#like the blossom petal had fallen on her nose and she was looking at it

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 1.THE BEGINNING

❝Your laughter vines through my hair, roots growing into my heart.❞

Vespertilio M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

AGE: 7

Happily playing in the sandbox, laughter and shouts of your classmates filled the air as you basked under the sun's warmth.

Its rays shone down, the sunlight making the flower bulbs glow like tiny stars within your hair (sadly, the only time you truly appreciated them).

Recess was always the highlight of your day, a chance to break free from the confines of the classroom.

"Okay, class! Recess is over, time to let the next class have fun!" Miss Teiko's voice cuts through the buzz, calling everyone back inside. 

But as always, it ended too soon.

Reluctantly, you trudged back towards the school building, your gaze drifting across the yard as if to forever remember the fun you just had.

And that's when you see them: Midoriya and Bakugo, heading out for their own period of recess.

Ever since your visit to their class a couple of weeks ago, you've began noticing the two more often when passing in the halls or transitioning to recess – like now for example.

You perk up when the greenette catches your eye, quick to throw a wave and bright smile which he (albeit shyly) returns with his own.

Once back in the classroom, you settle into your seat with a hum of content; the familiar structure of desks and colorful drawings on the wall surrounding you in comfort.

That's when it happened – you felt it first, a tiny tickle, deep inside your nose. Your face scrunch up, eyes squeezing shut in attempts of stifling it, but the sensation grew stronger.

With an almost explosive force, you release a thunderous sneeze.

"ACHOO!!"

The unexpected sound echo throughout the classroom, startling everyone. You blink, eyes opening to view of frozen and surprised faces.

Embarrassed, you feel bad about causing such a loud disruption and bashfully apologize. "S-sorry..."

"No need to apologize." Miss Teiko is the first to break the silence, a reassured grin on her face. "However, that's not why the class is silent."

"W-what?" Growing more confused, realizing their gazes were focused above your head made you immediately think the worst.

Shakily, you reach up, feeling delicate petals where there should have been hair and hard small bulbs. 'Wait...'

You look up at Miss Teiko in disbelief. Her widening grin and giddy nod only eggs you on, making you scramble from your tiny chair in a rush.

The whispers and clambering of your trailing classmates were ignored as you scurried to the Affirmation Station; a mirror decorated with positive messages, whimsical clouds, and fluttering butterflies.

Once in front of the mirror, the image of your reflection made you see what made the others speechless:

In your hair, various cherry blossoms adorned it, creating a stunning floral crown. The petals, a blend of soft whites and delicate pinks, contrasted beautifully against your hair.

Each petal to its flower was perfectly shaped, nestled within your curls as if they had just freshly fallen from a cherry tree.

The room burst into a cacophony of awe and excitement as your classmates crowded around you, their earlier shock turning into fascination.

"Wow!" One of them exclaimed, their eyes wide.

"Did you see that?!"

"She just sneezed and bam! Flowers!"

You stood there, a bit dazed. The center of attention due to a simple human moment, the best part of your quirk happened....because of a sneeze??

 "You even smell nice!"

"Oh!" Another added, leaning in to catch the sweet fragrance. "It's like... cherries!"

As they drew nearer, they began to realize the sweet scent wasn't just lingering around in the air — it was emanating from you, every part of you.

Denji, the self-proclaimed fearless clown of your class, boldly picks up your hands and takes a deep whiff.

Startled, you snatch it back with a disturbed look of disgust. But the hard look of determination and assuredness on the scruffy blonde's face was more than enough to make you falter as he pointed an accusing finger with a sharp toothy grin.

"Yup! It's coming from her alright!" His brownish yellow eyes gleamed in excitement, making the bags underneath more prominent as he continued to stare at you in wonder. "Even the sweat in her palms smell like a cherry tree!"

Miss Teiko, intrigued, steps closer and takes a gentle sniff herself. "Remarkable," she murmurs, "Your quirk has adapted quite uniquely."

You couldn't help but smile, a mix of pride and amusement heating your face. 

Others began to lean in close and breathe in deeply, their faces lighting up with delight and fascination.

"How lucky!"

"I wish I smelled like that!"

"Man! Bet she never has to take a bath again..."

Amidst the flurry of excitement, a girl timidly approaches your side. "Can I touch one?" she asked, pointing to a blossom.

"Sure," you reply with a soft smile.

As she gently brushed a petal, her eyes lit up. "So pretty," she whispered, releasing a dreamy like sigh.

Her genuine admiration was so infectious a surge of generosity welled up inside. The joy and wonder your quirk had brought to the class were palpable,  you wanted to share it even more. 

 "Would...would you like one?" you offered, voice tinged with uncertainty. She pauses for a moment before her eyes grow wide at your words.

"Y-yes please! If you don't mind!"

As the girl's hopeful eyes met yours, you carefully wrap your fingers around the base of one of the cherry blossoms and gently pluck it off. 

A sudden, sharp sting shot through you, startling in its intensity..

Not fully knowing what to expect, 

Your brow slightly furrow at the pain, the feeling was similar to yanking a strand of hair directly from the scalp.

The moment the flower left its place in your curls, you felt a twinge of loss. It was as if a small part of you had been given away, a piece of your soul shared in physical form.

You concealed the discomfort with a smile, masking the pain with the grace of the blossoms themselves.

Though a part of you hated the feeling, seeing they way she held the flower so delicately between her fingers made it bearable.

Her joy was evident, made your other classmates want one. And so, one by one, they came forward, each asking for a flower of their own.

And with each flower you gave away, you felt a mix of happiness and a twinge of discomfort. But seeing the giddy and hopeful faces of your classmates was all worth it.

With every wince you covered with a smile; and soon the air was filled with the sweet scent of cherry blossoms and the sounds of delighted chatter.

Finally, it was Miss Teiko's turn. Despite her initial decline, you hand her a flower, preening at the sight of her face lighting up with a laugh. "Class! Let's all thank Akashiya for the gift before we go back to our seats!"

"THANK YOU ____!" Not expecting them to use your first name (since you thought they really didn't like you as much) your face grows hot, smile pulled to it widest capacity as the screams and whoops and cheers of thanks are thrown your way. Some even go as far as giving bows and jumps of celebration.

Your lips tremble from joy before you give them a bow as well. "Y...you're welcome! Happy to please!"

Feeling a hand pat your back, you look up and meet Miss Teiko adorning a warm smile. "Thank you," she said softly, her eyes reflecting the same happiness you'd seen in your classmates.

"Now back to our seats!" Turning back to the class, she begins to round them up causing giggles and squeals to erupt. "Shoo! Shoo!!"

Taking one last glance at the mirror, you pause upon seeing and realizing only one flower remained.

A pang of sadness hit you. Your knew how much your mom had been looking forward to seeing the full bloom of your bulbs.

You also knew how her bright smile turning into a soft, understanding one when she learn you shared your flowers with others. Especially being a soft-hearted person herself.

Making your way to your seat, you decide to save the last one for your mom. She always shared in your excitement of anything about your quirk, so you knew she would cherish this small gift.

You twirl the flower in your hair gently as you firmly nod in acceptance. 'Yeah. Mom will get this o-'

Playful shouts and laughter from outside breaks your thoughts, turning your attention towards the window. And that's when you a spot a green head of hair all by himself on the playground.

Midoriya.

He was huddled in a corner, scribbling in his notebook, occasionally sending longing glances towards where the rest of his classmates were – most notably where Bakugo, the ever-proud and loud leader, was.

Seeing the person who defended and showed you kindness, so alone, made your heart sad. Without a second thought, you knew what you had to do. 

"Miss Teiko," You raise your hand with a stern face of resolve, "May I use the restroom, please?"

"Of course, please be quick," she nods with a soft smile.

Once granted permission, you leave the room and stealthily make your way to Izuku's classroom. It was empty, the door open just wide enough to sneak inside. 

You knew exactly where his cubby was. Your heart raced as you approached it, the distant sounds of his classmates playing outside, their joyous noise a stark contrast to the greenette's isolation.

"For being a good friend...Izuku." You whisper to yourself, plucking the last flower from your head with a wince before gently placing it inside his cubby.

Heading back to your own classroom, you imaging his surprise when seeing the gift causing a smile tugging at the corners of your lips with a giggle.

You couldn't wait to tell your parents about the what happened today!

═════════════════*˚✿❀༓❀✿＊˚*══════════════════

The day has not been well to Midoriya Izuku.

And now, in the quiet of the almost-empty classroom, he felt the weight of it all. The taunts and jeers from Bakugo and his new followers had been particularly harsh, leaving Izuku feeling deflated and alone.

As his classmates poured out the room with laughter and chatter; Izuku slowly gathered his books and bag with a heavy mind.

Reaching his cubby, the freckled boy freezes when his gaze fall upon something in his cubby.

There, sitting next to his giant crayon pack, lay a single, delicate cherry blossom flower. Its soft pink petals stood out vividly against the drab backdrop of his school supplies.

Izuku's heart skipped a beat.

He looked around, half-expecting to find someone watching or even there to claim a misplaced item, but the classroom was deserted.

With a mix of curiosity and caution, Izuku gently picks up the flower. It felt almost surreal in his hands, a fragile piece of beauty in stark contrast to the harshness of his day. 'Could this really be for me?'

Wanting answers (and still doubting himself), he approaches Miss Shoko as she finishes tidying up at her desk. "Excuse me...do you know who left this?"

Studying the flower for a moment, the woman draws a blank. Mirroring his own confusion, she gives him a simple shrug.

"I'm not sure, Midoriya" Miss Shoko replies with a kind smile. "Perhaps it's from a secret admirer? It's quite a beautiful flower."

'A secret admirer?' Her words send a wave of warmth through Izuku, tinting his cheeks a soft shade of pink.

Clutching the flower a little tighter, he gives her a stuttered thanks and steps out of the classroom.

As he walked through the school grounds, his usual furrowed brow was replaced by a small, contented smile. The unexpected and beautiful appearance of this flower had erased all the bad he felt today.

Dare say was all worth i-

"MY BABY!" The sudden, distressed wail of a woman cuts through the boy's monologue. Turning his head, Izuku spots a family of three – a woman on her knees, holding a young girl by the shoulders as a man calmly stood there with a stoic face.

The woman was almost theatrically shaking the girl, her voice loud and filled with concern. "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL PRUNUS AVIUM?! WAS IT BULLIES? DID THEY PICK THEM OFF?"

He looks as she softly replied to her mother. Though her words are lost to his ears, her demeanor seemed calm, almost reassuring.

Her mother, however, was just as dramatic as before; enveloping the girl in an exaggerated, teary hug as the father patted the sobbing woman's back with a resigned expression.

As if she felt him watching, the girl glanced over her mother's shoulder, her eyes meeting Izuku's. Her gaze moves to his hands before a bright fanged grin grows on her face, giving him a frantic wave.

Izuku felt a jolt of happiness at the sight, and happily waved back, just as his own mother appeared calling out to him. "Izuku, time to go home!"

The freckled mother patiently waits at the gate as he runs to her with a smile. First thing he does is show her the flower that's still secure in his grasp.

"Ooh! So pretty." The green haired woman leans closer and takes a sniff of the plant. "And it smells wonderful too! Who'd ya get it from?" 

He groans at the question. "I don't know. I found it in my cubby. It wasn't there before recess, I know that for sure because I always get my superhero notebook from my backpack during recess! A-and Miss Shoko says it could be a s-" Izuku freezes, face growing aflame at even uttering the phrase.

But his mother connects the dots.

"You mean a," Warm and coy smile pulling at her lips, she begins to playfully tug at his cheeks. "Se-cret ad-mir-eeeeeer~"

"Mooooom!" The greenette whines at her teasing until she finally releases him with a giggle. 

"No longer talking about that please. Especially if its not true. Probably was supposed to be in someone's else's cubby...like Kacchan" he huffs, rubbing his face as if it would lessen the redness already there.

The older woman could only give him a tsk and light tap on the head. "I'm sure whoever placed it there knew exactly where they were putting it."

"Yeah, if you say so..." Izuku halfheartedly shrugs, glancing at the ground in self-pity.

"I say so and mean it! Now did anything else happen after this little moment?"

Handing her the flower, he leans down and reties his shoes once noticing lacing coming undone. "Umm. Oh yeah! Right before you called me over a girl waved at me!"

"Oh! Maybe she's your secret admirer! Do you know her?"

"Mom," Izuku rolls his eyes, finishing the knot before doing his other shoe (always comes undone a few minutes later, might as well do it now). "Just because someone waves at me doesn't mean they're my admirer!"

"Okay okay, fair enough."

"Anyways, she had this fanged smile-"

"Oh! Oh! She's that girl who stayed in your class for the day right? Aka-a...ak-"

"Akashiya ____. And no, that wasn't her."

"....um, yes it was?"

Izuku pops up and stares at his mom in all seriousness. "How? She doesn't have the flower bulbs ____ had today. I seen her with my own eyes right before re-"

"Recess? And didn't you say that flower wasn't there before recess either? Hmm...makes ya think."

He freeze, all the dots connecting slowly in his mind. His mother could only watch with a shake of her head.

'Fruit cherry tree bulbs...typically bloom in early April...same time our school year began...bulb before recess = no flower before recess...no bulb after recess = flower after recess...that means-'

Izuku releases a body shaking gasp and turns back toward where he last seen you with a cry of shock. Alas, you were long gone with your family.

He whips his head to his mom. Constantly shifting between looking at the flower in her hands and where you last were.

Covering his mouth, a crimson wave washed over his body as the cackles of his mom echos in the back of his mind.

That was...you! YOU GAVE HIM THE FLOWER????

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and To Heal (Part 4)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

The flowers on your desk distract you during your prep hour. The unexpected gift caught you off guard and as such, an old mug serves as a temporary vase until you can get them into a proper one. Since the moment they were handed to you, you've barely stopped smiling. 

You can't stop thinking about the man that handed you the dozen blossoms with a wary smile. You can't erase his relieved sigh when you accepted them, like in doing so you lifted a weight off his shoulders. Martin Ødegaard's murmured 'happy teacher appreciation week' replays on an endless loop in your head. 

You stare at the red petals while you should be getting ready for a math lesson. Your kids will be back from lunch in twenty minutes and you haven't moved from your chair, your sandwich half eaten. Despite your rumbling stomach, you can't force yourself to eat, instead allowing your mind to be consumed by thoughts of Martin. 

How often does he smile? Probably not enough unless he's around his daughter. When was the last time he had a home cooked meal? You'd bet not since he'd visited his home country and spent time with his family. Does he have someone to look after him the way he looks after everyone else in his life? Doubtful, and that realization hurts your heart. 

Standing abruptly, you decide you cannot dwell on this by yourself any longer. You need someone to vent to. Your feet carry you out of your room and down the hall, past decorative banners advertising the upcoming choir concert and past the science posters to your favorite room in the building aside from your own. 

You don't bother knocking, instead opting to pop open the door rather unceremoniously to proclaim, "I've committed a teaching sin." 

"Shh, not so loud!" Your closest teacher friend, Jen, motions for you to come into her classroom and shut the door. "You know better than to burst out with something like that- come in, sit down, have a chocolate and then we can talk." 

Your hand shakes as you reach across her desk to the bowl of candies and grab your favorite. Sinking into a yellow beanbag, you rip into it and pop the bite size piece into your mouth, sighing as bursts of flavor coat your tongue and somehow calm your fraying nerves. Chocolate solves all problems, no matter how pressing. Jen waits patiently whilst your initial panic subsides, allowing you space to wind down. 

"Okay, I think I can breathe now."

Jen smiles, pushing her square frame glasses up her nose. Your best friend is a classically styled teacher, often opting to tie her long blonde hair back in a ponytail or bun so it doesn't get in her way. Nine times out of ten, she wears a smart, matching pantsuit that gives you style envy. Today's fit is a deep blue with a white blouse, completed with a long golden necklace thrifted from her favorite secondhand store. 

"Alright then," Jen says and folds her hand atop the papers she had been grading, "what's the sin? It can't be too terrible or you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me, you'd be packing your things in a cardboard box. Come on then, out with it!" She slaps a poster on the edge of her desk, one with a bright, bubbly font that proudly labels her room as a judgment free zone. "You know I won't tell a soul."

You take a deep breath to center your thoughts. It's taken you what feels like ages to come to terms with how you feel, but you're at the point where you can't deny it any longer. And if there is one person you can count on to talk sense into you, it's Jen. 

"I think I've fallen for a parent- I know!" You splay your hands flat on her desk when her jaw drops. "I know it's bad! God I'm gonna get terminated- I can't believe myself! But it's to the point that I find myself waiting for him to show up at drop offs and pick ups, and when he sends someone else it wrecks my whole day. I've tried ignoring him too, but that only makes him become more charming!"

Jen relaxes into her chair with a smirk. "It's Atla's dad, isn't it? Ødegaard, the footie player?" You nod, half relieved you don't have to say his name yourself. If you did, you fear you'll fall even harder. Thankfully, Jen has a knack for reading your mind. "Mmhhm, thought so. But honestly it's not a big deal, everyone has their parent crushes. Hell, I've had my fair share- Jeremy's mum? Oh my god!" She shakes her head, "that's for another time though. Just don't act on it and you'll be fine."

"See… that's where the issue lies." 

"Oh?"

Now you've piqued her interest. Jen adjusts her glasses, inching her chair forward. Your stomach churns. Thinking these things about Martin and actually telling someone are two different things. Voicing your thoughts makes your attraction real and concrete. Once you've put it into the universe, there's no taking it back. But it's time; if you hold it in any longer, you may well burst. 

"So you know those tulips on my desk? The red ones you asked about." The same adorable, pinkish shade of red Martin had turned when he'd handed them to you this morning.

Stop it, you tell yourself, don't think about that. Definitely don't think about how he was so nervous and fidgety and it was all perfectly endearing… well, fuck. 

"Mhm, I do recall flowers…" Jen flourishes a hand to encourage you to continue, not letting you off the hook with such a simple explanation. She wants details and she expects to get them. You swallow the lump in your throat and push back the unease bubbling in your gut. 

"Those were from Martin. He handed them to me and his cheeks were bright red, almost like he was sunburnt- god, it was adorable Jen, you should've seen him!" You cover your face with a hand, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. "I'm in trouble, quit smirking at me!"

"Smirking? Me? Never!"

You glare at your friend and sigh, "He kept touching his hair and he spoke so softly… yes I know I'm in too bloody deep!"

Biting at your nails is a bad habit you haven't kicked. You do so now, at least until Jen yanks your hand away from your mouth. You smile and tuck your hands under your thighs. Why does Martin have to be so damn charming? If he was a touch less perfect, maybe you wouldn't have such a terrible crush on him. 

"I'd say you need a stern talking to," Jen starts, patting your arm, "but I think you're doing that to yourself. Look, don't get too hung up on it, okay? As long as you keep it to yourself, you'll be fine." 

Question is… how long can you keep this entire thing to yourself?

********** 

For once, the end of your day cannot come fast enough. When the final bell rings and your students disperse to head home for the day, you gather up your things and head to the gymnasium. Once there you pull out the bin of balls designated for after school use and scatter your coloring pages and books on the two picnic tables in the corner. Laughter echoes through the entry as the children start to arrive, most of them shouting greetings your way as they fall into their usual groups to await their parents to pick them up. 

You pretend you aren't waiting for your favorite student, even though you smile when you hear her little voice. Atla comes running over, golden pigtails bouncing behind her. She wraps her arms around your legs and squeezes with all her might, "Hello Miss. Sunshine! I learned about animals today!" 

"Oh did you really? Tell me all about it Attie." You stoop to return her hug with equal fervor, then take her backpack and coat to hang them up. 

"Well elephants are the biggest animals on land- did you know that? And there's so many kinds of frogs in the Amazon rainforest, but they're dying because mean people keep cutting down their habi- habib-" 

Atla frowns, struggling to say the word correctly. You tip your head, giving her one more shot to get it right before you gently correct, "habitat, yeah? Where they live?" When Atla nods, you smile, glad to have helped her. "That's right, mean people are cutting down lots of habitats of different animals, which is why it's so important that we learn about them, so we can grow up and help the little guys defend their homes!"

"Do you have any animal coloring books? I want to color animals today!" Without waiting for your reply, Atla runs over to the picnic table and surveys the selection before digging through the sheets you have printed. She pulls out one of some sort of big cat and gets right to work, her tongue poking out in concentration as she does her best to stay in the lines. 

They say time flies when you're having fun, and today certainly proves that. One minute you're kicking a ball about with some of the older kids and the next, parents are arriving and scooping up their children. Atla is the last one left, which isn't a rare occurrence in itself, but when the clock strikes five thirty you begin to worry. Atla doesn't realize her father's absence, as absorbed as she is in her coloring, which has resulted in a small stack of finished sheets that you carefully tuck in a folder to send home. 

"Attie, did your dad say anything about him being late today?" You crouch next to her, keeping your voice soft. "Normally he's here by now to pick you up."

"He said he had training," Atla says, totally nonplussed. "He's always late when he has training."

You frown to yourself, glancing at the clock again. It's true, he's normally later when he has training, but not this late. You decide to give him ten minutes before you call him to check in. 

Keeping one eye on Atla, you start cleaning up the gym. You find yourself glancing at the double doors leading to the hallway every few seconds, waiting for a handsome blonde Norwegian to walk through with an apology on his lips. It isn't like Martin to be so late, especially without sending a note…

What if something happened to him? London roads can be quite treacherous, especially if someone is in a rush. He could've gotten into an accident, or been mobbed by fans. Who knows? Why is your heart pounding so hard at the thought of him being hurt?

"I'm here!" The gym door bangs open so loud that Atla squeaks, dropping her pencil. "I'm sorry- I'm here! Hey søta, I'm sorry I'm late." 

The words are clearly meant for Atla, though Martin looks directly at you when he speaks. You've never bothered to Google what 'søta' means but now you may have to thanks to the way he seemingly addresses you as such makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

"Hi papa! Look what I did!" 

Martin's eyes linger on you for a moment before he leans over to observe her work. He murmurs compliments and offers small, meaningful critiques which Atla seems to take to heart, eating up his words with wide, trusting eyes. You can almost see her compartmentalize his advice to use later, the innocence in her gaze bringing a smile to your face.

When Martin turns to you, he offers an apologetic wince. "Sorry for making you stay so late. The market was hectic."

You wave him off, "Oh no worries. Though in the future I'd recommend doing a food shop during the day if you can. It's much less busy than after work! Everyone is trying to rush and grab ingredients for dinner and it quickly becomes chaos…" You trail off when you realize you're rambling, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "Sorry, I suppose you already know all of that. I guess that's the teacher in me coming out, trying to solve every little issue I see."

