how he could have gone back to hero work instead of staying with you.

“I have something more precious than anything to protect. My place is here. With you. With our brats,” he said fondly, a smile returning to his face. “This is what I want, remember? You. Always.”

“Always,” you agreed, knowing he meant it.

#romeo save me collab #⚔️.romeo save me #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #joz.fic

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