"No it's alright, I don't mind. I usually shop during the day, when it's less crowded, but I had to stop and pick something up for you." Martin smiles, his head tilted slightly. 

You blink thrice, not sure you heard him right. Buy when he holds out a small hamper filled with different types of chocolates your mouth falls open. "This- this is for me?"

Martin nods, his face flushed. "Yes, I figured a lousy bouquet of tulips wasn't enough to show my appreciation for everything you do for Atla and all of your students." Martin shifts on his feet, reminiscent of a child caught in an awkward situation. You clamp down on your instinct to reach out and put your hands on his shoulders to hold him still. "You only see Attie for a few hours each day, but she always has the most things to say about you versus her other teachers."

"All good things I hope." You laugh to try and diffuse the situation, though your palms are sweaty from the compliment. The hamper is heavy, so you set it on the ground at your feet. Before you offer Martin your hand to shake, you subtly wipe it on your jeans. You'd rather a hug, but considering the thoughts swirling in your head, that's definitely not a good option. "Thank you for the treats, Mr. Ødegaard. I really appreciate it."

"Please call me Martin," he murmurs, nearly begging. His eyes soften before he finally releases your hand, tucking his own back into the pocket of his track pants. "I thought we were friends."

Martin drags a hand through his hair when you don't say anything. Atla hums while she colors, her little feet swinging in the air. She reminds you of your nephew. He also loves anything creative, preferring things that get his hands dirty, but he'd settle for drawing too. In a different world, the two children could probably be good friends. 

"You haven't come back to the park," Martin murmurs, a touch of mourning in his voice. Martin's offer from a few days prior springs to mind and you mentally kick yourself. You're meant to be an adult! You should be able to put your feelings aside for the sake of the kids. 

"Erm, yeah, I haven't. I've had things planned for my nights, like museums and such. And his parents will be home tomorrow so…" 

Martin's head bobs. "Right, of course. Look, if I overstepped please let me know, but I would prefer you to not be so formal and stiff with me."

"Well I- I mean it's not appropriate for me to call parents by their first names. Or to see them outside of school, for that matter." It's a lame excuse and you both know it. Martin ducks his head, trying to hide his smile. God damn him and that stupid, gorgeous smile. You lock your knees to keep them from wobbling when his eyes eventually find yours again, a smile still on his lips. 

"Please, just call me Martin. You've done it before, and I preferred it that way… I'm making an exception for you, couldn't you make one for me?"

You're so confused by his admission that you nod. Martin's smile morphs into something that lights up the entire room and you're well and truly fucked then. You feel yourself tipping off the deep end, immediately longing to see that smile as often as you possibly can. You'll do or say anything to see Martin beam like that. 

"Okay Martin, I'll use your first name." 

"Perfect, thank you! Okay Attie, time to go home, what do you say to Miss. Sunshine?" Martin crouches to Atla's level, but his eyes remain trained on you. They dance with a mysterious light, something you can't quite put your finger on… but you'd like to find out. 

"Thank you for staying late to keep me company, Miss. Sunshine! I can't wait to have more fun tomorrow morning!"

You wave as the duo head for the exit, Martin's large hand nearly dwarfing Atla's toddler sized one. For a split second you imagine yourself at Martin's other side, sliding your soft hand into his calloused one. You bring a hand up to your mouth to conceal your smile, not wanting him to notice if he turns around. 

Martin does, pausing at the threshold to wave. The fluorescent lights dance in his baby blues, nearly stopping your heart with their beauty. His hair sticks up like chicken feathers in the front, but somehow it fits him. If you weren't fixated on him, you'd miss the way he murmurs 'see you tomorrow Miss. Sunshine'. Suddenly you can't wait to wake up to the shrill ring of your morning alarm at the crack of dawn. For once, you have something to truly look forward to. 

[helloescapist]

In Another Life | Kyojuro Rengoku

Word Count: 5438

Setting: Rengoku x fem!reader (reader is a miko), angst, pining

Content Warnings: things got suggestive in the last paragraph.

Summary: He had never dared to admit that he had noticed the affections he carried for you. Because to do so would mean to leave you, and yet, for all his yearning, the time has come.

[Art work is not mine, all credit goes to the artist! The song utilized in this work is also "Sakura, Sakura" a Japanese folk song, and not mine either!]

The light breeze lingered amongst the sakura blossoms, danced amongst the branches, and rattled their petals. The brush of spring flittered through his hair, the occasional petal catching amongst his amber hair. Tickled his nose, and reminded him of the warmth and life, tender as a blossom beginning to bloom. A kiss of spring bidding farewell until they should meet again, the sunlight immolated the blaze of his eyes. Eyes that captivated a setting sun despite the radiance of midday. The glow of the hour guiding his footing amongst the winding path. A fragrant as their passing love, the touch of spices that dared to reminiscent of winter’s wake, and spring’s welcome.

Tucked amongst sakura trees that bloomed against the spring day, the path was often over looked by the average traveler that had wandered through the region. Its path having curved only slightly from the main route, at one point, it had been an obvious departure from the path. The stone lanterns that had once illuminated the night for weary travelers, now had shown signs of slipping from time. In his youth, they had been properly maintained. Dutifully cared for, and lit by the numerous miko that traveled across the sacred grounds. Their flame captivating amongst the night air, shadowed amongst the trees in the valley, captivating and otherworldly. But, just as the numbers of the Demon Slayer Corps had dwindled, so had the caretakers of the sanctuary. Like the stone lanterns enthralled by moss and intrusive vines, the path had certainly endured better days, slowly slipping away from its original glory. Its fading presence a light threatened by the depth of waning night. It had felt like a life time ago since he had wandered this path in its prime. A fry cry from the state before him. On practiced feet, Kyojuro could only make the voyage, reminiscent of the years he had made this very same journey at his mother’s side. As far back as he could recall, she had been devoted to this pilgrimage. Often daring to do so despite inclined weather, natural disasters, and even questionable company, she had been so adamant that neither illness nor childbirth could defer from making the journey. In his formative years, she would bear his weight upon her back, and as he grew, she had quietly accepted the added burden when his feet had grown exhausted, the distance bearing far too much for someone so young, but she had never complained. Merely quietly rocked him to sleep as she pressed forward, allowing the stars to guide their return home if the hour had grown late. He had only begun to notice the fatigue and the toll the journey had taken on her body after the birth of his little brother, Senjuro. He had been only a few weeks old, his entrance to the world had been far to recent, and demanding on his mother guided by her adamancy. It was after all, the duty of those left in the Hashira’s wake to pray for their safe return.

                In that time, the path had been so immaculately maintained, unlike the impending ruin before him. Crumbling stone walk way, tucked under fallen sakura blossoms, the traces of winter littering the ground. The breaking of sunlight through the petals, drawing his attention to the trees above. Nostalgia captivating his thoughts as he pressed forward, the distant voice of singing whispering through his ears. Greeting his arrival, likely louder than he could surmise, having damaged his ears so many years ago. Ethereal and gentle as delicate as the petal blossoms that swayed carrying the melody. The familiarity whispering a chill down his spine, drawing the faintest of a blush to his cheeks. Memories sweet and enduring as the spring fever that threatened his heart. Tucked to the flame pillar’s smile, he knew this song well. His heart revealing his affections before he could even thread the words together. Delicate and tender, the siren hum threatening to send him back to another time.

The first time the young Rengoku had heard the distinct lyrics, he had been little more than six years old. Duty had beckoned their presence at the shrine; his father spirited away to another mission. His mother had followed the path the same way that day. Through well practiced hands, and instincts, the visit had been habitual. One that Kyojuro could perform in his sleep. Like a duckling tucked at her side, he had bowed before stepping through the torii gate, and had cleansed himself at the temizyua. The water had been especially chilly that day, still bearing the tinge of winter’s presence as the sakura petals broke through the season. Followed dutifully at his mother’s side, watching the money filter down the offering box before bowing and clapping his hands together. Uttering a prayer before peeking at his mother between eyelashes. Kyojuro had known what was expected of him. Understood that this time was intended to be divulged to praying for the safe return of the flame pillar, and his father. For how long, he couldn’t quite understand. He had suspected that his mother could dedicate hours to prayer, and for someone so young and easily distracted—that was when he had heard it, ushered in shy humming.

                “Sakura sakura,” the gentle hum drawing him from his mother’s frame. His eyes as wide as the sun, curious. The voice revealed small and delicacy. So different form the usual voices he had familiarized himself throughout the sacred grounds. The miko and priests well into their years, “noyama mo sato mo,” curiosity had officially robbed him of all of his senses. He had barely recalled to claim the closing sequence of his shrine visit before abandoning his mother to his fate, the young boy eagerly treaded off in search of the source. “Mi-watasu kagiri,” he passed waves of miko, old and young alike all of which had seemingly ignored the siren call. “Kasumi ka kumo ka.” His feet struggled over rocks and boulders, wandering further and further from the main building. All evidence of his mother out of sight. “Asahi ni niou.” Far too enthralled in his search to acknowledge how far he had wandered, nor the small animals he had disrupted as he had wandered pass blooming trees that slowly faded into waves of purple, a wisteria grove. Far too trained on his sight to acknowledge the scratch upon his cheek that he had obtained rummaging through the foliage. “Sakura sakura,” his small steps echoing the pitter of water beneath his shoes, “hanazakari.” Wide amber eyes that drifted amongst the surface of a pond, the gentle blend of wisteria and cherry blossom petals carried away by the trembles of the broken surface. “Sakura sakura,” strayed in gentle hues of shy pinks and vibrant purples like the catch of daybreak in the morning, lanterns erected from the water had yet to be lit, the sun denying their necessity. “Yayoi no sora wa,” faded torii gates that stood the test of time, defied the odds of the water, and stood proud amongst the sunlight, “mi-watasu kagiri.” His fingers found the scathe of the rocks, the light slipping off the moss beneath his finger tips as he pulled himself onto the first floating stone.  The pathway before him was clear despite the obvious challenge it posed for his still growing form. “Kasumi ka kumo ka,” but he could not be redirected. Nor differed, well aware of the water that caught to his clothing, the splashing catching small droplets in the air. “Izaya izaya,” the drops daring to touch the end of his hair as he pressed forward. The tap of his feet slipping from stone to wood, drawing water as he triumphantly bound up the shrine steps in a blind focus. “Mini yukan.”

                There, you stood, a vision amongst the throngs of wisteria blooms gathered in weaved baskets. Each tenderly plucked from branches, gathered in bunches that bathed the shrine in their familiar violet hues. The floral waves capturing your silhouette. The telling red hakama bunched over growing legs, the white kosode that had been carefully tucked, and ribbons that swirled in your movements. A form of kagura dance, he had understood. The shrine had been known to perform them in the past, and with each movement you formed his eyes had fallen to the embellishments adorning your hair, cared to the top of your head. Your eyes closed over doll like eyelashes, the last of the song pouring from small, delicately painted lips. Oblivious to his arrival, the area evident that no other soul had dared to wander so far nor discover the shrine. Intruded upon the local kami, he had realized and interrupted the rites that she had performed. Protecting, and perhaps, even answering the Lady Rengoku’s prayers. A small piece of the heavens fallen to the earth, Kyojuro had turly believed he had been spirited to another world. His eyes wide as the smile that followed before he popped his head to the floor, the bow proving to quick and eager leaving a small whelp at his brow. “Sakuya-hime,” his voice had radiated over the feature.

The distant memory warmed his heart, tended to the flame he carried all of these years, the shy startled gasp you had released at his booming interruption. In his nativity and youth, he truly believed that he had wandered upon Konohanasakuya-hime’s shrine, and dared to witness the sacred rites of the spring goddess that no man had ever before experienced. If he closed his eyes, he could still recall the frantic radiating blush that had claimed your features as you quickly refuted his claim. You had begged the kami forgiveness, likely worried that you would be wiped from the course of the world for such a bold compliment. In time, he would come to understand he had made a mistake in identity—although it had taken him far longer than he dared to admit. In the depths of his heart, he had concluded that surely the blossom-princess had blessed your birth. It was the first time he had ever witnessed someone so young caring for the shrine. As time spent together would pass, you had explained the importance of the burdens you bore; tucked away from the world at such an early age, you had been the descendent of the priest assigned to the shrine. The last to wield a blood of special qualities, one of weaving wisteria into protective tomes, omamori, and ofuda.

                Forward, Kyojuro climbed to the torii gates, his bow tucked to his chin and at a perfect angle. Bowing deeply, guided rather by instinct than faith itself. He had made the voyage so many times in his youth, and even after the passing of his late mother, he had been known to frequent the grounds. Masquerading as a loyal patron, he would bask in your company. In many ways, he had grown to understand his mother’s devotion to prayer and to his father despite the frequent absence. Hours had been dedicated at your side. How he had been ensnared by your presence, charmed by the songs you would sing while you weaved your talisman. Warmed by your gentle smile, captivated by the giggles you would gift him upon sharing recounts of his adventures. Craved your touch between pressed fingers, the distinct scent of your skin bathed in wisteria as they danced across his cheeks and torso. Salve pressed against his flesh, the distinct utter of concern as you lectured his safe keeping. You had understood his duty born of the Flame Hashira, but even more his obligation to protect the weak, as he understood the necessity of continuing your lineage and duties. Yet, at times such as those, you could not hide your worries. Whispered the sweetest reminders of how you had prayed for his safety. The gentle touch rolled over his muscles, dancing across lesions, and presses that evolved to massages, he dared not complain nor reveal how he ached for those touches. Craved them in the dead of night. Only bold enough to seek them out mission after mission, scuffle after abrasion, knowing fully well you would care for him in a way neither of you dare confess. The longing of hearts intertwined and denied, his only hesitation in visiting born after his encounter with a flute demon, the only time he had ever felt shame over his impulsiveness; his hearing had been permanently marred in the battle. The remorse and growing fear that he may never hear your voice again, nor the soft songs you shared over wisteria fibers. His hands that had been pressed firmly to his lap, tight and anxious had been carefully threaded. As though you were grasping something as fragile as the blooms of your trade before daring him to meet your eye. Comforted by the affections you bore, reassured. You had made promises, whispered loving insurance that you would always sing for him. Vowed whether age or damage deafened his hearing, then you would be louder. Should the time come when all sounds of the world had failed him, then you would hum the softest of lullabies with his ears pressed against your throat in an embrace only dared by lovers.

                Bowed before the shrine, he had become aware of the presence at his side. One of the elder mikos, a woman far past her prime, and descending rapidly in years, Kiku had been a caretaker at the shrine for as far back as he could recall. Dared to even assume she had cared for it long before his mother’s patronage—not that he’d admit it to the elder. She had a firm slap on her, but he could recall how affectionately she had cared for him in his younger years. How she had soothed Senjuro’s cries, and paid visits to his family home to offer company to his ailing mother as she often did for you as well. She had been a prominent figure amongst the mikos, and while others had abandoned the cause, she had stayed in your care. His wide grin catching his face as he turned to the older woman. Gray had long since claimed her features, aging whiskers caught at her chin and the wrinkles she had bare. One of which captivated upon her brow, the two of you had placed there yourselves many years ago. It had been an impulsive voyage, Kyojuro had been far too eager to show you the world, especially when you had admitted you had not left the grounds since your faithful meeting. Forbidden was not a word he was adept to, nor quite understood, and so, he had snuck you from your shrine. It was innocent fun, one born of a boy smitten and naïve, and quick to take a turn. At the time, he did not comprehend the depths your blood bore, nor their lure. He had only witnessed the warm, undeniable joy that formed at your lips despite the scratches at your face from low branches. Further provoked his desire to carry you down the valley, to unveiled the meadow at the bottom. Wished to touch the reality of the wide world, to play tag amongst the flowers, to weave a crown of blooms for you alone, but the lure of your blood was more than he had understood. Garnishing the attention of demons that sought refuge amongst the thickets, eager for a midnight snack. Perhaps, it was fear that anchored you to his side despite his insistence to leave him behind, or it may have been blind loyalty that had you snagged to his sleeve, wailing pleas for him to follow. Whatever it may have been, he had resolved to tucking you at his back. Received a series of lashings and thrown about—his father had not yet the opportunity to train him in offense when another life was in the balance, and his inexperience had shown. If not for Kiku, who stood before him now, her arrows bathed in wisteria, and her aim sure as her mark, he might have lost you. Her aggressive rattling of both of your bones was a recollection he would never forget. Jerked each one of you left and right, inspecting you for any damages, and the rear curse she had spewed in her anxiety (she still denied this to this day). Yes, that very wrinkle that had settled at her brown was afflicted by him, and him alone, as was the deafening realization that silenced any desires of adventures, settling only for visits when he could spare you the time. Stronger, he needed to be stronger.

                “Ah, Kyojuro,” parted from aged lips, the crinkle of the corner of her eyes revealing her worries. Heavy as the years that bore at her back. Her once soft voice had dwindled, scared from giving an impulsive boy far too many lectures leaving a gravel bark in her throat. The familarity touched at her face as she regarded him.

                “Granny,” he had shouted, forgetful of the way his voice carried, “How have you been?”

                The scowl that met him was telling, and warning, “the years have not yet taken my ears.” The touch of a sigh, shaking her head as her eyes wandered to the overgrown path, its care beginning to crumble with the inapt care. There were only so much lesser hands could accomplish, the duties too far, too heavy, and too demanding for the dwindling numbers. Yet, the wisteria blooms remained. Unchanged, unaffected for what burdens may bear. Faithful as their keeper. “Perhaps, you can talks some since into [FN].” It was a hushed whisper. One that carried its own burdens, and bore upon her as her eyes met his. Rengoku did not need to ask, did not wish to be reminded, nor did she need to. Yet, all the same, she delved the information, one that scared his heart. “Another proposal has been offered, a nice suitor at that, but it ahs not even been glanced over… I worry that if things continue as they are…”

Your hands had threaded through his hair, the growth had become evident. The small tuff of a ponytail had begun to sprout, one that he had boomed with so much pride. So eager to follow in the footsteps of his father, the evident bruising as his arm from sword practice. Abrasions that littered his face, determined to persevere. Leaned into the warmth of your touch, and enjoyed as you gathered his hair into a ponytail. His eyes closed, and listening to the whispers of a prayer that had masked as a song as something heavy plopped against his skull. An embellishment added from care tied into his hair, a special charm weaved from wisteria and hours of effort. Crafted by your own hands, a ward from evil, and the reveal of something deeper. Something he only dared to face in his youth. As he turned to meet your eyes. He had heard the rumors from the other mikos. It was quite the oddity after all, how dedicated your father had been to securing a betrothal for a child so young. An insurance when you came of age, inspired by the sudden loss of your mother that had resulted in your relocation to the shrine. Locked away from the world, tucked into a shrine for safe keeping, and now, marriage proposals. Rengoku was familiar with the scolding from well-meaning mikos, insisting over and over that he should break off contact with you rather than toy with your heart. The young boy had only been reassured by Kiku at the time, her insistence that such a young age, romance may very well blossom, and if it perhaps did not, a beautiful friendship would.

                She had been right on many accounts. She always had been, the gentle touch of your fingers through his hair. As you toyed with it, playful and giggling as any child attempting a new hairstyle. Teased him at the length of his hair, dared to claim you envied its beauty. Teased that at the very rate of his growth, he may elicit the wrath of the very spring goddess he had confused you for only a short time ago. His twitch against your touch before turning to meet your gaze. The flames that burned from within, and once again, the thoughtless impulse that drove him forward. Dared him to meet your gaze, urged him to cross the threshold of childhood friends. Wandered were caution abandoned, his lips pressed against your own. Gods above, he did not know what he was doing. A stolen first kiss beneath wisteria blooms. Boisterous promises, ones that threatened to break the sky, and shatter the world you knew. He would claim you as his bride. When you were grown, you would be together, and fulfill your birth right and his own. A proper family born of flame and wisteria rather than the games you played. The shy gaze, the part of your lips wide and surprised, dropping the brush in your shock. His boldness urging him forward, a pinkie promise to secure the deal.

With every fiber of his existence, the promise had been a sincere one. One born and weaved of young love, blossomed affections that would never come to flower. Time had claimed his mother shortly after, and the weight of her loss had borne heavy upon his father. A massive blow that had torn the Rengoku family from its place. Shattered their structure, and tore out their foundation, leaving the members askew, and out of touch with one another. A far heftier blow than any absence brought on by his father’s missions, one that broke the older Flame Hashira from his duties, from his children, and life all together. While Kyojuro had been familiar with the ache his mother faced in his father’s departure, nothing could have prepared him for the devastation his mother’s loss would leave in her wake, and while he still visited you faithfully, tucked close to his heart, and lingered for your touch. He had thougth you had long since abandoned that childhood pledge. You had after all grown over the years, as had your touches and all that he could ever crave, but in his own ignorance, he hadn’t noticed it before. The refuted suitors. Dodged questions when he had dared to inquire about your betrothal status—prior to his careless promise, you had insisted the importance of carrying on your bloodline, but ever since that day, you had grown quiet. Silenced any discussions, insisted that the moment of time spent together should not be marred by politics and duties. To be only the children who had fallen in love so many years ago, free of worldly burdens, though you had not confessed to that last part. No, it was not that he hadn’t noticed, it was that the Flame Pillar had refused to acknowledge it, or the joy it fueled within him.

                “I had always thought, perhaps you--,” Kiku sighed.

                He knew what had crossed her mind, just as it had crossed his. Perhaps even yours more than you dared to admit. The weight at his chest, burden and aching far deeper than any blade had ever reached. It was as though, he had already departed from you for another mission, rather than just arrived for his visit.

“I will speak to her.”

You were there. Just as you always were. Tucked amongst the blossoms where sakuras met wisterias, a vision of spring and warmth. Joy and love, lost to time, and danced amongst another world. One that he had only dared to touch, but never to claim. Your smile was as inviting as the song that parted from your lips. His steps growing heavier and heavier, weighed down and refusing to abide by his resolve. His eyes sharp, and focused. The recollection of sweets prepared just for him. Of songs performed as you weaved, entertaining his visit. Glowed upon his arrival, and diminished at his departure. Never admitting the pain his absence brought you. Nor did he admit to witnessing first hand, the way you sparkled just for him. Far more captivating than any jewel, nor flame that this earth could provide. They say, love brings out beauty. The warmth of your steps as you hurried down the shrine steps. The adornments in your hair catching the dwindling sunlight, far heavier than they had been in your youth, and more lavish than he had ever expected. Your age having brought upon such duties. As had your hakama that met his legs, your hair captured by the wind, and the ribbons that spun amongst the breeze as your arms folded around him. Warm, and captivating, the life that bore into your breast pressed against his own. Elated to hold him in your arms once more. The way your nose brushed against his throat, catching the distinct rumble of his heart, breathing in the familiar scent of ember, savoring the notes of ember. Glimpse of smoke hues of a campfire in summer awash with the glow of sunflowers, as inviting as the grasp he had on your hips. Hopeful, and tempting. Stronger than normal. Bold as the day Kyojuro had promised himself to you. The note of a tremble as he delved his face into your hair, uttering a prayer for the moment to last. To touch upon a world, a life that did not belong to him. To claim one not intended for him.

                You had attempted to urge him into the sanctum, did your best to encourage his visit. Your once bright demeanor hinting at how his grasp had unsettled you. You would sing to him, you promised, or even dance. Your kagura dance had grown by leaps and bounds, this year you would perform it at the shrine. You promised to brush his hair back for him, as you had so many times. A quiver beginning to form in your voice. Salves, you had made new salves for him alone to accompany to his mission. Began to probe for details about his upcoming voyage on a train—you had never seen a train before. Your warmth, and the force of your smile. Evident of the secrets that crept beneath your surface as did his own. Your eyes catching at his lips, all too aware of the lack of smile that should have been present. Or the way his fingers should find your own, leaving you only to desperately grasp for him. For all the words you did not say, nor he dared to depart, the realization that something was wrong, was evident, and you desperately fought for any cracks to his surface. Grasped at wisteria blooms far from reach, and evading your touch. Desperate to see the Kyo you knew and adored beneath the resolved mask he bore. Your hand daring to fall to his own, eager to meet his eyes, to be reassured that it was your merely your imagination. The tremble of your voice that nearly broke him. “K-kyo?” Yes, for all of the years he had avoided it, denied the satisfaction that you would choose to chase his promise over a marriage proposal, sick that he had carried this torch for so long, the passage of time had made its evasion unbearable in this moment. Everything you had rejected in his favor, everything he had denied you of, and longed for desperately. You had grown. You both had. Before him, stood the silhouette of one who refused to walk their path, denied their responsibilities, and future. Crouched at the entrance of life, faithfully awaiting a hand… a pinkie promise, that would never come.

                Your paths had split long ago, and yet, he had dared to cling to the frays of a life he had envisioned torn at the seam.

                “[LN].” His voice boomed, rattled your bones and froze your senses. The formality clear and distinct, and foreign to you. The line he dared not cross as you attempted once more to pull him into the sanctum. The harrowing realization that he dared not pass the threshold of the shrine. Nor budge in the pull of his lips. His eyes, warm and glowing. Determined… and stubborn as they met the callous of your hands. Folding them within his own. The anxiety had now begun to fest in your stomach, unwilling to acknowledge the shift in aura. Or acknowledge the detached regarded he had displayed or the wish he revealed to pull from your touch upon your last meeting when you had dared to tread further than ever before… boldly ran your fingers through his hair as you had once in your youth, but differently. Mature intents, parted lips in only the way you could adorn him, and waddled into the depths of waters, drowned in affections, you had attempted to pull him in at his last visit. If only to know his touch, just one time, but he had refuted you. Quick to excuse himself, and leave your bed. The panic of that past interaction beginning to shake you—had your daring to tempt him uprooted your connection? A cross roads in which you had been willing to wait as long as he required, but now, the creak of your throat. Nor the tears of your eyes could escape his gaze. He knew. As you had known. His touch delicate, eyes swept over by his eyelashes as he bowed to you. “Please, live a long life.”

                The release of your hand as cold as winter, denied the warmth of summer. The spring days that would not meet an early summer, but rather a delayed cold front. Troubled, your eyes wide, and the tremble of your shoulders. Unwilling to catch your bath, or perhaps too stunned to try, unable to deny the tears that plunged down your cheeks. The ache of nausea and shattering heart break chill you to the bone. The quiet hush of a cry, you dared not to utter. Your hand merely suspended in the air, yearning for nothing more than for him to claim it once again. To spirit you away form the shrine as he had in his youth.  The shiver that threatened your spine and your foundation of duties. The wide of his smile as he farewell to you. Never willing to admit he had witnessed the fall of your façade. Unwilling to accept the weight of the world that crumbled beneath his feet as he descended down the shrine steps, bidding farewell to the hours he had adorned at your side. The warmth of your lap after a long day, and the rest you provided as a pillow, and fingers that threaded through his hair. He did not dare dwell on such bittersweet ghosts, nor admit that such a life would not be his own. Nor did he dare to pray for the suitor who would claim you in his wake.

                No, in another life, he would be the one to captivate you. To claim you as his own as he had promised so many years ago. To wrap his arms around you, declare your second kiss his own just as he had your first. He would act upon the impulsive a man long in love, declare his devotion in every aspect. Worship the ground you walked upon, kiss the tears upon your eyelashes that threatened to fall. Warmed by the sun, and greet you upon the bed of wisterias. He would not have to linger, nor miss the days of your touch. No, your touch would be his and his alone. To trace every line of his body. He would claim you in every right of the world, leave proof of his love littered across your body. Ensure that the world, the night, the sun, the stars, and the blossoms would know of his dedication. Ensure it would be his flame you carried, regardless of how many nights he would profess his love. It would be his child born of fire and petals adorned in all of the love he could provide, and welcome many more little ones to come from the nights he dedicated to worshiping your body. Lost amongst your cries of ecstasy, leaned into the curve of his fingers. It would be his adoration you bathed in, filled to the brim with his resolve. But in this life, he could only dream of a forgotten promise and unspoken words, and turn his back on the girl who defied her responsibilities for a pinkie promise that would never come.

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this! Sequal, In This Life is now available!

[haileyywrites]

Summary: Kunikuzushi wakes up in a state of confusion towards everything around him. His life is completely normal, but something isn't right - as things are not as they appear...

Pairings: Scaramouche/Kunikuzushi x gn!reader / Platonic!

Notes/warnings: Reader is only referred to as they and you! POC friendly! Extreme fluff! Scaramouche and his complicated feelings! Might not be or even meant to be completely lore accurate! Not carefully proofread!

Kunikuzushi slowly opened his eyes to see the pink leaves of the cherry blossom tree he laid under. Stray leaves slowly falling from its branches and letting a single pink petal fly towards his face before landing gently on his nose. He could hear the sweetest chuckle from somewhere beside him, before he could turn to look at the person laughing they reached out to carefully pick up the petal.

“You finally woke up, Kuni!” You laughed lightly at his confused expression.

“Huh?” He could only answer through his confusion.

“You fell asleep again, silly! Mother will surely scold you again for messing up your clothes.” You teased.

“Mother?” He muttered.

“Yeah? What's with you, Kuni?” You began getting conserned from his strange behavior.

“Um, nothing... Just forget about it.” He sat up and looked away from you.

You didn't say anything as you picked up his fallen purple veil and carefully placed it like it was supposed to be on him, you patted his head affectionately after it was on correctly. He could be such a mess sometimes, thankfully he would always have you by his side for things like these or for whatever he needed. Same goes for you, but you had always been the doting sibling despite him being technically older than you.

You sat in silence watching the slowly setting sun in the distant horizon, the ocean reflected its colours beautifully. The silence was comfortable and comforting, but was soon broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. You could easily tell who it was from the clicking of her heels, but turned to face them with a bright and genuine smile anyway.

“Mother!” You called in excitement.

“Hello.” She responded with a sweet smile.

Kunikuzushi slowly turned his head as well, but his expression was far from what either of you were expecting. His eyes were wide open and mouth fell agape from, shock? You turned back to face your mother with a puzzled expression, which she returned with consern.

“Is something wrong, Kunikuzushi?” She asked.

“He's been acting weird today...” You said.

“Hmm. Maybe it's best if we head back to Tenshukaku and have some warm tea before bed.” She offered.

You nodded as you got up from the ground and held out a hand to help Kunikuzushi up as well. Your mother stepped closer to dust off his and your clothing gently, Kuni was silent and seemed completely lost in thought making you both even more concerned. He was usually more chatty than this... You intertwined your fingers with his to lead him beside you as you followed your mother towards Tenshukaku - it was to prevent him from stumbling, which he often did.

Things were slowly becoming clearer to Kunikuzushi, like he had finally began to wake up after a terrible nightmare. The cool breeze felt nice against his skin as he closed his eyes to enjoy it - fully trusting you to guide him without him doing or seeing anything. The trust was strong and deep, he had always had you by his side to rely on. He could trust you with anything and everything.

“So, how was your day?” Ei asked.

“It was fine!” You simply replied.

“We had dinner at Kiminami Restaurant.” Kuni recalled.

“Right! After that we went to the beach - Kuni, give mother your gift!” You encouraged.

Without thinking his hand reached into his pocked to pull out a colourful and rather unique looking sea shell, which he handed to Ei like you had suggested. She stopped and carefully picked it up from his hand to bring it close to her face in order to examine it better. She smiled again seemingly happy with her newest gift from your daily adventures.

“It's quite beautiful, thank you Kuni.” She pulled him closer and embraced him briefly.

“Your welcome.” He could only mutter in response.

The rest of the way to Tenshukaku was mostly silent, but every once in a while someone would break the silence to say something unimportant. Just casual small talk. Kunikuzushi still felt confused by everything for some reason, he couldn't quite place what made him feel that way as everything appeared rather normal...

As you sat down for tea Kunikuzushi held the warm cup in his hands before smelling the rich aroma if it, you and Ei chuckled lightly at his antics. When the porcelain cup met his lips his mouth was filled with the tasteful yet sweet taste of the tea, somehow it too seemed wrong though he didn't dislike the taste at all. Some of it managed to escape his mouth making his mother reach out to wipe it tenderly with a napkin.

“Thank you.” He quietly said.

After tea and some snacks Ei ushered you both to bed, which was rather unusual but neither of you complained or disobeyed. Your shared room was cozy yet small, it had some decorations he recognized as yours and some that were clearly his - despite these differences the room fit together perfectly. You quickly laid down on your side of the futon and patted the spot next to you for him to lay down, which he did.

“Do you want to hold hands?” You asked.

He simply nodded in response and again intertwined his fingers with yours. “Good night, Kuni.”

“Good night.” He responded.

He didn't close his eyes for a long time after saying good night and long after you had fallen asleep beside him. You laid on your side perfectly still while facing him while he simply stared at your features, commiting then to memory for some reason that he wasn't sure of himself. He just didn't want to fall asleep - he didn't want this day to come to an end. Perhaps your conserns had been correct, he was acting and feeling very strange today...

When his eyes fluttered shut all the memories he had began to remember slowly faded from his mind. He desperately tried to reach out and hold on to them, but he only woke himself up. His hand high up reaching for the dream reality he didn't wish to let go off... His mind slowly adjusted and he turned to look beside him where you weren't. It was just a dream.

A cruel play on his deepest desires or dreams he thought he had long ago let go of and destroyed. Seems he still held them within him and during a moment of weakness they pounced on him to play this stupid trick. It felt so real, but he still felt stupid for believing that dream for even a moment. You weren't real - you didn't exist and he hated his creator, his "mother".

Still, after weeks he couldn't stop thinking about that dream. He didn't dream of it anymore or dream at all, but when he laid down to sleep his mind would flashback to that dream. He would see you holding his hand with a bright smile, his mother looking at you both with a gentle smile... He was officially going insane it seemed.

After a while he thought his only option was to return to Inazuma to finally let go of these ridiculous fantasies and face the reality that you were a figment of his imagination. Something he once craved yet never got, love, a sibling and a mother who cared - a family. He knew the truth, but his non-existent heart refused to accept reality. He couldn't stand being this weak...

His head hung low to allow his hat to hide his features from the crowds he walked through. After the Sakoku Decree it had become increasingly difficult to enter Inazuma and he didn't exactly happen to own legal paper work to be allowed in. He would only visit briefly so as long as he kept a low profile it didn't matter.

He stood opposite of the tall statue repressing the Omnipresent God, Beelzebub. There was a long rift separating the two and for everyone's own good, as he glared daggers at the face that was so akin to his creator. The statue resided over the land that he saw in his dream, there was no longer a cherry blossom tree which he has laid under - if there ever was one in the first place.

He was satisfied. He was ready to move on and forget about this ridiculous trip and the dream that had haunted him for weeks. He was ready to leave back to Snezhnaya right away, but then he heard it - clear as day, he heard that same laugh you had. There couldn't be a mistake in his mind or ears, it had to have been yours. That laugh was too distinct in his mind, he could recognize it anywhere. He stopped himself from turning around to face the cause of this sound. You didn't actually exist... did you?

A/N: Oooooo~ mysterious! Feel free to like and or reblog if you want <3

[iwriteasfotini]

OLIWITS Excerpt from TPP Prologue

A classic canon scene with a small twist. I'm so excited to share a piece of the second book!

Excerpt from Our Love is Written in the Stars: The Prince’s Pact, Prologue - The Spy

Cokeworth, 1970

The scrawny boy knelt behind a small clump of bushes on the edge of the play park, and held his breath as he watched the sisters swing. Today, today was finally going to be the day. 

One of the girls was pumping her legs energetically, swinging higher and higher, a wide smile splitting her small face. 

“Lily, don’t do it!” shouted the other sister. This was the older sister, the boy knew from his covert observations.  

But it was too late, Lily had let go of the swing at the peak of its arc and soared gracefully into the air. Her arms outstretched, she landed gently on her feet, an alarming distance from the swings. The boy let out his breath and licked his dry lips. 

“Mummy told you not to,” the other sister reprimanded. She dragged her heels though the gravel to slow her swing then hopped off and rushed towards her sister, hands on her hips. 

Lily was laughing. Spinning with her arms out at her sides, head tipped back to the sun. 

“Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!”

“But I’m fine,” Lily replied. She ceased her twirling and knelt to pick up a fallen blossom. “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.”

The boy unconsciously leaned forward, so eager to see Lily’s next trick. He nearly tipped forward, but threw his hands out to catch himself at the last moment. He pressed up to stand, keeping his shoulders hunched as he peeked around the edge of the foliage to witness Lily, a flower in her palm, opening and closing its petals gently. 

He sucked in a sharp breath. The air was tinged with the scent of magic. Lily was absolutely flooded with it. 

The sisters were arguing, and Lily tipped her hand, the boy tracking the flower as it fell softly into the dirt. 

“How do you do it?” the older sister, Tuney, asked longingly. 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” the boy exclaimed, his English was thickly accented. 

Tuney gave a small shriek and leapt back, startled by the boy’s appearance. He was a strange apparition, dressed in too short jeans, a long baggy shirt, and engulfed in a too large jacket. But Lily didn’t retreat, she looked directly into his face and he felt some color rise in his cheeks. Her eyes were a shocking shade of green. And for a moment it was just her in the entire world that mattered. 

“What’s obvious?” Lily asked in a quiet voice. 

“I know what you are,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re una bruja, a witch,” the boy said softly. 

Lily wrinkled her nose at him, “that’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody!”

She lifted her chin into the air and turned away, marching towards her sister. 

“No!” the boy called. He lunged after her, his coat flapping loosely around his tiny shoulders. 

Lily and her sister stood, holding onto the poles of the swingset, studying this strangely dressed child. 

“You are. You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there's nothing wrong with that. Mi mamá’s one, and I’m a wizard.”

“Wizard!” Tuney shouted with a little laugh. “I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river.” She looked at Lily in disgust. Tuney wagged a finger in his direction, “why have you been spying on us?”

“Haven't been spying,” said Severus Snape. “Wouldn’t spy on you anyway, you’re a muggle.” The sister’s may not have recognized the word, but his spiteful tone clued them in it was intended to be an insult. 

“Lily, come on, we’re leaving!” Tuney said, grabbing her sister’s arm and marching them away. Lily followed her sister’s lead, and didn’t even give the boy, Severus a backward glance as they marched through the play park gate. 

Serverus’ face fell. After weeks of careful observation, his decision to make contact had not played out like he’d envisioned. 

“¡Ostia!” He kicked the dry dirt with the toe of his shoe, displacing many small pebbles. What was there to lose? He quickly glanced around and saw the girls hurrying around the corner at the end of a row of red brick terrace houses. Severus hurried after them, wrapping his arms around his middle to keep his coat from flapping out behind him as he ran. 

As he rounded the same corner, he saw the sisters climbing the short flight of stairs leading up to a faded black door with the number 72 affixed to it. 

“¡Esperar!” Severus called. Wait!

Lily turned, Severus saw her say something quietly to her sister and gently push her into the house. Lily walked down the steps, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was red, and she wore it in a high ponytail. The long tail reached to her shoulder blades. Severus rushed towards her and through the front gate. Her heavily freckled face was impassive. 

“Look, I recognize you now, you are in my class,” she said coolly. “I’ve never heard you talk before.”

“Eso es porque mi ingles es escaso,” Severus said, not meeting Lily’s eyes. 

She kept looking at him, with an unreadable expression. 

“My English is terrible,” he translated for her. 

“I don’t think it’s bad,” she said. “I can understand you at any rate.”

Severus let out a long sigh. He had her full attention, now what was he planning to do with it?

“La magia, how long have you been able to do it?” he asked. 

Lily shrugged, “I’ve had strange things happening around me for years, but I guess it’s only been in the last few months I’ve been able to make it do what I want.”

Severus nodded. Then he seemed to remember his manners and stuck out his hand. “Soy Severus Snape.” Lily gave him a quizzical look, then uncrossed her arms to shake his hand. 

“Lily Evans.”

“I already know who you are,” Severus said quickly. 

“About that, have you been spying on me?” Lily narrowed her eyes. 

“Not spying, just watching. You are interesting to me. Un misterio.”

Lily nodded, but Severus continued, “it is not normal, this amount of magic in someone so young.”

Lily pursed her lips, “so you are saying there is something wrong with me? I mean I already knew there was something different about me, but it doesn’t feel wrong.”

“It is not wrong, it is different.”

“But you said I’m a witch?” Lily’s eyes were shining despite her sour expression. 

“There is a whole world you don't know about. A world full of people like us.”

“Is there?”

Severus nodded solemnly. “I have to go but if you want I can tell you more about it.”

Lily nodded quickly. “How about we meet on Sunday afternoon, do you know the bridge over the river?”

Severus, who couldn’t believe how his luck had turned, nodded enthusiastically. 

“Meet me at the bridge, six o’clock.” Then Lily turned on her heel, marched back up the steps and through her front door. Severus stood there for several moments after the door had closed and felt his heart thrumming in his chest. He’d done it. 

…

More to come next week. Daily posting will begin on AO3 on December 21 :)

Check on the weekly posting/writing status update here!

[5ivebyfive]

March Madness Prompts; jemily

March 7: cherry blossom

JJ and Emily sat against a cherry blossom tree. There wasn’t an inch of space between them and they were holding hands. They had fallen quiet for some time, casually sipping at their coffees. Finally, JJ sighed. “This was a good idea. We needed to get away from the BAU for a few days.

“I give it two hours before Hotch calls us for a case,” Emily said gloomily.

“All the more reason to make the most of it,” JJ replied.

“Does that mean we can go back to my place?” Emily grinned. JJ playfully rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t we just come from there?”

“Yeah, but I’ve had enough fresh air.” She squeezed JJ’s hand. Had they actually been at Emily’s high rise, she’d have nuzzled JJ’s ear. That always seemed to get her what she wanted, but she wasn’t much for public displays of affection. Not more than holding hands. A gust of wind came through and knocked the cherry blossom petals on and around them. They both looked up, watching the blossoms fluttering about. They smiled.

“This is nice,” JJ said, still looking up.

“Except now I’m covered in plant matter,” Emily deadpanned.

“You look good in pink,” JJ teased. “And come on, they’re pretty.” She raised her brows and smirked slightly. “You’re pretty, too.”

“That won’t get me back into bed.”

“Hmm. You’re sexy?” Emily tried.

“Yeah, you told me that this morning.”

“You can’t remind me of this morning and not take me home.”

“Keep it in your pants, Prentiss,” JJ said dryly.

“I don’t have anything to keep in my pants, Jereau. I mean…it’s at home.” Emily smirked. JJ rolled her eyes.

“Can you go five minutes without thinking about sex?”

“With you as my gril? Not happening,” Emily replied. JJ turned to look at her and picked a blossom off Emily’s shoulder and held it out for her.

“Make a wish and blow it away,” JJ said.

“Isn’t that for eyelashes?”

“I say it’s for this, too. Want to fight me on it?”

 Emily closed her eyes and thought, ‘Let this last.’ Then opened her eyes and blew it away. “Happy?” She asked.

“Extremely,” JJ said softly.

“Oh, Jage,” Emily sighed. “This is getting sappy,.” Her voice was soft, but she hoped JJ understood that she was saying, ‘me, too’.”

“When we first met…” JJ licked her lips and took her hand from Emily’s and wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulders. “I never thought I’d…” She bit her lip.

“Never thought what?” Emily asked gently.

“That I’d fall in love with you,” JJ said, looking down at her lap.

“You’re in love with me, huh?”

“You doubt it?”

“Well, it’s nice to hear,” Emily said. “I, uh…you know. Me, too.” It had never been easy for her to share her feelings, and she knew the same was the case for JJ so she felt honored that JJ had told her. JJ looked up.

“Look, they’re falling again,” she  said. Emily looked up, too. The falling blossoms could almost look like fat snowflakes. One landed on her nose and JJ laughed and picked it off. “Thet like you.”

“So do you,” JJ replied with a smirk.

“Don’t go around telling anyone,” Emily warned playfully.

“I hate to tell you, but Penelope already figured it out.”

“I’m not surprised,” Emily replied. “She’ll keep her mouth shut.”

“This is Penelope.”

“She knows how to keep an important secret,” Emily said. Both of their phones suddenly rang. She looked at her own and saw ‘Hotch’ pop up. “It’s Hotch.”

“Morgan,” JJ said.

“I guess we have a case.”

“I guess so,” JJ replied.

“We should get back.”

“We should,” JJ replied.  They looked at each other with a long silence. Emily wanted to kiss her, but she couldn’t. Not there.

“Come on.” Emily stood up and held out her hand. JJ took it and Emily pulled her up. They stood toe to toe, almost nose to nose. “We’ll pick this up later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” JJ said, smiling softly.

[aparticularbandit]

Trigger Cycle

Summary: It isn’t always winter when Agatha returns to the little cabin in the mountains - not that it’s a little cabin anymore, after all of the expanding and changing and shifting that Wanda’s done to it - but often enough it is.  There’s something about winter in Sokovia that keeps drawing her back, despite her wanderlust, like being pulled toward her own grave.  She spends too much time out on the front porch in those moments, letting the cool air was over her, freezing her wet hair against the nape of her neck, a mug of iced coffee in one hand.

When Agatha returns this time, winter melts into a warm spring, the apple trees just starting to blossom, a few of their petals filtering through on the soft spring breeze.�� One lands in her open palm, and she lifts it just so she can scent it.  Soft.  Light.  Not anything like her earliest homes, but a lot like her most recent one.  She still hesitates to refer to this cabin, now that it’s Wanda’s, as home.  It’s certainly a nice place to stay, but she isn’t certain that she’s home.

Takes place post-Finding Family.

Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Rating: T. Trigger Warning for Suicidal Thoughts and Implied/Referenced Previous Suicide Attempt.

The Sokovian Mountains look beautiful in the winter.

Agatha has thought this for as long as she’s known them, longer than there even was a Sokovia for the mountains to be situated in.  She’d once walked a surprisingly vast distance to reach them; hiked paths that, in all honesty, she should not have been able to hike given her health at the time; and finally laid herself out in a frigid lake under thick frozen branches and stars that felt as though they were holes in the sky for the light to burst through.  The Sokovian Mountains were beautiful, and they were a beautiful place to die.

Not that she died, of course, but that wasn’t her fault.

Cian always had poked their nose into things where it didn’t belong.  She’d gotten that from them, after all.

It isn’t always winter when Agatha returns to the little cabin in the mountains – not that it’s a little cabin anymore, after all of the expanding and changing and shifting that Wanda’s done to it – but often enough it is.  There’s something about winter in Sokovia that keeps drawing her back, despite her wanderlust, like being pulled toward her own grave.  She spends too much time out on the front porch in those moments, letting the cool air wash over her, freezing her wet hair against the nape of her neck, a mug of iced coffee in one hand.

When Agatha returns this time, winter melts into a warm spring, the apple trees just starting to blossom, a few of their petals filtering through on the soft spring breeze.  One lands in her open palm, and she lifts it just so she can scent it.  Soft.  Light. Not anything like her earliest homes, but a lot like her most recent one.  She still hesitates to refer to this cabin, now that it’s Wanda’s, as home. It’s certainly a nice place to stay, but she isn’t certain that she’s home.

Billy spots her in the orchard before anyone else does, and she hears him call out, “Auntie Ata!” before a zooming presence speeds through the trees, stirring up the fallen petals into tiny twisters behind him.  Tommy tackles her with the full force of his stopping as he wraps his arms around her in as big of a hug as he can muster, and she lets out a little ooph, stepping back to keep herself upright, before she tousles his long hair.  “Hey, kiddo.”

“You were gone forever this time,” Tommy mumbles into her chest.  He’s had a growth spurt while she was gone; he’d been barely up to her belly-button the last time she was here, and now he’s so tall.  The worst is knowing that he’ll be getting even taller, too; he’ll probably end up taller than her, if his parents are anything to go by – and Agatha wouldn’t call herself short!  He pulls back just enough to look up at her with big, round eyes. “Did you bring me anything?”

Agatha shifts the little pack she’s strapped to her back.  “You weren’t supposed to get any taller,” she says, feigning a scowl.  “If you can promise me you won’t grow again—”

“Don’t give him anything!”  Billy rushes up to them and then bends over, hands on his knees, breathing heavy.  He glares at his brother.  “You left me—”

“It’s not my fault you’re so slow.”  Tommy sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry at his brother.

Billy glances up at Agatha as he straightens; he, at least, hasn’t had the same growth spurt that Tommy has.  “Tell him he has to wait for me!”

Agatha meets his eyes levelly.  “You’ve got magic, hon.  If I told Tommy to wait for you, that wouldn’t be very fair.”  She slowly disentangles herself from the slightly older twin and starts forward to Billy, but when she reaches out to tousle his darker hair, he flinches away from her, glare turning to her instead.  But she takes that in stride.  “Tommy, dear?” she asks, not glancing away from Billy.  “Do be a good boy and run on home.  I need to teach your brother a lesson.”

Tommy sniggers.  “You’re in trouble,” he says in a sing-song voice.

“Shut up!” Billy grumbles back at him.  He turns as though to give his brother a shove, but in the second he does, Tommy speeds off.

In that same instant, Agatha snaps her fingers, and a violet cloud spirals around Billy, instantly whisking him away.  She barely hears him yell “Hey!” before another cloud encircles her, transporting them both to the cabin’s front porch.  Agatha situates herself easily enough at the rickety old table Wanda has settled outside (that she has told her multiple times to fix and yet the younger witch absolutely refuses, as though she doesn’t have the ability to do it whenever she wants) and places Billy just so that he can stand in place atop the porch for a mere second before Tommy topples into him.

“See?” Agatha says as the boys glare at each other.  “Magic is faster even than your brother.  You just have to know how to use it—”

A hand lands on Agatha’s shoulder, cutting her off with a not-so-gentle squeeze. “Agatha,” Wanda says in a definitely low-key threatening tone, “why are my children in a heap?”

“Tommy pushed me!”

“Billy got in my way!”

Agatha glances up at Wanda and gives her a sheepish grin.  “I definitely had absolutely nothing to do with any of this, I assure you.  They were just in such a hurry to see me, dear.”  She ignores the now claw-like grip on her shoulder and starts to pull her pack off the other side.  “Boys, I brought presents for you.”

Billy’s eyes light up, and Tommy nudges him with his elbow.  “See?” he hisses.  “I told you.  She always brings us presents!”

It’s the voice in Agatha’s head that is more important than anything else the boys say as they untangle themselves from each other.  Agatha Harkness, if you have brought anything for them to fight over—

Agatha doesn’t even spare Wanda a look.  I’ve seen what happens to people who hurt your boys, hon.  Lived it. Don’t particularly want to do it again.

Even if it did—

No.

That’s…not worth thinking about.

~

It’s while they’re eating that it comes up, and Agatha isn’t sure exactly what prompts it – probably nothing, probably something that stirred within the minds of the children themselves that she hadn’t thought to track, hadn’t even considered a distant possibility, likely because she doesn’t spend much time with children anymore.  At least, not on a timescale where one of them might ask about this.

“Mama says her parents died during the war,” Tommy says, and Agatha only has enough time to try and pool together all of her historical knowledge of the wars she has intentionally not been in before he asks, “What happened to yours?”

Oh.

Agatha’s breath catches in her throat, and she chokes on her strawberry lemonade, coughing and spluttering all at once.  She swallows what she can, takes in a deep breath, coughs again, and when she catches Wanda’s scared eyes, she tells her, much more easily than trying to speak it, I’m fine, sugar cube.  Don’t get your panties in a wad.  She clenches one hand into a fist, holds it against her chest, and draws another deep, shuddering breath in before she says, finally, “Died,” in a rasping voice.  “Dead, gone, very dead, not a pretty story, hon, not an interesting story,” she lies as soon as she catches the bright glimmer of interest in Tommy’s eyes, “no blood, no guts, no glory, just dead.”

“Well, what were they like?” Billy asks then, with an interest less ravenous than his brother’s but still with an intense curiosity.  “Were they witches, too?

“Mama was,” Agatha says hesitantly, gaze dropping to her plate of half-eaten food, not really seeing it.  She can hear the question Wanda shoots into her mind, but she ignores it.  “Papa was a whaler – he hunted whales – and he was gone….”  Her eyes scan the absence in front of her, and then she gives a little shake of her head.  “He would carve bone when he was bored.  That’s where this—”  She raises one hand and just touches the brooch she still wears around her neck.  “—came from.”

Billy’s eyes widen.  “Can I – we – I touch it?”

Agatha flinches.

“Boys, I think that’s enough questioning,” Wanda intervenes, and as the boys groan and whine and complain, she reaches over and just touches Agatha’s hand, causing her to flinch again, to startle.  Are you okay?

It isn’t a rhetorical question, but it might as well have been one.

Sure, dear, Agatha lies, knowing that Wanda won’t believe her even as she thinks it.  I’m fine.  Just fine.  She pushes a hand through her hair, and as Wanda corrals the boys elsewhere, she stands from the table, doesn’t even take her plates to the sink (although she normally does, she normally helps Wanda clean up afterwards (or, in all honesty, sits at the table and drinks a mug of tea and gives her general update on the goings-on in the world while Wanda cleans)), and makes her way not upstairs, to the room that they normally share when she visits, but to the suite that was once hers, when the Scarlet Witch had felt she deserved nothing more than to be locked up.

~

Agatha lies, curled up on her side, her brooch in one hand, idly stroking it with the other, when Wanda finds her.  She barely moves as Wanda settles onto the bed next to her, only closes her hand over her brooch and holds it tightly to herself.  “I told you I was fine, hon.”

“If you were fine, hon, you wouldn’t be in here.”  Wanda curls against her back and tucks her hands under Agatha’s shirt, pressing her ice cold fingers against Agatha’s much warmer skin.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”  Agatha squirms as Wanda’s fingers trace along her skin.  It isn’t quite a lie, but it isn’t quite not a lie either.  She simply doesn’t know how to talk about it and has never really felt the need to do so.  Cian had known as much as she could tell them, and they’d never pressed her to say anything at all, had only been there to listen if – and when – she felt the need.

Wanda runs a finger – by memory, not by sight – along one of the long, thin white stripes where the thick rippling scars used to be.  “You said your mother gave you these.”  She waits, as though expecting Agatha to say something or elaborate, but when she doesn’t, she continues, “Whatever you might have done, you didn’t deserve them.”

Agatha snorts.  “Whipping was a fairly typical punishment back then, dear. You might consider it abuse now, but then….”  She sighs. “I wasn’t the only one scarred, hon. Just one of the few who scarred like that.”  She smirks without mirth, though the other witch can’t see it, when she says, “Just another indicator that I was born evil.  Unnatural.”

Her hand tightens on the brooch so hard that she can feel it near to cutting into the flesh of her palm.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It’s nice that you’re trying, hon.  Sure means a lot coming from you.”

The words are out of her lips before Agatha even thinks about them, and she regrets them as soon as they’re said, but she doesn’t take them back. Instead, she forces her death grip on her brooch to relax and says, “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything.  She just wraps her arms around the small of Agatha’s waist, draws as close to her as she can, and buries her face just between her shoulder blades.  There are no apologies between them anymore, not ever, because if either one started to apologize, it feels like maybe they would never stop – or they would grow so defensive of what they’d done, the apology would be eaten up with bitterness.  The words as an act of appeasement with no true meaning behind them, even if they meant them.

Agatha doesn’t apologize for her biting remark, and Wanda doesn’t apologize for pushing, and neither of them feels awkward for not doing so.

~

In the morning, Agatha wakes with the sunrise, not that she’d really been able to fall asleep.  Every time she tried, she dreamed, and every dream was a nightmare – fire and death and ice. She never made it to the angel, isn’t sure it would actually have made the dreams better at this point.  These dreams leave her breathless; those would rouse her with tears.  Neither is particularly helpful.

Agatha slips out of Wanda’s arms easily enough.  She expects the younger witch to mumble something under her breath and hold her tighter, the same way Agatha herself usually does in the mornings when Wanda wakes up first (as is typical), but it’s like she doesn’t even notice.  Then she brews herself a cup of lemon-ginger tea, shifts a hand through the oats she’d left in her suite, and then crafts the same batch of oatmeal she makes most mornings out of the year.

Wanda stirs just as the oatmeal finishes then rubs the tip of her nose with the back of one hand, turns under the still warm blankets, and pulls them over her head.  On a normal day – no, on an abnormal day, because it is so rare for Agatha to wake up first at all – she would stop by the bed, would brush strands of the other witch’s hair back out of her face, would leave a kiss on her forehead.  On a day like today, she might even curl back up in bed, the same way Wanda often does, before the boys wake, so that Wanda can rest her head on her lap, so that she can thread one hand through her hair as she eats, as she recreates a book and reads.

But she doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, Agatha takes her now second cup of lemon-ginger tea and her large bowl of oatmeal and makes her way out to the barn.

~

Wanda finds her there much later – after settling the boys down to their own breakfast, after placing a hand on Tommy’s back and catching the briefest glimpse of Agatha through the rarely open barn door, after telling them to wait there for her and enjoy their food before slipping through the back door and heading out after her.  She catches Agatha among the ewes, a newborn lamb cradled in her arms, as she carefully stands the lamb on shaky feet and angles its head toward its mother’s teat.

“Here you go.”  Agatha runs a hand gentle along the lamb’s head.  “Hungry little fella, aren’t ya, hon?”  She doesn’t need to turn to feel Wanda’s presence behind her; she’s let her mind stretch out so that she can just touch that of the animals surrounding her, so she can soothe them, so she can sense if there is anything the magic she’s left around them has left unfulfilled.  When Wanda enters, she feels her mind brush against hers, and she does not recoil.

Wanda’s mind becomes awash with colors – waves of lavender and rose in the softest of sunsets, a thin strand of grey running like a ribbon through the whole, stretching and expanding and shrinking back over again, and just beyond all of that, in what might be the horizon, if there could even be one at all, the palest of pastel pinks in the barest of outlines.  She’s never been able to pin down what the colors mean; some of them, she’s been able to guess at, given how frequently she’d seen them in certain other situations, but these….

For all that she’s seen the grey over and over and over again, Wanda has still never been able to put a word to what, exactly, that emotion must be. She’s at least guessed that they’re emotions; she’s fairly certain of that.  But what these are….

“I always liked looking after the sheep,” Agatha murmurs, just loud enough that Wanda can overhear her.  “Charity was always with Mama, learning how to run the coven, and Prudence was always with that boy of hers, and when the youngest of us died—”

A sudden sharp spike of red and grey mingled together before they fade under the ever-growing lavender, and an image – quick – of an Agatha much younger than Wanda has ever seen her, holding a steadily bluing baby in her arms, flashes through her mind.  This time, Wanda wants to recoil, but she doesn’t.  Instead, she steps into the barn, still listening.

“Nathaniel was never very good with the sheep, but they loved me.” Agatha glances at her hands, nearly smiles, and then gives a little shake. In the same moment, her mind shuts itself off entirely.

I killed him.

Agatha reaches her arms above her head, grabs her wrist, and stretches back until her spine just pops. “Look after your kids, doll,” she says, meeting Wanda’s eyes.  “I’m not even here.”

“But you are here,” Wanda says, crossing the distance between them so that she can just place a hand on her shoulder. She searches her eyes as gently as she can.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Agatha moves out from under Wanda’s touch and walks past her, back to the house.  “No, dear,” she says.  “There’s nothing.”

~

There are exactly four full bathrooms in Wanda’s expanse of a house: one in the expansive cellar, one for the boys to share upstairs (and that is often also shared by America and Wendy, when they come to visit), one in Agatha’s suite on the first floor (which is often stolen by America and Wendy if Agatha isn’t there when they visit), and one in Wanda’s suite upstairs.  This time, when Agatha hides, she curls up in the largest bathroom in the entire house – Wanda’s – and sinks beneath water so hot that it makes her lightheaded, would make her so lightheaded she would heave if she got out of it too quickly.  The brooch sits easy enough on the sink, far enough away from the tub and its drain that she doesn’t need to worry (and wouldn’t need to worry anyway; the drain isn’t that big); her clothes are tossed about in one big lump to one side.  The thing about magic is that she never really needs to wash them, if she doesn’t want, but she always does. When she’s here, Wanda does, collecting her discarded things and clumping them together with hers – never with the boys’, although Agatha knows Wanda doesn’t mind mixing the boys’ things with her own.

Beneath the water, Agatha lets out her breath.  Slow.  Slowly. Slower.  Her body screams for her to take another breath in, but for a brief, blissful moment, she can imagine what it might be like to sleep beneath it. Not beneath the waves, since there are none of those in a bathtub, and certainly she would much rather this be ice cold if she were going to sleep in such a way instead of boiling hot – her pale skin has already turned a bright red shade, not that she minds; she might as well be sunburned, but that sort of thing leaves barely noticeable freckles all over, not this.

She could cast a spell to let her keep breathing underwater.

She won’t.

Agatha leans up just enough for her lips to breach the water’s surface. She takes another breath in and sinks down again.

A mind reaches out, brushes against hers.

Nathaniel always wanted to be a sailor, just like Papa.  He said he was going to find him.  Nicholas – my Nicholas – searched for him instead, assured me he would do what Nathaniel couldn’t.

She hesitates.

You are not the only one who lost twins, Wanda, not the only one who had to bury—

She stops.

Well, I suppose you never had to bury them, did you, hon?

The presence flinches away.

Agatha closes her eyes – fire and death and ice – and reminds herself that drowning is one of the worst ways she could die.  All that water filling up her lungs, bursting them.  It would be painful. Unpleasant.  That’s why she’d wanted to freeze, after all.  So cold, then that false warmth, and then nothing.

If only her angel had let her die.

~

It’s while she’s toweling off that she hears it.

Agatha doesn’t know how she hears it at all, because she’s got the towel held up to her ear, rubbing at it, at her hair, ruffling her already frizzy waves, and it isn’t like the twins are being louder than normal, it isn’t like she’s actively listening for them, it isn’t like they’re trying to speak directly into her mind – not that she would let them, if they tried.  There’s too much in there she doesn’t want them to reach, doesn’t want them to read, and although hearing them doesn’t mean they can hear her—

“You shouldn’t have asked her that!” Billy hisses.  He shoves his brother with the softest of magic, and it still pushes him into the wall.  “Now she’s mad at us!  And hiding!”

Tommy shoots his brother a glare.  “Hey!  Mama said no pushing!”

“I didn’t push you—”

“Magic counts!”  Tommy shoves his brother back.  “And it’s your fault!  She was upset, and you asked again anyway!”  He holds his brother against the opposite wall.  “You can’t just ask to touch—”

“Boys!”

She stops listening then.  Picks the brooch.  Runs her thumb along the whale bone embossed in the very center.  She doesn’t know how much her papa knew when he made it, and she always imagined that the three witches in the center were her family. When she’d first seen it, she’d thought it was meant to be her older sisters and herself, playing together, but as she’d grown—

Her papa brought it back shortly after she’d been born.  One of her earliest memories was reaching up to it around her mama’s neck, of taking it in her mouth and biting on it.  If she looks hard enough at it now, she can almost see the imprints of baby teeth here and there.  But her papa – he couldn’t have known that she would be there when he returned. His whaling trips had sometimes taken years at a time; he wouldn’t have even known her mama was pregnant when he left.

The three witches – she couldn’t be one of them.

Her thumbnail scratches along the witch in the middle.  Probably her mama.  She bites her lower lip.

Her papa loved her.  She knows her papa loved her.

But this…this isn’t—

~

Agatha doesn’t leave the bathroom until she hears the gentlest shifting of the mattress outside, until she can reach out, tuck her fingers around the threads of magic in and surrounding her, and touch the quivering left behind by the movement of the Scarlet Witch.  Trails of chaos in her wake, even when they aren’t intended.  Just like Agatha herself breeds that same dream over and over – fire and ice and death.

She tucks herself small against the other witch, nuzzles against her neck, and lets herself be held.

This time, Wanda doesn’t ask, doesn’t press.

My mama loved me, Agatha whimpers soft.  She didn’t like me, but she loved me.

Still, Wanda doesn’t say anything.  The silence speaks louder than anything she could possibly say.

Agatha can’t even bring herself to cry.

~

If she were alone, Agatha would spend the entire next day in bed, unmoving, staring at the brooch, barely getting up for necessities (or food).

But she isn’t alone.

She’s still uncertain if that helps or not.

~

The boys are already awake when Agatha slips into their room.  She’s felt it, the reaching out of Billy’s mind in her direction, although she’s slammed the shield up as high and hard as she can. There’s no subtlety in his reaching, just this sort of understanding that he can and should and does. Tommy likely doesn’t feel it at all, given his lack of magic, but for Agatha, it feels like a hammer reaching out where a tickling feather should.  She wonders, idly, how much of that Wanda feels or if Billy has ever felt the need to reach out to his mom the same way he just reached out to her.  Likely not – Wanda seems like the sort of mother who would leave a portion of her mind open to her magical son so that she could keep an eye on him, so that he could reach out for comfort if he needs it.

Besides, considering Wendy, it’s possible that Wanda also lets her mind linger out like a fog on a constant basis. If she does, she’s left Agatha alone for nearly as long as she’s known her, at first unknowingly and then perhaps intentionally, not wanting to see things that could potentially scar her.

Or, honestly, not caring.

Tommy snaps up immediately as Agatha shuts the door behind her, but Billy rolls over in his bed, pulls his comforter over his head, and murmurs, “Go away. You’re just gonna be mad at us.”

“You don’t know!” Tommy snaps.  He reaches across the space between their beds and slaps at his younger brother twice, batting at him almost like a cat.

Now, Billy shifts, ignoring Agatha just to glare at his brother.  “Mom was mad at us!  Aunty Ata’s gonna be madder! You don’t—” His voice squeaks, and he buries his head under the covers again with a groan.

Before Tommy can say anything (or even laugh, as he is wont to do in these sorts of situations), Agatha kneels down on the shag rug between their beds. “Come, boys,” she says, patting the rug next to her.  “Come sit with me.”

Tommy speeds out of bed and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of her, but it takes Billy longer.  He peeks an eye out from under the covers, looks at Agatha as though gauging her, and then reaches out with his mind again, hits the barrier, and then frowns before he slips out of his bed, pulling his blanket around him, barely poking his head out from them.  His eyes are rid-rimmed; whether that’s bleary from sleeping or something else, Agatha can’t—

No, she can tell.

“I’m not mad at you, kiddo,” Agatha says, meeting Billy’s eyes.  She takes their hands in her own, reaching a little further for Billy’s.  “Neither of you did anything wrong.”  She gives their hands a little squeeze.  “You asked very good questions. It’s….”  Her eyes drop again as she releases them.  “It’s my fault that I couldn’t answer them.”

“It’s not your—”

Billy nudges his brother this time.  “Hush.”

Agatha takes a deep breath.  “My mama wasn’t like yours,” she says, voice soft.  “She loved me just as much, but she was….”  Her eyes narrow, unfocused.  “Very busy.  It broke my heart when she died.”  This isn’t a lie, even if it won’t carry the same weight for the boys that it does for her – or for Wanda, who saw enough of it to guess.  “I still don’t know what happened to my papa.  He went away on a ship and just…never came back.”  She presses her lips together.  “This,” she says, holding the brooch out in her bare hand, “is the last thing I have of them.”  A hesitation, then, “The last thing I have of any of my family.”

“You have us,” Billy answers immediately.

As he speaks, Tommy takes Agatha’s free hand in his own and squeezes it just like she’d squeezed theirs.  He doesn’t say anything, but he listens, eyes searching Agatha’s.  When she doesn’t continue, his voice is soft, “We…we don’t know what happened to our daddy either.”  He bites his lower lip.  “He was fighting someone, and Mama went to help him, and then….”  His voice trails off, and he sniffles.  Billy reaches over and wipes a tear away easy, like this is something he’s done a thousand times before, because he probably has.

Agatha waits.  Swallows. Holds the brooch out.  “Here.”

Billy flinches.  “You don’t have to—”

But Tommy doesn’t have to wait for another invitation.  He reaches out and snatches the brooch up before Agatha can even breathe, and she flinches again with the speed of it.  “Oh, this is cool.” With a sudden motion, he flips it up into the air.

“Hey!” Billy exclaims as Agatha’s eyes widen.  “Be careful!”  He sends out a spark of magic, holds the brooch aloft in the air, and then carries it gentle over to him.  Then he cradles it in his hands like a baby bird, runs his thumb along it as though smoothing ruffled feathers.  His eyes light up as he meets Agatha’s eyes again.  “Wow.”

Agatha resists the urge to snatch the brooch back out of his hands, but Billy hands it over to her, gentle as anything.  “It’s…it’s really pretty.”  He nudges his brother.  “Don’t you think it’s pretty?”

Tommy nods.  “Yeah. It’s cool, I guess.”  His gaze shifts away.  “You didn’t…you didn’t know your dad very well, then?”

It takes a second before Agatha realizes he’s even asked the question, too focused on slowing her heartrate now that the brooch is back in her hands. “No,” she says finally.  “He…he wasn’t around very often.”  Her lips lift in a small smile.  “But he always brought back things he’d found on his journeys. Things he carved.  Things we could keep.”  She tucks strands of hair back out of her face.  “They’re probably still out there somewhere.  I just haven’t found them.”  She stands then, holding the brooch against her chest.  “Your mom will be up soon, kiddos.  You should get ready.”

As she turns away, as she opens the door, Agatha hears Billy ask, his voice soft, “We can talk about this again, right?  Later?”

Agatha pauses, bites her lower lip, holds the brooch so tight that it cuts into the palm of her hand, and then turns to the boys with a fierce, but broken, grin.  “Sure, hon,” she says.  “Whenever you want.”

~

When Agatha returns to the suite she often shares with Wanda, she finds the other witch sitting up, knees drawn halfway up, arms wrapped around them, hair tumbling down her back, and glancing outside to the orchard.  Her instinct is to reach out, to sit on the bed next to her, to run a hand along her back in comfort, but she doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wanda shakes her head.  But she asks anyway, “You had twins?”

“Nicholas and Nathaniel,” Agatha whispers, not letting her gaze drop from the young woman.  “Nicholas, for my husband.  Nathaniel, for my brother.”  Then she glances down, to her hands, to her brooch.  “Nathaniel died within a few months.  Babies didn’t always make it back then.  And Nicholas….”

Fire and death and ice.

She takes a sharp breath.  “My sister burned him alive.”  She licks her lips.  “For what I did to our coven.”  She swallows. “Our mother.”  She laughs then, a soft, dark sort of chuckle.  “I killed her for that.  The first person I ever meant to kill.”

And then I went to the Sokovian Mountains, before that was even their name—

This, she doesn’t say aloud, but she leaves it open, if Wanda wants to hear it.

“You never told me,” Wanda murmurs, but it isn’t an accusation.

Now, Agatha does move over to her, does sit next to her.  “There wasn’t anything to tell, dear.  It happened so long ago.”  She leans forward and rests her head against Wanda’s back.

Wanda glances back to her, finally.  “Is that why you wanted me?  Why you had the Darkhold?”

Agatha doesn’t answer.  She can’t, really.  The reasons for going after Wanda – for going after the Scarlet Witch – are far more varied and complicated.  And her family was gone long before she even knew of the Darkhold’s existence.  She can’t say what she would have done with the power if she had it – no matter what the Agatha who had broken into their universe had done, that one wasn’t her.  Out of all the Agathas across the multiverse who had succeeded where she failed – or, in retrospect, failed where she had succeeded – only one had followed them here.  Maybe others had followed other variations on this same Wanda.  And maybe others—

“In Neverland, Pixie said she was Agatha Stephen Harkness, the tenth of her name,” Agatha mutters.  “There are other worlds where one – or both – of my sons survived.  That’s…enough.  It…it has to be.”

Wanda snorts.  “It wasn’t enough for me.”

“You had options, hon.”  Agatha smiles, brushes back strands of Wanda’s hair, and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck.  “Some of us had to learn to survive with the loss of our children. Our families.”  She lets out a sigh.  “Some of us made new families.”

It’s easy, then, when Wanda turns around to face her, to meet her eyes.  “I made a new family,” she says, voice soft, “and you—”

“That was America’s idea, hon,” Agatha corrects.  “Don’t put that one on me.  I just helped her fine tune a few things.”  She wiggles her fingers in the air a few times.  “She brought your twins back to you, babe.  Not me.”

“Not what I meant.”  Wanda runs her fingers gentle along Agatha’s jaw, rests her thumb just on the edge of her chin.  She leans forward, brushes her nose against Agatha’s, and then tugs on her chin, parting her lips, before kissing her.

Agatha cups Wanda’s face gentle before pulling away.  “Go take care of your boys, hon.”  She offers her the smallest of smiles, brushing a finger across her lips.  “I’ll still be here when you’re done.”

“No,” Wanda says, laying a hand over Agatha’s free one and interlacing their fingers.  “They’re your family, too.  You’re coming with me.”  She squeezes her hand gentle.  “This is your home, too.  Please don’t hide from us.”

Home.

 Agatha tastes the word on the tip of her tongue before swallowing it whole with the slightest of nods.  “Okay,” she agrees, barely able to hear herself.  “I’m home.”

[amdapori]

✿👑  (◡‿◡✿) *⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*

In order of appearance: Caelia Silverarch, Ness Morioka, Kine Blackbend, Alair Valaias, Rivienne Sorel, Miah Relanah, Karima Ejinn, Lune Vormold (currently catteified from her normal hyur self), with special guest Listea Carbine on Coeurl!

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, mentions of animal harm, sexual themes, god/fantasy au for BNHAREM this badboi is 8k so enjoy~

The sound of a wind chime echoes across the small field just outside your home. The breeze carries the smell of summer bloomed blossoms and with it the threat of rain as it comes from down the mountain. 

A soft brown creature catches your eye as your mother picks flowers and berries for the festival. 

“Bunbun!” You exclaim, pointing as you tug on your mother’s tattered kimono, she responds with a soft hmm. Her eyes still focused on the wide range of flowers although her vision blurs. 

But at least you weren’t picked for this festival, no it would be many years before you would be in the running. Your mother’s only wish was for you to be unfavorable. Mother is so engrossed that she does not see you slip away, slowly following the bunny into the forest. 

Soon the soft brown creature begins to hop, faster and faster as you giggle running full speed ahead. Not noticing how the trees thicken or how dark eyes seem to peer through the trees, their mawls salivating with unsated hunger. With gnashing teeth they stalk ever closer all the while you rush to catch the creature just for it to jump high into the air. Nose diving straight for the ground, you copy its actions but the bunny is faster than you. Slipping into the burrow with ease as you fall face first into dirt and rocks. 

“O..ow. Momma!” You sniffle, turning around for some much needed motherly love, but instead of your mother hunched over collecting boring things in her basket you are met with a dense forest. The setting sun washes over the trees giving the thick pines and maples a ghoulish red hue.  Suddenly you are hyper aware of the sounds around you, a stick snaps in the brush. Your head turns as if you were a startled deer, eyes wide, heart racing as you strain to hear over the rushing blood in your ears. Dark figures move in the long shadows and haunting laughs echo around you. Beady eyes shine in the darkness causing a small whimper to leave your lips. Acting on instinct you rush to your feet, running through the woods. Briers snatch at your small ankles, leaving angry red lines in their wake, wanting nothing more than to make you a child of the forest.

“MOOOM!” You shout, panting as they force you further into the mountain, you take a quick left when one jumps from the right causing you to trip over a branch falling into a small clearing, faintly you hear the rush of a spring.

Scuffling rouses a sleepy garnet haired man who lounges in a steaming hot spring, that’s sprinkled with fallen petals of mountain flowers. He thinks to dismiss it until a scream cuts through the serenity of the pines. Whatever animal it is, it sounds small and this stirs something in the mountainous man. Sadly this was the circle of life, he reminds himself as he sinks deeper into the burning hot spring. 

“MOMMA HELP PWEESE!!” You scream, trying to get up but this time you are entangled in a briar patch, thorn and vine twisting around your tender skin. It seems the wicked green plant will have its wish. 

All the while the shadows stalk closer, their bright beady eyes blown wide as their jaws unhinge for their meal. They get on their haunches to launch themselves at you until something causes them to freeze. The trees shake around you while the Earth rumbles as if there were a thunder storm beneath the rich dirt. 

“Hello little flower. Are you lost?” You whip your head towards the sound. Lip quivering as you stare up at a tall, built man. But it was his eyes that stood out the most. 

His glistening rubies glow as fading sunlight catches his hair, emphasizing that the strands are a red so deep one could mistake it as black. Your eyes play tricks on you as the air seems charged and yet calm, giving him a surreal aura. He stands tall, half relaxed as one arm is lazily hanging from his dark rose kimono while the rest of his sculpted body is exposed to the slowly cooling air. You weigh your options as best you can before you scramble to your savior. Clinging to his leg as your tears begin to stain his kimono. 

He breathes in deeply and before he can speak the dark figures vanish, melting into the shadows that stretch in the last winking light of the Sun. He crouches down to you, pushing hair past your face. 

“Don’t cry little flower. Here.” A beautiful flower crown appears in his hands. The  white petals with contrasting amethyst stripes down the center seem to have their own shimmering bio-luminescence making it feel other worldly as he places it atop your head. He chooses the dietes flower for its symbolism and rarity, unknowingly sealing your fate. 

“Is that better, little one?” You nod in response, sniffling softly as he scoops you up walking you until he can just see what must be your home through the thick trees. He watches what he assumes your mother to panic, as the village shouts what must be your name. 

“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way okay little flower?” He sets you down gently before you give a big nod. Cold bare feet crunching the leaves against the forest floor. 

You come into the clearing of your home, the sea of yellows, pinks and reds winking in the stark light of the moon. 

“Momma…” You call softly, the world stops turning on its axis before she rushes to you, pulling you into her arms before her eyes are filled with overflowing fear. Fat droplets leave her long lashes as she snatches the crown away, but it is too late. It has been seen by all. 

“Oh she is favored by the Gods.” Someone comments. 

“If she grows into anything like her mother she will be the best choice to appease the Mountain God!" 

"Let us mark this day and the family name so we may remember 16 years from now." 

They continue to gossip as your mother squeezes you tight enough that it hurts. Her mind racing as she carries you inside, she tucks you in without a word of a scolding. Coaxing you to drink some lavender tea that pulls you into a deep sleep beneath the symphony of crickets and the like.

You do not hear your mother return and if you do, you guess she is doing her nightly routine. Fluffing your blankets and making sure your futon is warm enough but what you weren’t expecting was the cold bite of a blade pressing into the flesh above your left eyebrow.  

"Mom…Momma’s sorry baby.” She chokes on her sobs as she pulls the cool metal hard and deep, crying so loud she can barely hear your scream.  

But that was how long ago? Almost two decades? You toss a rock into your reflection, distorting your marred face as your childhood flashes before your eyes. 

You remember there was shouting, lots of shouting of how you are now “unfavorable” “dishonorable” “an abomination” the next day and from then it’s a blur of insults and isolation. Nothing but the wind in your hair, the creaking of the trees and a dream of glistening rubies kept you alive, desperate to return to the last time you were happy. Although you were unsure of who you saw in the mountain that fated night, a part of you could guess. It had to be the Spirit of the Mountain, Kirishima. Because who else actually looked like the painted scrolls that littered the village and shrines? In your opinion they had his image all wrong. 

He does not scowl or wear a grimace, no his smile is sharp toothed and bright. You sigh, wondering if you will ever bump into him again. 

An inhuman scream tears through the serenity of the babbling brook causing a chill to run through your spine. If you had to guess it was most likely a fox or wolf finally catching up to its meal. 

“They must eat too…” You murmur to yourself, drawing your knees to your chest. The wind rustles the leaves overhead giving you sharp visions of beady black eyes from the past. 

“Don’t let it get away!” A shout from your left before the animal comes scurrying through the brush, running smack into your lap. It is a small fox, its tail missing and in its wake a crude weeping cut. Your vision blurs red as you take off your top layer of kimono, wrapping the poor thing in the brown fabric. 

The culprits come into view, the village elder’s son holds the tail while his favorite goon holds the knife. Red falls to the Earth in nauseating droplets. 

“Well well well, looks like we found something else we can carve up huh?” The goon asks with a smile, “Just keep quiet freak." 

The elder’s son is hesitant, something odd grows in his eyes and chest. Suddenly the tail feels a lot heavier than what it was moments ago, especially so under the weight of your single gaze. Your left eye although clouded over seems to stare straight into his soul. Can you see the desperation he has? Worst yet can you see how tainted he is? 

"Oi Kenji” The goon nudges him, clearly only hanging around the future heir for his influence and with it a hope of immunity to terrorize as he pleases. 

The motion brings him back to the present while a plan begins to form in his head. Would anyone believe the dishonorable, disowned freak over him? Could he do things to you that no matter how loud you screamed the truth it would fall on deaf ears? 

His cruel smile is an answer in of itself as he takes a step towards you, it wouldn’t be hard to make you his. You take a step back, mindful of the sun’s position and your surroundings. They both creep nearer as you hold the shaking animal to you, you turn on your heel rushing through the woods. They were fast and well trained however no one knew these woods like you did. 

It was as if you knew of every fallen leaf or broken branch as you rushed through the deep green leaves. Dodging low branches that they hit face first, holes they tripped in and even a dead deer carcass that you bound in a single leap. You hear a crash and one of them gag as your feet urge you forward, looking over your shoulder. 

That is until your run into something so solid you fall right onto your ass, the small animal gives a whimper on your lap. 

“I could have sworn…” The sound of rushing water swallows up the rest of your thought as you look up to what you’ve run into. Wholly expecting a tree stood a man, with deep garnet hair and a sharp toothed smile. Immediately your blood turns cold, the air about him seeming other worldly as the forest quiets and slows in his presence. 

“Ah, are you alright?” He asks, extending his hand to you, gingerly you take it. His calloused hand is warm and strong as he lifts you to your feet, ruby eyes staring at the bundle in your hand.

“May I?” Hesitantly you pass the bundle, he frowns at its contents before setting the small fox on the ground, waving his fingers to heal its wound. The fox looks at the healer, seemingly giving him a small bow before rushing back into the safety of the brush. 

“The fox told me what you did. Thank you.” His smile is blinding and dazzling. He offers you a single white flower, the amethyst stripe up the middle causes your stomach to tighten.

“Do you always give out good fortune?” You ask quietly, turning the wild iris over in your hand. He laughs, if he recognizes you he does not show it but you are sure this is the man who gave you an abundance of “good fortune” years ago. Your scar burns from the thought. Your mother did tell you stories of the Gods playing cruel jokes. 

But was Kirishima truly a maleficent God? 

You bit your lower lip. A warm hand cups your chin, a soft smile on his face as he turns your left side to you. 

“Do I know you dear heart?” His voice is soft, eyes half mast almost lazily gazing upon your features. You tuck the iris in your ear and it seems to jog his memory. 

“Little flower!” His voice becomes larger, sharper, as his thumb swipes over the deep fissure on your cheek “What happened?!" 

His touch is comforting but not enough you wish to relive the trauma again. 

"I wish not to speak about it.” Your eyes catch the position of the sun. Gently you step from his soft grip.

“I must return home for dinner before I cause my mother to worry.” You bow formally, presenting the flower “Thank you Kamisama but I cannot accept your blessing." 

You stand like that long enough your back begins to hurt causing a deep fear to flow through your veins.

Was he angry that you dared to reject him? 

Your feet burn with the urge to run but you dismiss it, finally his large fingers grasps at the small stem holding the rarity in his hands. Eyes roving over you, you peek up to check his gaze and while he looks level headed to you, you decide to leave before you find out if he isn’t. 

He stares after you, eyes curious and yet not surprised as to how he could have forgotten about someone as remarkable as you. 

But how could he remember? 

You are nothing more than a mere mortal and you were a child at that. A blip, a hazy day dream even, in his infinite lifetime. 

So what interest would he have in a life so fleeting that should he rouse from a nap he would be meeting your great grandchildren who could remember nothing more about you than your name? 

And yet when he looked at you now, as a full grown woman, something bloomed in his chest. Your scar adding to your mystic beauty, especially after what the fox had told him.  

His ruby eyes return to the flower as he ponders over your question in his head. 

A week or so passes, as you’re sure to avoid the Mountain God. Still fearing he may be angered by your rejection. 

But you cannot stay from the depths of the forest long. Staring down at your reflection in the water you sigh, running your hand through the cool water debating if you will bathe in one of the many hot springs tonight. A scurrying in the bush pulls your attention to the here and now. Muscles rigid as you worry it will be an encounter with the heir and his goon, shimmering orange rushes from the brush easing your mind. 

"Ah hello friend!” You call and the fox stops in its tracks, task or hunt at hand long forgotten, “Did His healing power work?" 

You cannot help the glee in your voice as you see your friendly fox sit near your feet, it swishes its tail and just like that another seems to appear. Wagging like an opposing pendulum beside the other. 

"You have two tails now, oh” You give a sly smile, “Are you here to steal my liver?" 

The kitsune chuckles at your joke, his little laugh echoing in the clearing. The haunting sound brings an odd comfort to you as he tilts his head as if someone is whispering to him. He gives a small nod before approaching, setting something in your lap that his black lips were not holding before. 

A note of sorts and the flower he attempted to offer you earlier. The note reads in glowing golden red hue,

"Let’s start over again. Tea by the blue moon wild flowers at midnight.”

You sigh deeply, placing the card and flower deep in your tattered kimono with the thought of not showing up.  Why would a God want tea with you? You who wears a scarred face and milky white eye. You give the kitsune a soft pat before standing, brushing the dirt from your deep brown kimono. 

You spend the rest of the day as you told your mother you would, picking flowers to both practice arranging and drying for the upcoming festival. There were only a few weeks left and you had done zero practicing as you has promised. Your mother claimed this would help earn your keep with the village but you were sure that was more for her peace of mind than the truth. 

With your basket heavy with the finest of flowers you head towards home, careful to avoid the path you last saw the God on.

And anytime you had thought you caught wind of his intoxicating smell of soft musk, pine and the biting threat of snow you turned on your heel as quickly and quietly as humanly possible, ignoring the gemstone gaze that bore into your back. 

After a small dinner with your mother and hours of twisting flower streams to make crowns of, you finally get the chance to lie down to sleep. 

But sleep doesn’t come, instead you’re wide awake as the moon leaks in the through the small cracks in the walls. Dust dancing on the low light as you sigh as if you were in love. 

Deep, unsatisfied and often. 

The invitation burns in the folds of your kimono and suddenly you are filled with action. Gently you rise, fumbling with your hair as best you can before you mumble curses to yourself. Placing a practice crown on your head and rouging your lips with the remnants of berries before you set out into the darkness. 

Your feet seem to guide you on your own as you weave through the trees. Fireflies lazily floating in the air as crickets scream their symphonies at your feet. Finally you come across the mostly hidden spot.

Hesitantly you step into the clearing, blue moon flowers glitter in the light of the quarter moon as if sprinkled with stardust. Their silver sheen invites you in further as a wind sweeps through the patch. Your eyes rove over as you look for the Mountain God. When your search comes up empty you feel your heart free fall into your stomach. Heated foolishness creeps into your throat and cheeks. 

Why would a God invite a mortal? 

Blinking away hurt tears you turn briskly, stopping yourself from running from the clearing incase he is watching for the sake of his cruel joke. 

That is until a deep voice rings out, vibrating the very bones in your body with a comforting hum.

“Little flower, Are we not having tea?” His tone is innocent and when you turn around with half a mind to fuss you see it. A beautiful hand woven rug that holds a low tea table, atop the dark wood sits finary. Foods, desserts and tea ware that would make the emperor jade green with envy. 

“This is…” You whisper but he reaches his hand towards you, gently guiding you to a plush cushion, his strong hand wrapped steadfast around yours. He waits until you are seated comfortably before he sits close to you. 

Almost too close, his shoulder could easily brush against yours in movement and it does as it takes you an eon to realize what exactly he is doing. 

Preparing the tea. Immediately your stomach flips as shaking hands fumble to stop him, grabbing onto his large hands with a fervor unmatched. A quizzical look before a sly smirk paints his handsome features. 

“A..a..a God should not be serving a m..mortal tea.” You trip over your words feeling self conscious as your palms feel is if they are sweating. Shame radiates through your chest as if a hot rod were shoved through your heart. 

“Then let us not be a God and a mortal.” He smiles, lips curving upward gently as his shining teeth glint in the low light. You should be scared, frightened that you may have insulted him or worse yet earned the infamous Wrath of the Mountain God. 

But you aren’t, if anything you’re on the complete opposite of the spectrum as the breeze shifts his scent closer to you. The forest alive at night, the sharp smell of snow mingling with the gentle fragrance of bloomed flowers. 

Suddenly you feel dizzy and his next words do not help. 

“Let us be more.” Again you feel the comforting hum in your chest, you decide now is a good time to let go of his hands. 

He sets the tea before you, again you are faced with a pitiful reflection. You blow on the green liquid disrupting the steam and with it your image. It is quiet save the sounds of late night summer although it is not uncomfortable silence that passes over the hours between the two of you. It is easy as the two of you sip your tea and for a moment you think you’ve forgotten the sin you’re committing by forgetting who he really is. Occasionally the two of you would share a laugh, his shoulder brushing against yours before he comes closer, close enough your forearms touch as they rest against the table. His skin feels warm and smooth like a rock baking in the sun, his smile dazzling as his face seems to get closer. His finger hooks into your palm, lazily tracing the lines as if they were an old and familiar map. 

“Why do you love the mountain forest so much?” His voice is so close you feel breath fan your cheek. Butterflies take rapid flight in your stomach. 

Was it that obvious? I guess it would be with how much of your life you spent within these thick trees. 

“There is so much to love in this place of solace. Every new clearing brings something of wonder. A waterfall, a field of flowers, a hot spring to soak your aching bones. Even just a small fawn grazing on the seeds the trees and flowers offer is more beauty than I can imagine." 

His fingers stop, leaving an odd tingling sensation causing your nerves to stand on edge. Attempting to reach towards the soft touch once more. Kirishima looks to the moon and how it begins to set. 

"Another day little flower.” He whispers, voice honeyed yet sharp as you find yourself standing on the edge of the woods, staring at your small home. You turn in a full circle and see no sign of the God causing your heart to grow heavy. Gripping at your chest as you make your way back towards your home, you thought maybe he didn’t like your answer. Maybe he read your honesty as a poor attempt of flattery. 

What you don’t know is that he liked your answer a little too much.  

It isn’t long before you find yourself in the same patch of flowers at a questionable hour sitting beside Kamisama himself. You swallow thickly, nails biting into your palm as again he pours your tea. 

Is this right? Would your mother approve?

You were sure she wouldn’t, and not from your lack of manners but seeing the very man she so feared and having tea with him nonetheless.

“Something troubling you my blossom?” Flustered over his familiarity you stammer out a response.

“Just…just thinking.” You offer a shy smile as he returns a wolfish grin, you do not know that he can hear just how fast your heart is beating. 

“Hmmm.” The hum rumbles in your own chest and large bottle flies take flight in your stomach. He brushes some hair out of your face so he can better see it. He smiles softly. 

“I’ve been curious about why you are collecting so many flowers lately.” Rigid beneath his touch you fear you have angered him but it won’t be long before you realize just how infatuated he is with you. 

“A festival for you Kirishima, Kamisama of the Mountain.” He lets his fingers play and twist in your hair. You try not to look away. 

“You’ll be the guest of honor then?” His fingers brush down your heated cheeks. 

Despite the intimacy of both his touch and proximity you give a loud laugh. Eyes looking at a blurred green version of yourself in your cup. 

“No, I’m sure I could never be favored.” At least not by the villagers. 

But you seemed to be favored by the Gods. You swallow thickly, of all the talk and importance of the festivals your mother never let you attend, so you are unsure what happens. 

While you’re left home alone you could hear the loud beats of the drum, their feet hitting against the stone of the square and their joyous singing. 

Sometimes you think you hear a scream. 

But you cannot reflect on it long as a pair of soft lips press against your cheek. Then when you do not move they graze along your jawline before finding their way to your pulse. You give a small gasp and when he gives a small suck you a raspy moan.  He growls against your throat, a sudden heat grows between your legs and you swallow desire whole. 

He feels how tense you have become and eases up from your throat. Guiding you by your chin so you may face him before he steals away your first kiss. 

Not that you would have given it to anyone else. 

The next month is a game of cat and mouse. Both of you eagerly seeking the other out, yet making it seem as if it were a mere accidently. All the while a now three tailed fox smiles knowingly.  It’s a blur of tea, mountain top views over valleys, and deep passionate kissing. 

But this last encounter truly was by pure chance for both parties. 

The pungent smell of sulfur tickles your nose, although this is the least offending spring. Its water a lovely milky blue that you’ve decorated with a few left over flowers heads. You sigh as you sink deeper into the borderline scalding water being sure to soak your aching hands and feet. 

You’re thankful that the rushing water settles here in this cluster of rocks despite the small current that carries it away just a few feet down. A sigh leaves your body, eyes lingering to the light of the full moon before they flutter close. Your guard completely down as you know no one is going to be wandering around these woods. 

It is the night of the festival after all. 

And no one was sure as hell gonna be out looking for you.  

Not even Kamisama as you were sure he would oversee the festival, it was held in his name was it not? 

Sleep threatens to pull you beneath its veil so much so you do not hear the footsteps that approach.  

He steps closer to the spot of his favorite spring and when he sees your head titling back onto the rocks, a fine blush blooms on his cheeks. 

“My little hana?” His voice is soft yet concerned, startling you. The water splashes around as you turn to face him. 

If you were flustered before you’re beyond that now. He has his back to you as he gives your privacy, face slightly turned but his eyes are not overlooking his shoulder. Your eyes widen as they take in His beauty. His hair tied up in a messy bun, winking blacks and deep reds beneath the moonlight. His broad shoulders exposed, eyes trailing down his sculpted back to see his bare buttocks. Strong, thick legs holding up this God of a man.  

Well he was a God wasn’t he? 

“Are you alright, lovely blossom? I didn’t know you’d be here I can come ba…" 

"No. No no!” You interrupt, “I…" 

It’s silent for a moment, lust moves your lips. 

"I wouldn’t mind the company.” Your voice is barely heard over the swirling, rushing water. 

But the smirk on his soft lips tells you that he had heard you.  And he will never forget the invitation. 

He turns to join you, your eyes following down the trail of his abs to his pointed V, you do not allow your eyes to travel further south and force them to his face. His glowing eyes bright, two shining rubies lighting up the night. He sinks into the water across from you, letting his arms spread and rest on the rocks. 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Sinking into the water as you realize just how exposed you are.  The weight of his gaze is doing something to you. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, the heat of the spring makes you a bit dizzy and you’re beginning to wonder if it is his merlot eyes that have you on cloud nine. 

That have you so bold. Bold enough you float yourself beside him, right into the crook of his arm. He gently slides it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. 

“How was your day my sweet?” His voice is soothing but you’d rather not recount your day or the number of flowers you set just right. 

“Boring. Yours Kirishima?” He smiles as you use his name.

“Same.” He places a chaste kiss to your damp hair line. It leaves you wanting more. 

“A..again please?” He goes to kiss your forehead again but you tilt your face upward. He smiles, putting his hand at the nape of your neck. Leaning in impossibly slow holding your gaze. His look makes you impossibly higher and then his kisses your lips.

It is soft, it is slow, but each movement of his lips become more feverish, more bold. Like a cracked dam after a rain far too heavy, it is going to burst. 

And it does. 

Your mouth openes to him and he slides his tongue between your teeth, swirling and tasting your earthly, mortal form. You moan into the kiss, giving him more entrance, your hands clawing at his hair, his back while his hands follow your curves. Running up and down your sides, pinching at your nipples turning you into putty in his hands.  You do not resist, you would never deny him and you’re sure he would never take. 

He does nothing more than light exploring, commiting your skin to memory. You let out another moan, this one louder than before enticing his primal needs. As his tongue slides over yours his hand snakes to your lower back, pulling you into his lap.  

You feel his harden asset resting close to your throbbing sex. 

Would…would it be okay to bed a God? For a mortal to be touched by hands that can create and destroy in a matter of nanoseconds? 

Suddenly you feel too hot, too flustered, too high as the world spins rapidly on its axis. You push back, gasping for air and immediately his lust is replaced with concern. He sees tears forming in your eyes, signs of some internal battle. 

It reminds him of when he pours you a cup of tea but tenfold. He looks up at you, one hand traces down your spine before his other wipes away your tears. 

“Blossom for me when you’re ready not when I want you, my little flower.” His voice is soft, reassuring, causing you to cry more. His fingers gently trace your scar, follow your spine, and continue to wipe away your tears when needed. 

You nod helplessly, removing yourself from his irresistible lap, he pulls you to cuddle. A soft kiss to your hairline. The moon begins to climb higher in the sky and although your mother will not be home for some time, you still need to beat her home. Maybe he can read minds as he says. 

“Let’s meet later tonight? Our usual time after your mother has returned home?” You nod against his chest, slowly stand. He supports your weight as he holds onto your hand as you ease out of the comforting water. 

You look for your brown kimono but with every second you cannot find it panic seizes your bones. 

“M…my kimono. I…I can’t find it!” You realize you may have misplaced it or worse yet placed it too close to the water. 

Oh Kami did it get washed away? 

“Flower, love. It is fine. I can help.” He snaps his fingers and you’re adorning the most stunning kimono you’ve ever seen. More so than what any painting of any God and Goddess meeting you’ve ever seen.  You twirl in the ombre kimono. It starts out black, like a moonless night at the top before lightening until it is put glowing starlight at your ankles. 

“Its gorgeous. But it is too much." 

"Nothing is too much for you.” He stands, a kimono appears on his body as well, ombre again, black at his shoulders until it is blood red at his ankles. The bottom reminds you of the first time you had seen him when you were little. When he saved your life, a halo of setting sun emphasizing his status. 

“We will meet again?"  You nod and he cannot bring himself to say he is going to the annual meeting of the Gods because if he did, with you wearing this star woven kimono, he would whisk you away with him. 

"Until we meet again." 

With the sound of the window fluttering through the trees you find yourself on the fringes of the woods, just outside your home. 

Gingerly you step into the field of flowers, slowly walking towards your house as you relive the time you most felt alive. 

His lips, his hands, his body pressed against yours.

So caught up in your daydream, in your promise of later tonight, you do not see the eyes lying in wait. 

Those prying eyes take note of your kimono and how it shimmers and shines with an otherworldly glow as you slip into your home. 

It isn’t long before you hear a string of screaming and see a set of lights coming your way, close enough you can make out silhouettes and what the woman is screaming.

"SHE IS UNFAVORED! LOOK AT HER SCAR SHE IS TAINTED BEAUTY!” You realize quickly that is the wails of your mother. 

Frantically you try to strip yourself of your kimono but a large hand strips away the door. Your faces are illuminated from the soft glow by your ankles making it clear to see a set of hard steely eyes with hurt but never regret as they should. 

“Just like I said. A blessed kimono.” Kenji’s voice is as hard as his eyes as his father peers in, he smiles with delight.

“We are surely saved from the drought now. Kenji bring her to the festival." 

"No.” Your voice is small, a foreboding dread feeds your panic as your mother cries, restrained by Kenji’s goons. You step back but he lunges for you, squeezing you so tightly you cannot breath. 

The walk to the center seems like ages as you kick and scream, crying out for Kirishima. 

“Yes call for our God. He will be happy to receive his gift, time is running out.” The elder speaks. You elbow Kenji square in the face, everyone panics as you begin to run. Kenji catches you again.  The moon hands high over head, perfectly in the middle of the sky. 

“There is no time left. Let’s do it now!” Kenji’s goon from before shouts, sending the crowd into a boisterous agreement. 

Kenji withdraws his knife, both of your struggling for power. He leans in close, nose touching yours as the smell of copper and ash cling to his skin. 

“You should have just stayed in your place ugly. Should’ve let me have my way.” He slices at you and for a second time a blade marrs your skin. 

He is supposed to make this quick for you, one quick motion against your throat. Instead he lets the blade sink deeper, carve harder until his is splatter in your life’s nectar. Only you and your mother cry out. The rest of them pray and sing. 

Kenji picks you up and tosses you into the brush of the woods. 

“Have her now Kamisama and bless us with rain!” He speaks as if he is the current elder. Grey eyes cold as they look down at you.  They retreat to their usual planned activities, dragging your lost mother with them to drink to their heart’s content. To make her watch what an honor it was for her child to have been chosen. 

It hurts, Kami it hurts as you drag yourself through the woods. Briars tangle around your quickly growing limp limbs as you pull yourself deeper. 

“Kiri…Kirishima!” Your once loud screams turn into hardly more than whispers. But that shouldn’t matter. He should still hear you shouldn’t he? 

Was this not his domain? He can hear every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig, surely he could hear the pained cries of his lover.

No, no you shouldn’t call yourself that, you were not his lover, you were just favored by him. 

And isn’t that always what you wanted? To be desired? Loved? 

This was a festival for Kirishima himself so why did you think any different? 

And why do you still call out his name? 

Your vision blurs in purplish blues and blacks as you fade in and out, a soft sweet scent is tainted with stinging copper. You cough and more dark liquid sputters from your lips. 

It reminds you of his eyes. 

Kitsune comes into the clearing helping frantically. But you smile as you notice his fourth tail. 

“At least I will not die alone…” You breathe as the fox attempts to lick at your wounds, “Why, why is he so cruel?" 

Fat tears fall down your cheeks and the fox panics further. He opens his mouth, his voice comes out gravely and close to a growl without the animosity.

"Master does not know of this, master would never allow this!” He laps at your blood in a desperate attempt to heal you with what little grace he has been bestowed. 

But it doesn’t matter as your world fades to black. 

Kirishima steps through the portal near the top of the mountain to be met with a horrid sight, not realizing it could be worse than that. Kitsune’s normal Auburn fur is tainted a sticky black substance, Kirishima gets a closer look causing his blood to run cold. 

He appears in the field of flowers, following the trail you left as a wispy form of you stands through your drained body. 

“No.” Quiet before deafening loud, birds and animals flee away from him, “NO!" 

The shades circle the clearing, too afraid to enter but too hungry to leave. 

Kirishima shakily grabs onto your glowing hands, tears fall down your cheeks. 

"I…I…” Tears prick his eyes, rage washes over his features, “Who?" 

Your spirit cannot speak as you are still tethered to your fast cooling body. He follows the direction of your eyes, music and laughing become louder further angering him. A thought occurs to him, he reaches for the small golden chain that is at your spiritual ankle connecting you to your real body, he could keep you here, he could….but before he can break your life’s chain a mist of black appears. 

"You know you cannot do that.” From within the mist comes a man with the head of a raven or a tengu, Kirishima is not sure. All he knows is that he loathes to see Death come too close to the things he loves. 

“But.." 

"Look around you Kirishima-kun. You’ve tried countless times to keep mortals before and what becomes of them? Shades, unwavering, thoughtless hungry shades as I’ve told you. Their spirits are so far corrupted they could never return to the cycle.” Death speaks the truth but it does not stop the anguish that sweeps through his body. 

He cannot allow it just yet. He watches as your golden chain is unhooked, you walk backwards, keeping your eyes on your God as Death guides you. 

“Until we meet again.” It is a whisper on the wind, a rustle in the leaves, a huff of a nearby fawn and babbling of the hot spring. He nods, eyes glued to you as you fade away into the black mist. 

He breathes deeply as he picks you up, cradling your cold body to his hard chest. He walks gingerly with you as if he feared he would wake you, he only had on destination in mind. It does not take long before he is walking towards the center of the small town, houses darkened as the square is full of life. The smell of wine and food waft the cool air. 

This only fuels his intentions. 

He stands on the fringe of the crowd and it only takes a blink or two before the roaring party dies to deafening silence. People falling to their knees, their foreheads pressed into the bloodied bricks. 

“K..Kamisama Kirishima, had we known you would grace…" 

"SILENCE!” His voice shakes the very foundations of the homes, the shingles clinking in the wind. The trees quiver in his presence as the Earth seems to roar beneath his feet. His eyes are hard and dark like raw diamonds as he looks over their merriment shredding them with his gaze alone. The moon above suddenly glows red as if washed over with your blood, illuminating him in an ominous tone. The hue paints the village in eerie light as it fully bares witness to the wrath of the mountain God.  

“Is this how you honor me?” A rhetorical question as he wonders how long this had been going on, the shades most likely and happily, eating the remains before Kirishima could have ever found out. He shakes, unable to reign in his rage. 

“Look at her.” Three words, three words has well over fifty people shivering. Eyes barely coming up to look at the limp woman in his hands, skin already graying. Both eyes now clouded over and lips stained a peculiar red. Their eyes shift to the God they worship, the one they had been giving their most beautiful women too. 

He holds eye contact with each and every one of them for a moment, staring into their black souls with a malice that could maim. He spies your mother, his lip snarls as he thinks of your scar. 

He begins to wonder if this is why she had done it. He finds the elder, the one who wears the fine kimono. One of the few garments that is not tattered, dirtied or sullied red. He grinds his teeth. 

“May you never forget this moment in all of your reincarnations. May you never forget her face and may you always feel an inkling of what I’ve felt.” The people weep, not for their own lives but from the feeling of the God’s heart overflowing in them despite him never shedding a tear. They do not ask forgiveness. 

They cannot ask for forgiveness. Just as he sealed your fate all those years ago, he is sealing theirs now. With a stomp of his foot the Earth rumbles, slowly opening up into a jagged mawl. People scream as they reach for one another, grasping onto nothing. Only your mother waits for death silently. Her own tears streaming down her face as she etches into her last moments the sight of her failure. Of you taken from the world too soon. 

The village is swallowed whole and now that it is over, he is still unhappy. The void in his cheat is far deeper than the Earthy chasm before him. He cries out in anguish pulling you impossibly closer. A fissure runs through the ground, deep and fast through the next village and the one after that.

In a loud puff of smoke a man appears beside the mountain God, he pulls down his black hood and his hair shines gold in the moonlight. His eyes like molten lava gleam with destructive glee. The Earth threatens to crumble beneath the new God’s feet, the dark chasm glows a bright hot red in his presence. 

“No one ever strikes your ire.” His voice is dark yet excited, “And never enough to summon me. Need some pointers from the God of Destruction himself shitty hair?”

“Bakugou, I…” The mountainous man’s voice cracks, causing his friend’s brow to furrow. Bakugou takes in the sight of you withered in hands through ghastly means. Of the decimation and the level of it. Reaching over to another village and possibly the next two. This level of destruction would get the Mountain God into a lot of trouble but it was evident he did not care. Bakugou gives his back to the sight and finally speaks, lying a warm hand on his friend’s broad shoulder.

“If anyone asks, I destroyed the villages.” Molten eyes watch tears fall onto you and the ground beneath his friend’s feet. The golden haired man sighs, gently taking you from the arms of his friend who tries to desperately hold on to what is left of you. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” A rare comfort from his companion, he takes your small frame and turns. He is going to gently lie you in the cooling Earth. A destruction God destroys in order for something new to be created. He plans to give his only friend a blessed grave for you so he can visit until, what Bakugou hopes but heavily doubts, Kirishima forgets. 

“W..wait. wait. She needs…” His voice shatters as with shaking fingers he creates the very thing he had intended for you to have. Good fortune in the shape of deities or wild irises, circling one another to be a stunning crown. Instead of white they glow gold as he sets it atop your crown. Kirishima squeezes your limp hand a final time before letting you go. Bakugou breathes deeply as he works, pulling the ground back together with sheer force as the lava recedes. He does so until the two shelves barely meet, a rich bed of soil lies before his feet. Gently he lies you in the bed of dirt. 

“Ashes to ashes.” Your body ignites from within, glowing in a golden flame until there is nothing left but dust on the wind and the golden flower crown. Bakugou pulls the dirt over your remains.

Kirishima falls to his knees, pressing his hand into the Earth, fearful he will forget a mortal like you, a mere blip in his infinite lifetime. The ground beneath him bursts and blooms in great color. All deep reds, golden yellows and blinding whites for miles. 

“I will always love you my little flower." 

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The summer breeze feels warm as it rouses the scent of rain and the sound of chimes. You close your eyes and day dream of something long forgotten, of stories retold from an old book of legend you never read. Nervousness thrums through your veins as you stand beside your ash blonde friend, patiently waiting for the third party to arrive. The impatient man growls beside you as he spots someone he recognizes behind you. 

"Oi shitty hair hurry up! Iris and I have been waiting here all damn morning!” Bakugou shouts, using your hero name. You turn to see your new patrol partner for future missions. The sun illuminates behind him, almost giving him a heavenly glow and you realize that there is something odd about the man who approaches you. His long flowing garnet hair is unruly in the wind, shining a red so deep in hue you first mistake it for black. His smile is sharp toothed and easy, causing a swarm of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. With your heart hammering out of your chest you cannot shake the feeling that something seems off about him. It is both other worldly and familiar, you feel as if his name sits on the tip of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as his glowing ruby eyes drink you in.  He sees a faint mark traveling through your left eye as if it were a fading scar, maybe it was something you could not shake from a past long forgotten. His heart hammers in his chest as he speaks, your reaction to his next words will tell him what he needs to know. 

“Hello my little flower, it seems we meet again.”

[wreckofawriter]

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

    Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you. 

    Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view. 

    You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room. 

    Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret. 

    Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours. 

    You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.  

    “Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

    “Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes. 

    Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?” 

    You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following. 

    He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.” 

    You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

    Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

    “I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

    Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter. 

    You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about. 

    “You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

    You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

    A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.” 

    “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone. 

    Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

    You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention. 

    The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

    Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart. 

    “You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them. 

    You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.” 

    Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

    You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

    The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

    “And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper. 

    “Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.” 

    You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony. 

    A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?” 

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs. 

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire. 

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms. 

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves. 

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former. 

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened. 

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors. 

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you. 

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area. 

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter. 

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!"  Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?" 

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward. 

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?" 

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know." 

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived. 

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger. 

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms. 

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her." 

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know." 

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize." 

"I know." 

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her." 

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you." 

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you. 

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away. 

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice. 

"You may absolutely not visit her!" 

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground. 

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh. 

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n." 

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in." 

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved. 

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall. 

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before. 

    You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better. 

    “I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

    You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.” 

    Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour. 

    “Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

    Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him. 

    Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow. 

    “I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

    Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

    “I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.” 

    Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

    Draco met your eyes, “What?”

    “Say you love me again.”

    His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

    It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

    Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

    You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[crowsnotvultures]

here it is, favorite SoC+CK quotes pt. 2! (pt 1)

(This one’s way too long too and I’m not even done with them)

an obvious winner: “He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Kuwei turned to Jesper. “You should visit me in Ravka. We could learn to use our powers together.” “How about I push you in the canal and we see if you know how to swim?” Wylan said with a very passable imitation of Kaz’s glare. 

“I don't like this," said Matthias. Jesper had smiled his reckless gunslinger’s grin. "To be fair, Matthias, you don't like much.” 

“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.” emo kaz my beloved

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan's lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?""So?" said Kaz. "Well, usually it's just half the city.”

“Meeting you was a disaster.”

“They get to know each other intimately.” Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”

She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying.

They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered. He shrugged. “They all seem like practical choices.”

“Sugar,” said Kaz. Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him. Kaz rolled his eyes. “Not for my coffee, you podge.”

There was blood everywhere. Jellen Radmakker had fallen to the stage and was bellowing, “I’ve been shot!" He had not been shot.

Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.” Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.” i feel like we collectively forget the origin of that nickname this boy is brutal sometimes

He sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz's planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission.

“Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.” 

She’d tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat. “Curse you and all your Saints,” he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling. 

Inej frowned. “I thought you and Nina chose four outbreak sites on the Staves.” Kaz straightened his cuffs. “I also had her stop at the Menagerie.” She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“Please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.” “They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”“I flirt with the women too.”

“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.” “If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?” “All the time.” 

“You’re stupid about a lot of things, Wylan, but you are not stupid. And if I ever hear you call yourself a moron again, I’m going to tell Matthias you tried to kiss Nina. With tongue.” Wylan wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He’ll never believe it.” “Then I’ll tell Nina you tried to kiss Matthias. With tongue.”

“Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch. “If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.” “Take your time.” 

Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her. 

“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. And my father is profit. I honor him daily.” shakespeare kid kaz rights

Jesper Llewellyn Fahey

He swept the red cloak around Inej's shoulders in a rain of petals and blossoms as she continued to strap on her knives. She looked almost as startled as the flower seller. "What?" he asked as he tossed her a Mister Crimson mask that matched his own. "Those were my mother's favorite flower." "Good to know Van Eck didn't cure you of sentiment." "Nice to be back, Kaz." "Good to have you back, Wraith.” 

“We’re nothing alike,” Wylan said indignantly. “He’s not even that good at science! Half his notebooks are full of doodles. Mostly of you. And those aren’t good either.” 

Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again.

“Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake.” “Is that true?” his father asked as the scholar grudgingly moved aside and they shoved the heavy desk in front of the door. “Absolutely,” said Wylan. “Certainly not,” said the scholar.

"Nina," he said, pressing her hand to his heart. "I am already home.”

I have been very patient with all of this, Jesper, but I am at my limit. I want you down here before I count ten or I will tan your hide so you don’t sit for two weeks.” Colm’s head vanished back down the stairs. The silence stretched. Then Nina giggled. “You are in so much trouble.” 

"That berth belongs to you too. It will always be there when―if you want to come back." bc we all know he’s not only talking about the berth

Wait,” he said. The burn of his voice was rougher than usual. “Is my tie straight?” Inej laughed, her hood falling back from her hair. “That’s the laugh,” he murmured.

Had she really thought the world didn't change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible.

[randomfandomnoms]

Hanahaki

So! I have a smol oneshot for you guys (lumity ofc) involving the sicness Hanahaki. I think i'll just jump right into it, and if you like it there is a link to my full book of Lumity oneshots below! :D

As the sunlight streamed down through the billowing curtains, flickering while the spots of color danced across the room, all Amity knew was pain. From the moment the light hit her eyes and convinced them to open, pain had crashed over her in pounding and relentless waves. She longed for comfort, in her mind she begged and pleaded for forgiveness, as if somehow this were a punishment for some wretched crime that she somehow committed.

After all, how could being in love be held to the same consequence as that of a crime?

She would laugh at the thought, if only the pain hadn’t hurt so bad. Rather than try to accomplish anything, let alone try to call for any form of help, she lay there. Heart aching, lungs burning, after all this was her punishment, right? Her death sentence for letting her heart and head think and feel in ways she shouldn't. All that was left was to let the curse grow as her body rotted.

She coughed a little, letting slip a weakened smile as soft golden petals fluttered over her head like a halo. She licked away some of the blood that trickled down her chin. Even now, she couldn’t help but think of the person who caused her such despair. The kind, thoughtful, and adorable person who was everything opposite compared to her body's turmoil. Deep down, buried past the flowers rooted into her, past the thorns holding her heart in a vice grip, there was still warmth in the thought of Luz. She wanted nothing more than for the human girl to sit here by her side, even if she merely watched Amity crumple and break, she didn’t care.

That was all she wanted.

She eventually grew distant to the world around her, only slipping back through the cracks for a moment whenever the pain grew too intense or a cough racked through her paired with the flowers that were unnaturally forced out of her. She was sure someone must have found her by now, yet every time she awoke she found herself in the same familiar room, alone.

She wasn’t even too sure she ever was awake. For all she could tell, she could very well have been lost to sleep the entire time. The only thing that really separated one from the other was the absence of this undesirable pain, and the partnership of her loving friend.

Eventually she finally did wake up, and this time she was certain it was real. There was no way that even her mind could concoct the mixture of pain and emotions swirling like a storm inside of her. Plus, this time she was in a slightly different situation.

She could make out a faint beeping, yet she couldn’t quite tell if it was quiet due to being far away, or her illness. She could feel cold, painful plastic pressed down her throat, in her arms, her lungs. She was still back in her own bed, which wasn't surprising due to how far her condition had progressed. The familiar ceiling above her gave little reassurance. She did notice that someone had tucked her in with softer blankets than the ones she had been laying on when she first slipped away. It felt good to know someone cared at least a little.

It didn’t take long for drowsiness to press on her chest and drag her down. She let her tear stained eyes fall shut. She felt no need to struggle to keep consciousness, seeing as no medicine could lessen her pain. She was almost lost to the world again when something changed.

She could feel the tubes that aided her in nourishment and drawing breath slowly pulled back out. It was painfully uncomfortable, and while it was nothing compared to her illness it was enough to pull her back. She could feel someone’s touch, gentle and soft cupping the side of her face. She let herself relax into the hand, feeling the first tiny piece of comfort since this nightmare had started. Eventually, she became certain that whoever it was was trying to speak to her. She strained to pick up what they were saying, but only came up with a few words.

“I’m so sorry.”

After that all sounds grew foggy, and distant once more. She was sure that whoever’s voice it had been, it was loaded down with sadness and pain that was almost as strong as her own. She shuddered with a cough, the soft blossoms pressing up and scattering over her body. The stranger didn’t seem to mind the abnormality, rather gathered and swept the petals away before replacing them with a gentle massaging touch over her chest.

She untensed a little, letting them rub at her pain. She started to wonder who it really could be looking over her. Certainly not her parents, nor Edric. Emira and Lilith were both reasonable answers. She dared even to imagine it might be her harbinger of pain, somehow appearing to aid her through this somehow.

It was a nice dream.

“Your ∼∼∼∼∼∼∼. ∼∼∼ can rest. I’ll be ∼∼∼∼.”, she picked up, yet she could cling to nothing more. She chose to take the suggestion as she found her way back into painless dreams once more.

Although, even in her dreams there seemed to be a sort of sadness spilling through the cracks in the walls her mind had conjured up.

On waking after, she could somehow tell that if she let herself go one last time, she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to the light. Part of her knowledge was based on the beat of the beeping, which had slowed and grown fairly uneven compared to her last moment among the sleepless. While she had no strength to lift her lids away to replace the darkness with light, she could feel sadness in the very air around her. Even though it hurt to try, she pressed to try and hear something that would make some sense of it all.

She could hear the voice from before, and yet it wasn’t talking, rather sobbing that allowed her to identify it in the first place. As she regained some lucidity, she recognized a warmth holding on tightly to her hand. She wished she could squeeze back against the slender fingers, even just twitching her fingers against the hand would have been enough.

Everything suddenly shifted, some of the tubes still pinned into her skin being shifted uncomfortably. It took a moment for her senses to kick in and register that it was due to someone sitting down on the bed behind her head, pulling her close and wrapping her in a warm grasp. She could only manage a pitiful whine, paired with a stream of bloody petals.

“It’s alright,” The voice crooned in her ear. “You can let go if you want to, I'll be here with you. I won’t be mad Amity.”

Something in the witch's mind clicked, starting up again slowly as a name drifted through her cloudy mind.

“L….u...z…”

At first she hadn’t even registered that she’d spoken, only becoming clear as a sudden intake of breath fluttered past her ear.

It started to become clear, even with the disorientation stalking the order that somehow resurfaced in her mind. It really had been Luz, here by her side all along, somehow gaining entry to the household without being turned away. Something warm gently fluttered inside her for a moment, but only briefly. She could already feel herself being pulled down despite her moment of calamity.

She weakly nuzzled her head against Luz’s chest, the girl’s voice filling her head as she coaxed and pleaded for her to speak again. As much as she longed to answer, her weakness left her unable. She could already hear the monitor that tracked her heart slow, could feel the flow inside of her start to settle.

She was ready, if it was the path set for her. She was ready for the relief from the pain death might bring her.

But, another factor fell into place, unexpectedly veering her away from the path. She could barely feel something, warm and soft and tender brushing against her lips. That one action sent warmth flooding through her. It felt like someone had wrapped their arms around her, pulling her back from the deep depths of depression she had been tossed into. It took everything in her to press back, just barely.

More sensations started to become clearer. Luz’s arms wrapped around her, her hands in her hair, on her cheek, her body comfortably nestled into her lap. Paired with them was the painful ache in her body and the uncomfortable frigid equipment set into her skin, yet she barely noticed as she melted into the comforting presence of the body pressed against hers. She felt almost helpless again as the softness pulled away from her face, yet calmed as it moved to her ear.

“I love you Amity. Please, please stay here with me…”

It was the best idea Amity had ever heard in her life.

Her eyes fluttered open, a whine escaping her as the long forgotten brightness burned. A hand rested over her teary eyes, slowly pulling away to reveal a smiling face stained with tears looking down on her. She noticed a few golden petals fluttering down out of the girl’s mouth, at first believing that she too had fallen under the spell before realizing them to be her own, her body having filled her mouth with them as she kissed her.

Luz sighed, gently stroking Amity’s cheek as relief sparkled in her brown eyes. Amity could already feel her pain start to die down. Luz plucked a blossom off of the sheets, pressing her nose into it as she breathed Amity’s scent.

“You know… Ever since I met you, gold has always been my favorite color. Just like the flowers.”

https://www.wattpad.com/1127500924-lumity-with-a-dark-side-oneshots-hanahaki

[aitarose]

AKAIBARA (T.KUROO) pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

synopsis: he was everything, her entire world. y/n didn’t know love without kuroo, but she also didn’t know if he knew any love for her—any love at all.

word count: 5.6k

genre: hanahaki au, unrequited love, mutual pining, fluff, angst

warnings: blood, mentions of death, terminal illness?

notes: this is for my muse, lina-chan, since she’s my love—and i catered y/n to her exact personality traits..so you’re welcome loser-chan!

↳ DIRECTORY

Nine petals and counting.

Y/N rested her hands on the sides of the vinyl bathroom sink, head tilted downwards, towards the view of red. Solids and liquids approached the drain, a mix of flowers and blood escaping from her body.

Ten, eleven, twelve. It was unstoppable, the amount of love she was losing, the amount of strength she had to go on. Her legs felt weak, frail in comparison to her usual tenacity and vigor on the side of the court.

She hadn’t been able to manage the volleyball team in weeks, nearing months. Her physical health had wavered, forcing her to resign from her post. Forcing her responsibilities on their coach, her boys having to fend for themselves for the first time since she was fifteen.

Loneliness was all Y/N knew, though she was still an avid student and classmate. It was all she’d felt in the past days, isolated from her friends, her classmates, even him.

Even Kuroo.

It wasn’t that she wanted to be apart from him, from his humor, his laugh, the overwhelming feeling of warmth that he brought to her life. He was her sun amongst Toyko’s sea of stars—but he couldn’t see her like this.

He couldn’t see the blood stains, the coughing fits, the garden of flowers that grew from her throat. She was a mess and he was him, the very person that caused her this horrid disease. The very person that she loved more than anyone in the entire world.

Hanahaki wasn’t uncommon in their town, nearly a quarter of Nekoma High suffered from it in some type of way. It was truly an enigma, a confusion turned infection that made no sense to the human mind.

Y/N had tried to re-work her diagnosis for years, since the first few weeks she’d had it—and despite her knowledge of anatomy and biology, there was no solution to her dilemma, there was no true scientific cure.

And over time, she and Kuroo had come to realize that. While they worked and worked for a way to rid her of the thorns, there was nothing they could do as he didn’t know who her love was.

He didn’t know that no matter how many nights he stayed up beside her, chin rested over her shoulder, arms wrapped around her torso—no matter how much he tried to relieve her of her pain, he only made it worse.

He wanted to help, she knew that he wanted to help in any way that he could—but it was no use. All he’d ever be able to do is watch in sympathy as she’d run out of their classroom and back into the hole that was the public girl’s restroom.

Kuroo was the best person Y/N knew, which was all the more reason that he had to stay out, that he needed to give her space during this time. The disaster that was hanahaki couldn’t infiltrate his life, Y/N wouldn’t let it, he didn’t deserve the pressure—the pressure of loving her.

Thirteen, fourteen, to nothing.

Relief began to overcome her lungs, oxygen filling her veins, the thorn-covered vines retreated back to the place in which they came. It was as if the sun had finally showered through the clouds, giving Y/N the light that she so desperately needed.

Her flowers were strange in comparison to the stories she and Kuroo had read online. Rather than continuous, straight lines of blood and blossoms—her roses were sporadic and unpredictable.

There’d be times where she’d be stuck in the restroom for the entirety of the day, throwing up due to her rib cage cramping and rolling over itself—or she’d be perfectly fine, with all the energy in the world.

Those days were her favorite. The day’s where she and Kuroo would scream at the top of their lungs. Where he’d spin her around and wrap her up in the tightest hug he could muster. Where he’d smile at her as if she wasn’t only his best friend—as if he loved her.

But he didn’t. He didn’t love her, not in the way she wanted at least.

A light sigh escaped Y/N’s lips, her quivering body stilling as she finally took a look towards her reflection. She’d been staring at the pile of scarlet for nearly a half-an-hour, trying her best not to lose count of her trauma.

Fifteen petals was all it took to uproot her day, dwindle her time with Kuroo down to nothing. It was embarrassing, truly.—that her soul was controlled by a mere rose.

Color slowly returned to her cheeks, flushed shades of pink mocking her with their rosy hue, red lighting up the tip of her nose. Her eyes were weary, blurry from the amount of tears she’d shed, the same tears that had meshed with the running tap water. 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N let go of the sink. She let go of the safety of her reflection, the safety of knowing that she was the only person who’d ever see herself this way, completely derailed by love.

Stepping into the real world, the world of judgement from classmates and concerned advisors, she hastily left the bathroom—only for a large, calloused hand to wrap itself around her forearm.

As she rolled her eyes, turning to face her captor, Y/N raised her palm and flicked her best friend right between his eyebrows. “You waited?” She suppressed a grin, stifling a laugh at the sight of his mocking pout. 

“Seems like fan behavior to me, Kuroo.”

He frowned at her words, picking her up with ease as he made his way down the now empty hallways. Y/N squealed, despite being used to his relentless strength, there would never be a time in which she’d expect him to throw her over his shoulder. 

Holding her legs whilst supporting her waist, he nodded with a troublesome smile at any of their classmates who’d so happened to remain after the school bell had rung—to which they’d respond with a simple shake of the head, amused at the sight of Nekoma High’s infamous best friends.

“Fan behavior, huh?” Kuroo spun dramatically as they reached the parking lot, nearly throwing Y/N into the passenger seat of his car, her designated spot. The place where no person, not even Kenma, was allowed to sit.

He instinctively buckled her seatbelt, knowing that she must’ve felt weak and nauseous due to the stress her body had been under only ten minutes prior, before settling himself behind the wheel.

A bright beam overcame his features, practically spreading across his entire face as her eyes met his. “Where to next?” Y/N asked, fingers fiddling with the different radio channels, deciding on a soft indie-station.

“Home.” He replied, taking a hold of the hand she’d placed over the volume nozzle, allowing them to turn up the song together. Though it was brief, him releasing her touch after seconds, it was moments like this where she considered the theory that perhaps she did hold a place in his heart. 

She shook her head, forcing the absurd thought away and rolling her eyes once again at the utter ridiculousness that was Kuroo Tetsurou. She leaned back into the soft leather of her seat, deadpanning at his words. “Your home. You act as if I live there.”

“You practically do,” he quipped back with ease, hair pressed against the chair’s headrest, smothering the thick black peaks, “What’s mine is yours, Y/N. There’s nothing I’d ever keep from you.”

“You deserve the world, and I’m going to give you every little bit of this world that I can.”

Her lips pursed into a tight smile, internally punching herself at the sweetness in his voice, the purity that he managed to sop into every word. Looking away from his gorgeous face, gaze retreating to the bustling city around them, Y/N contemplated his promise. 

It was impossible, the idea that he’d proposed. The thing that he vowed to her in the mornings, afternoons, and nights. The concept that she always loved to hear roll off of his tongue, but also wanted to throw out her open window. 

After all, how would Kuroo ever be able to give her the world—when her world was entirely him?

While his house was practically her second home, Y/N always seemed to notice the residence beside it before anything else.

As they pulled up in the driveway, Kuroo carefully parking his car between the stone gate and his grandfather’s buggy, both of their ears perked to the familiar sound of none other than Kozume Kenma. 

“You’re spending the night again?” He questioned peering over the fence, recognizing the extra duffel packed along with Y/N’s school bag. “You were just over last week. You’d think you guys would be sick of each other by now.”

Kuroo shook his head, making his way around the hood and opening the passenger door. “No way, pudding head.” He shouted, resting his elbow on the roof whilst slinging the small pack over his shoulder. “Only thing I’d ever get sick of is your cute little attitude.”

Y/N giggled, squinting her eyes to see the nonchalant expression that was undoubtedly gracing Kenma’s features. She wasn’t exactly close with him, having little to nothing in common other than their giant of a friend, but still held great respect for his dedication. 

Dedication as in the value to which he held his friendship with Kuroo.

Though she’d known their captain longer, there were times in which she wasn’t able to be by his side during matches or breakdowns. This usually having to do with her hanahaki forcing her to be immobile.

But it always turned out alright, since Kenma was there. He was always there to help, even when she’d forget to send him a warning text message or quick heads up. He was reliable as he was pessimistic, a truly unconventional friend that Y/N would be grateful for until the very end.

As Kuroo took her bags inside the house, insisting that he had to help even though she claimed that her muscles were feeling perfectly fine, Y/N waved to the younger boy, casually approaching his small figure.

Her steps were small, fallen leaves crunching beneath the soles of her sneakers. Autumn was beautiful this year, the oranges and yellows mixing together like the perfect sunset.

It was complementary, the colors—they reflected the sky in a dream-like synchronization. The last time fall had landed upon Japan, she and Kuroo had spent the entire day nestled together, jumping in the multiple piles of leaves and sipping spiced drinks by the fireplace.

While the memories were happy and nostalgic, they were a distraction. Nothing but recollections of false hope and ideologies that she’d ingrained into her brain as convincing factors that he did indeed love her—that he had just an inch of his heart that was completely reserved for her.

Kenma immediately opened his mouth, interrupting Y/N before she could ask him all about how his school day had gone. Her jaw dropped, the statement being said was unexpected, out of box in the current moment of relaxation.

“You still have hanahaki.” He looked straight into her eyes as if he were challenging her. If Y/N could see into his brain, there was no doubt that the gears would be turning rapidly in synchrony. “You’ve had it for years, Y/N. A normal person would’ve given up by now.”

She frowned, her lips curving into a downward arc, slightly appalled by the bluntness of his words, before furrowing her brows while she came up with an understandable response.

Her relationship with Kenma was civil, never straying from one of acquaintances, but there were sparse moments like this in which he’d blatantly say something personal—something that made her think that he knew more than he was letting on.

“I don’t think my case falls under the normal category.” Y/N whispered, choosing to reply with honesty over falsehood, while both of their gazes fled to Kuroo, who’d cheered as he successfully managed to unlock the front door with his hands full of bags. 

“You don’t have to worry about him,” she continued with a love-struck radiance. As if on natural instinct, her legs began to move towards the person that was her heart, abandoning Kenma to his side of the fence. 

With one final glance, she saw him nod at her last words. The words that she repeated to herself every time her flowers became too much, every time she needed to remember why she was here in the first place.

“As long as I’m still breathing, he’s got me.” She called out, chest warming at the sight of her little friend’s approval. The approval that meant more to her than any test grade or big win. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Heads up!” 

Before she could blink an eye, Y/N’s vision was covered by the thin grey fabric of Kuroo’s massive t-shirt. It draped over her head like a sheet in the night, the smell being clean and comforting, completely and utterly him.

Reaching up to take hold of the borrowed garment, she shoved his chest, feeling the vibrations of laughter rolling off of him in contagious waves. Despite how much he annoyed her, he could be quite amusing at times.

Their dynamic had always been an interesting one. Her being more logical and serious, whilst he was carefree and witty. They weren’t an obvious pair of best friends, but they did have the important things in common.

That being the value of hard work and dedication, whether that came to school assignments or volleyball—they both knew the true meaning of ambition and success, and would do anything to help the other achieve their dreams.

Opening the door to the guest bathroom, Y/N slipped Kuroo’s shirt over the tank top she’d been wearing, stripping herself of her undergarments beneath the endless fabric. She tossed her clothes into her duffel, zipping it tightly and placing it on the floor.

The Kuroo household was a place she was comfortable in, having been friends with the boy for nearly all of her life. It wasn’t uncommon for her to stop by and stay for dinner or overnight, considering his family adored her and considered her one of their own.

In their first year of high school, she’d spent a total of one-hundred and twenty nights wrapped up in his arms before his grandparents had decided to permanently mark the guest bedroom as her’s. 

Though she’d grown accustomed to the warmth of her best friend’s comforter, Y/N did have to admit that it was nice to have her own space. Her own space that also gave her the luxury of having the person she loved only one wall away.

As she dug through the right-hand drawer for the toothbrush and toothpaste that she always stored in the case that she’d be staying overnight, a rhythm of knocks ricocheted off of the hard wood.

“You ready?” She called out, walking past the sliding shower doors and turning the small door-knob. “I was just about to brush my teeth,” her words continued, stopping as she came face-to-face with her favorite giant. 

His smile was cheeky, mischief seemingly on his mind as he held up his own set of tools. “You waited for me, Y/N?” A sly smirk crept on his face, her words from earlier coming back to bite her in the butt. “Seems a little like fan behavior to me.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stepped aside, making room for his ginormous body in the quaint bathroom. The countertop wasn’t exactly large, having just enough space for the two of them to stand beside one another with their arms touching as they looked into their reflections.

Her eyes seemed distant, even to herself. The usual livelihood that inhabited her irises was absent, replaced with fragments of the person she once was, the person that had been overshadowed by dirt and disease.

Resentment was the only emotion she displayed, hatred for the pathetic reasoning behind her pain, the putrid dreams she wished would come true—but as Y/N looked away from the stress and worry, she saw him. She saw Kuroo.

Unlike her, his gaze wasn’t resting on himself. His eyes weren’t immediately attracted to his own appearance, choosing to lay on Y/N instead. His neck was angled down, a soft expression gracing his face while he simply admired her.

While he admired her like a boy in love.

They held eye contact for a brief moment, neither one wanting to end the intimate interaction, before he broke away. He snapped out of his trance, hands subconsciously reaching for the tube of toothpaste that had been forgotten by both minds. 

As they began to brush their teeth, Kuroo played troublemaker. Whether that meant making faces or mimicking Y/N’s actions, he found endless ways to humor her, wanting to see the smile on her face as she flipped him off.

The laughter wheezing from her lips was infectious, her body doubling over, forcing heavy chuckles from her love as well. It was a sight to see, two high schoolers in a minimal-sized bathroom, overcome with a fit of giggles—but that was simply them. It was simply Y/N and Kuroo.

With a mouth full of foam, she leaned past him and over the sink, expecting to see a mix of bubbles and white—only to be gifted with the mood-killing sight of blood and blossoms. 

She choked, gasping for air as the small roses fell from her throat. “Please,” she cried, gripping the ledge of the counter with a killer grasp, gesturing for Kuroo to leave the room. “I can’t breathe.”

But he didn’t listen, he didn’t leave. He didn’t cover his eyes and walk away like he normally did, respecting her wishes that he would never see her like this—like a complete and utter mess.

As her airway began to clear, her smiles turned to frowns, embarrassed of what he’d seen, the proof of her never-ending infatuation. However, Kuroo didn’t seem phased. He glanced at the flowers as if they were nothing, as if they weren’t a foul sight in itself.

He turned the faucet on, washing them away from her view, forcing the spray roses to dissolve and wither above the drain—and for some odd reason, Y/N’s heart hurt at his actions. 

It was the first time in months that he’d been present during one of her uproars. The first time in months that he had to see what she went through on a nearly daily basis, and he didn’t even blink an eye.

He looked at the physical representation of her love like it didn’t matter, like it was a pest that he had to kill. Like an unintentional rejection that his instincts dictated, a rejection that she feared for every moment of every day.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N muttered, refusing to meet the concern in his gaze. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the inevitable judgement that she expected to come from his way—only to feel his rough hand take a hold of her chin, tilting it upwards towards his face.

Nothing was said, no remarks came from his end. Instead, he wordlessly stole the hand towel that’d been hanging on the shower door and dabbed away the blood that had soaked into the skin beneath her lips. 

He was unreadable.

No matter how hard she tried to analyze his thoughts, his actions, his posture; a blank canvas was all she’d painted. She wanted to keep apologizing for the things that were out of her control, but as she opened her mouth to speak, he interrupted with a question that she’d never expected to hear.

“If it weren’t for your hanahaki,” he began, brows furrowed in concentration, not allowing Y/N to pin-point what he was so focused on, if it was the disease or herself. “Do you think you’d know that you love them?”

“You know, your person?”

Her response was momentary, the gears in her brain working on overtime as she tried to find the meaning behind his words. Why the sudden curiosity? Did he have hanahaki? Was there someone he loved? 

Clearing her throat, making sure that there was no evidence of her accident, Y/N began to speak slowly. “Being in love is more than just a disease, Kuroo. It can’t be dimmed down to a single flower or infection.”

“I love him enough to put myself through pressure every day. I love him so much that it physically hurts me to think about him. He brings a light to this darkness that no other person can outshine—”

“—and I’d never give up on him.” Glass covered her eyes, tears struggling to roll down her cheeks as her peripheral vision grew blurry. In the midst of her tangent, Kuroo had pressed Y/N against his chest, rubbing her back in soft circles.

“He’s the other half of me, my true equal.” Bitterness was being laced in her tone, the irony of it all settling in. It was unfair. Her describing her everlasting love for the boy she’d do anything for. He was right beside her, and yet he seemed miles away.

“I’d know love for him even if I was healthy. Even if we were strangers, worlds apart.” Choking back the last of her cries, Y/N bit her lip, pushing away the warmth of his chest. “Trust me, Kuroo. You’d know if you were in love.”

For once in his life, he had no words. No comments or remarks that he was dying to say. His only response was a nod of the head, a curt acknowledgement of her feelings, before he turned and said a brief goodnight.

Before he turned and left Y/N with nothing but confusion, thoughts that would keep her restless and awake throughout the night. Itching concerns to creep up her veins and into her dreams.

If only he loved her, then all of this could’ve been avoided. If only he had asked her who her hanahaki was for, then maybe she would’ve confessed. Perhaps she’d be free and untethered from her illness. 

But he didn’t ask, and she didn’t confess. All she was left with was broken fragments of care, leftovers of love that she received through twisted questions and wonder. 

All she was left with was half of a heart, that would never find its whole.

2AM.

It was nearly two in the morning and Y/N was restless, chasing sleep like it was an everlasting punishment. Slumber being within her grasp, but stolen, kidnapped by the stress and worries that were Kuroo Tetsurou. 

Her mind was moving at a million miles per hour, overthinking and overworking the question that he’d asked her in the midst of their nightly routine. The curiosity that had somehow overcome his usual vigor and happiness. 

Panic settled in her throat, the feeling of thorns and stems inching their way up her neck and touching her tongue. She needed water, anything that could suppress the punishment for feeling love. 

Swinging her legs over the side of the queen-sized mattress, Y/N shivered as her feet touched the cold floor. Her steps were light, trying her best to be completely silent, not wanting to disturb the actual members of the household.

The trip to the kitchen was short. An easy route for her after having taken many midnights trips before, since her hanahaki always seemed to act up whenever she stayed overnight. 

Finding a small glass and filling it to the brim with tap water, Y/N gulped it down, savoring every last bit as if there was no other substance on Earth. The liquid ran down her throat, pushing past the vines and forcing them into their home that was her heart. 

“You’re up late.” 

Y/N jumped, nearly smashing the cup on the counter as the familiar voice of Kuroo’s obaachan crept up from behind her. She sighed, taking a deep breath before facing the old woman.

Her relationship with his family had grown extremely close in the years that they’d known each other. She was practically considered a member of the family, them always wanting her around no matter what the circumstances were.

But she and obaachan were different compared to how she bonded with the Kuroo men. Unlike the others, his grandmother was observant, knowing of the love that Y/N had for her favorite boy. Knowing of the cause of her hanahaki.

“Obaachan.” She greeted her weakly, holding up the glass as an excuse for the timing of their interaction. “I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to cause any havoc.”

The old woman simply smiled, approaching Y/N with a loving hand and placing it on her shoulder in comfort. “It’s alright dear,” she squeezed her palm, feeling the younger girl’s struggling heartbeat. “It’s not your fault.”

Y/N grimaced, shaking her head in defeat. “But it is,” she admitted. She’d always take blame for her hanahaki. It was a virus in not only her life, but everyone around her. “It’s my fault that I’m unwell.”

“No, dear.” Obaachan cupped her hands around her cheeks, challenging her eyes, not taking her answer or excuses. A sad smile graced her lips, sorrow in her irises. “You’re not unwell..you’re in love.”

Tears grew from the corners of Y/N’s sockets, waterworks beginning to roll down her cheeks at the familiar feeling of the comforting touch of a Kuroo. She broke down, her walls shattering in front of the only person who understood. The only person who would truly listen. 

“Why won’t he love me?” She cried out, pain overtaking her whole body. The pent up emotions were collapsing like tidal waves, storming throughout her heart. “Why won’t I ever deserve him?”

Concern furrowed in the older woman’s brows at the sight of Y/N breaking down. Her grandson’s best friend was one of the strongest people she knew, and knowing that her struggles were this great was indescribably disheartening. 

“My Tetsurou has been a caretaker all of his life,” she started, gently speaking in languid sentences, doing her best to keep Y/N’s attention on her and not her pain. “Whether it was for me, my husband, or Kenma—he takes on more responsibility than he can handle.”

“His heart is so big, so full of love for everyone other than himself.” She continued, her words beginning to settle in Y/N’s mind. “And in the midst of that, I don’t think he realizes that he’s capable of experiencing love as well.”

“He doesn’t realize that everything he could ever want is standing right in front of him.”

Obaachan was whispering now, her voice being soft but commanding. It was frightening, the passion that she held for her grandson. The passion that she held for her dreams of his happiness. Her dreams of him finding his true love.

“While love is a chemical feeling, it has no chemical solution.” Y/N swallowed hard, taking in every single thing she was saying. Letting her statements ingrain themselves into her memory. “This disease doesn’t define your future, my dear.”

“Whomever you choose to love will be lucky, Y/N—but I have to say, I truly hope that my Tetsurou has luck on his side.”

It’d been almost a month since the fateful overnight encounter, Obbachan’s words playing on repeat, over and over again until they grew tiresome. The idea that Kuroo could perhaps love her was haunting, terrorizing her very soul. 

Despite the shift in their energy, the elephant in the room being his unexpected question and her never ending response, their friendship continued on like normal.

They’d go to school, spend time together afterwards, perhaps even have a sleepover, and repeat. It was all the same, not a thing out of place except for a major detail that couldn’t be explained. 

The presence of Y/N’s hanahaki was little to none.

Her flowers decreased, the numbers becoming smaller and smaller every single time she took the time to count. The disease that had become a constant in her life had suddenly disappeared, confusing her to a maximum.

She didn’t feel like she’d fallen out of love for Kuroo, there was still a large part of her heart that was reserved for him and only him—yet her roses were invisible, the trips to the bathroom were down to none. 

And while those statistics had fallen, the number of quick glances, stolen touches, and late night conversations had increased. She and Kuroo did everything together before, but now it was as if they were inseparable at all times.

It was as if his heart had finally opened up, accepted her presence and locked it into place, never wanting to let it go. Y/N couldn’t determine what had gotten into him, what made the sudden change in behavior.

But her flowers were gone and her love still remained. All that needed to be said was a confession, a confession of the love that she hoped was mutual. The one-sided love that she’d secretly harbored for years on years.

Mindlessly walking down the school hallway, passing by classmates and advisors, Y/N contemplated the future of her and Kuroo’s relationship. The future of her heart and if it would ever find its other half. The other half that so happened to take a hold of her hand at that very moment.

Kuroo seemed on edge, his heartbeat was quick, throbbing against Y/N’s palm as he dragged her towards the closest empty classroom. Without warning he closed the door, drowning out the scattered noises of everyone on the other side of the wall.

“Hey.” He said, breathing heavily. His shoulders were rising and falling, his breaths deep as if he’d just ran a marathon on his path to retrieve her. “I really needed to talk to you.”

Y/N almost toppled over, the strength of his grasp tripping and unbalancing her body. As her vision began to stabilize, wobbly from the sprint, she took notice of the classroom he’d brought her to.

Flowers lined the walls and ceilings, potted plants hanging from the wooden beams and arches. Soil was sprinkled over the floorboards, various footprints etched into the dirt. 

He’d taken her to the floriculture classroom—the classroom for the study of flowers.

Silence overcame them for a moment, neither one speaking a single word as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes. Her confession was at the tip of her tongue, ready to be said, ready to be spoken into existence—but Kuroo spoke first.

“I’ve never had it.” He simply said, his mouth pursed and head towering over her. Before she could respond, asking him what in the world he was talking about, he continued. “Hanahaki. I’ve never had it.”

Biting his lips, Kuroo took her hands in his once more. Rubbing her palms with his calloused fingertips, easing away her confusion and speaking his feelings with his entire heart weighed into them.

“All this time, for all these years, I thought that I’d never known love.” His brows furrowed in concentration, and for the first time, Y/N could tell what he was so focused on. It was her. 

“I asked you how you knew that you were in love, flowers or not, and the way you described that feeling..it was familiar. It was something that I’d felt before, something that I felt all of the time.”

“Something that I felt all of the time for you.”

Y/N was at a loss for words, the confession that she’d always wanted to say being said to her. The very moment that she’d dreamed of was actually coming true, it was actually happening right in front of her eyes. It wasn’t her imagination—it was real. Kuroo loved her.

The smile spread across her face was more than enough to ease his nerves, her teeth were so bright they could’ve been compared to the sun. He couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she looked, how she was his sun.

“I’m so sorry my love hasn’t been constant, Y/N. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize the patterns, how your hanahaki came and went. It was my fault you’ve gone through so much pain.”

“But even here,” he whispered, pulling her close. His arms wrapped themselves around her body, his nose being mere inches away from hers. “With all of the flowers anyone could ever ask for, the only one that matters is you.”

She could feel his breath now, the soft breeze against her cheeks. Her body wanted to surge forward, connect their lips in a final confirmation of their feelings. She wanted the kiss with Kuroo that she’d been waiting for for her entire life. 

“I love you.” He admitted, not waiting for her response before pressing his mouth to hers.

His smile could be felt between their lips, moving continuously as if they didn’t need any air to breathe. After all, they really only needed each other—Kuroo was the missing piece to Y/N’s puzzle, her heart was finally whole.

As they broke apart, love radiating off of them in contagious waves, overwhelming the room, igniting the aura—a cheeky grin grew on her new lover’s face. 

He plucked a flower from the pot behind her head, presenting it with a laugh at the sight of her rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. Although she found him to be ridiculous, she accepted it gratefully—loving the new chapter that they were about to embark on.

“I heard you like roses?”

© aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy or claim my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers as your own

[alecxaheart]

Falls At 4419 | Bang Chan Oneshot

✎ Genre : Strangers to Lovers AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 2.1k words

✎ Synopsis : Who could've thought that your ride to love life starts at a bus stop.

✎ Requested.

You had the usual tiring daily routine for the rest of your life. Your weekday mornings start with your alarm clock greeting you "good morning" in the most annoying beeping way as possible. What a gentle reminder, too, to tell you that it's almost time for work.

" Work again? " you groaned at the thought, hands reaching out to the bedside table to turn off the alarm.  Once you did, you forced yourself out of the bed and start preparing for today.

You were completely exhausted due to the stack of work your boss gives you.

It's to the point that it made you sleep deprived, haggard or just messy in general. You don't even know if you ever managed to cover all of that, physically, with make-up. However, when it came to your words and actions, it's noticeable when one paid attention. It's a good thing that Ms. Han was blind to that, or else you'll be told that you're lacking and higher chances of you getting fired.

But aside from every negative thing about your occupation, so far your performances were praised by your co-workers. Salary has never been a problem, in fact, you've been paid higher than expected. Maybe it's from the plus being Ms. Han's pet-sitter — for the love of all things, it had to be a cat.

You're almost done preparing for work. With your feet taking a quick slip into your black heels, you're on your way out of the house. Clacking noises could be heard each time your heels meet the pavement.

As you were headed towards the bus stop, you felt something vibrating from your purse. Opening it, you found your phone ringing. The caller ID displays the name of your boss, Ms. Han. What could be the kind of good morning greeting I'll receive from her today?

You answered it and placed it to your right ear, immediately hearing your name. " Assistant (L/N) (Y/N)! " Ms. Han called out through the other line.

" Good morning to you too, Ms. Han. You have matters to discuss with me at this time? " You replied, stopping at your tracks as you've reached the bus stop. All you need to do now is wait for the bus and keep yourself together with whatever Ms. Han may throw at you.

" I'm assuming you've already done the project for today, " You hummed in response. There was sound of a slight slip from the other line, you assumed that Ms. Han was drinking tea. " Make sure to deliver that presentation well. After that, I want you to attend the board meeting this afternoon on my behalf. Send them my sincere apologies for I have other more important business matters. "

So much for being trustworthy..

" Noted, Ms. Han. " Your ride finally came. Once it opened it's doors, you hopped in and tapped your card at a machine.

" Also, fix this week's schedule. Cancel everything on Friday, " Ms. Han added. You ended up seating at the very end of the bus, beside the window. It just happened to be the only row of seats that's vacant.

" Got it, Ms. Han. Anything else? "

" Ah, right. After the board meeting, take care of Eliza, " Her cat – you should've seen that coming. " Don't worry about the ride to my house, my driver will be picking you up. " She continued, taking one more sip at her tea. The ride was never a problem, but her cat is. Nevertheless, you accepted it since you both needed the job and money.

It didn't took that long until the conversation finally ended. When she hung up, you deeply sighed and looked out of the window. Spring was almost over, the atmosphere started to get colder. The cherry blossom trees began to slowly wither, every petal that has fallen decorated the road and sidewalk. It was both exquisite yet melancholic. Could you ever compare yourself as a cherry blossom? To bloom all over again yet someday, you'll wither once again. Possibly.

As you were gazing outside, your eyes widened as you saw someone else's reflection who sat beside you. His airpods plugged in his ears as he bobbed his head to the beat. You never knew or felt that his presence is already there, not until right now.

He's the same guy you meet each day whenever you took this bus. To be honest, he's eye-catching ever since the first time you saw him. He had the usual black outfit. Curly brunette headed, tall nose, dazzling dark brown orbs, lips — Okay, let's stop fawning over him. In conclusion, he has very well defined facial features. It was obvious that he's one of God's masterpiece, many should've envied him with that.

Despite of him always being your seatmate when the seat next to yours is vacant, you both never conversed with one another. Even with him having an eye for you from the start, no one even dared to start one.

Although, maybe today's a bit different.

The bus abruptly stopped in its tracks as the stop light just switched to red. The driver groaned and scratched the back of his neck.

At the back of the bus, there's you who is silently staring at the window. Awfully close to the window. However, when the bus hit the brakes, your forehead bumped onto the glass. " Ouch! " You groaned in pain as you held your forehead, checking if it bled and to ease the pain. The curly brunette noticed this and paused the music he's playing on the phone. He shifted in his seat to face you, " Are you okay? ". Your eyes met his worrisome ones and it made your heart skip a beat. He's more dashing when he's this close to you. It also made you more timid towards him that you began to stutter, " I- I guess I'm okay.. ".

" Let me see, " He reached out to your hand that's covering your forehead. His hand accidentally touched the sore part in the process, causing you to wince in pain. He whispered an apology before carefully taking your hand off and scan your forehead. He sighed in relief, " Thankfully, it wasn't such a big impact but it did turn red. You can place ice or put an ointment on it as soon as you get off, ok? " You responded with small nod and smile, your heart melting at his kindness.

He carefully placed his hand on your head and light pushed it back, gesturing you to rest. You gladly complied and he smiled, showing his dimples. It was cute, you thought.

" Does it still hurt? " He asked.

" A bit but bearable, " You replied, closing your eyes.

" How about a small talk to distract you from the pain? "

" Sounds good to me. "

" My name's Chan, you? "

" The name's (Y/N). It's nice to finally know you, Chan. "

And that's how everything started to blossom, at the end of Spring.

After that day, you started to anticipate what's going to happen on the next days that you never complained about the annoying beeping clock at dawn ever again. Especially and specifically, on the bus. Your mornings now start with you enthusiastically getting up and preparing for work. Chan happened to bring more interest into your life.

You don't know what kind of sorcery Chan does to always know how to remove your stress or just to make your days better in general. However, you don't mind it. Instead, you're really thankful for it.

You blossomed more in Fall, like a cosmos flower. You bloomed while the rest withered.

You excelled so much at work. The company was at its rough times, yet you handled everything outstandingly that you were praised by the whole company. Even Chan was happy for you, which mattered to you most.

" I knew you were exceptional ever since the beginning, " He murmured while hugging you securely, smiling. You, too, smiled brightly and blushed at that.

It's not only you who blossomed this fall. Your love, too, bloomed in Fall.

You never knew that the potential crush you had for Chan back when he was just a seatmate at the bus would grow. You fell head over heels for his giggles, smiles, kindness, goofiness, just for him. It keeps getting stronger as more time passes that you couldn't control it anymore. This was a first ever since you started working. You never really paid attention to your love life since work was always in the way. You're foreign to this feeling, you're clueless on how to handle it.

This love is the most amazing feeling, you'd be honest. Yet you fear that you'll be rejected or wouldn't be loved back. Then love would be the worst feeling.

Although, your faith and hope will never be taken away from you until the day hasn't came yet, until there's a possibility. You'll keep hoping on his small gestures you'd like to think are hints. You'll put your love for him in the hands of faith. And with that, you became patient with him. Waiting for the time that the true feelings will start to unveil.

______________________________

찬의

Channie

Hey (Y/N)

Are you done with work?

Almost

Why do you ask?

I'll pick you up, ok?

I'm on my way there.

'That's first, yet weird.

But I don't mind.'

Alright, be careful

Seen 7:02PM

______________________________

A month has passed, you two grew closer than ever. Yet occassionally, there would be a hint of awkwardness between the two of you. One would act weirdly, stutter or get nervous around one another. You hoped that it wouldn't ruin your friendship. You valued this friendship more than anything else.

Heading towards the front doors of this company, you could see Chan's figure on the other side. Waiting for you to come out. Once you did, he turned to face you and greet you with a sweet smile. You smiled back. " Let's go? " He said as he offered you his hand. You nodded and timidly took it into yours. That's another first.

Both of you exchanged the usual conversation. Asking about each other's day, telling short stories, joking once in a while, then some comfortable silence here and there, it felt just right. It's already dark out, the city light and streetlights being the only source of light, while the moon is having the pitch black sky to itself. The streets aren't as busy as it was in the daylight. You could hear the rustling and crunching of autumn leaves as it was carried by the wind or getting stepped on.

The two of you eventually reached the bus stop, taking a seat as you wait for a bus. " Do you know the number that bus has? " Chan asked out of the blue, eyes boring on the street. You hummed in confusion, he chuckled. " The bus we always took, especially in the mornings. "

" Ohh.. To be honest, I'm completely unaware of that. " You answered, scratching the back of your neck. Once more, he chuckled then gazed at you while your attention was somewhere else. A bus was coming in your peripheral vision. Once it was in front of you, you scanned for it's number. At the very end, it's written..

" 4419, " You turned to Chan, only to find him staring at you with adoration. You two stayed like that for a few minutes. His eyes were so soft, looking ever so luminous and sparkling underneath the light. He took out a flower he plucked from earlier, placing it behind your ear. Not even tearing his eyes away from yours. " Beautiful, like a cosmos flower, " He whispered, but it was enough for you to hear it clearly. You've felt like you're continously falling, yet Chan still has his grip on you. The same grip when he first held your hand back when you've bumped your forehead on the bus. Loving, gentle yet firm. Telling that he's willing to fall with you. " I love you, (Y/N). "

With just those 4 words, you were filled with so much joy and shock. You froze on your seat. For a second you panicked on what's the right word to say, asking if an I love you too was enough or is it already too redundant.

Although you knew that Chan's anticipating an answer as the clock continues to tick, and waiting is dreadful. Chan will love and cherish anything you say to him. Just the thought of you being truly his will bring him genuine happiness, and that's enough. No need for further more explanations. Then you've came to the conclusion, that there's no other words that best describes your true feelings for him. Simple yet genuine, " I love you too, Chan. "

Now, a love fully blossomed at the end of Falls.

End.

[danddymaro]

Resistance | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Anime Abba if no one minds; Just an advance since I know the manga and anime have different color schemes.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word count :  3229

 After the fight With Illuso Abbacchio can no longer hold back 

 Stay Back

 His glazed, golden eyes stayed trained right ahead as his body sluggishly slumped over the brick wall. He struggled to stay upright, somehow pushing past the overbearing pain for just a moment longer as the strength of the human spirit coursed on within his tired, worn being long after he’d accepted his fate.

Like a traveling sludge, he'd left a sticky trail behind, one that would be evidence of his sacrifice, all of which would be the only thing left behind aside from his cold carcass,

And he was fine with things being left as they were; so long as the mission was a success.

After all, they'd gotten the key, and as messy as things got, it was a win in his book.

' That's all that matters… ' he thought with content, struggling to breath, his sight beginning to blur as occasional little black splotches scattered across his hazy vision,

"Yeah...At least… At least I did that right," he thought with a snicker, albeit a rather bitter one, humored that while his life had been a waste, he’d done just one thing successfully,

'But...there's just one thing…' he thought to himself, chuckling wearily at the recollection of a rather dejected face he’d last seen, deeply wishing that hadn’t been his last memory of her, but somehow grateful that it was, because then he could live on with the idea that he died with her resentment.

And maybe then, she wouldn’t miss him. Maybe then he’d only be an ugly memory she’d be willing to forget, finally getting it through her head that he wasn’t ever worth the worry.

“Just stay back!” he barked at her, looking back at her with hardened golden eyes narrowed fiercely at her as she tried to leave along with them.

“Keep watch if you want to feel useful,” he said in an offhand sort of manner, making her face fall, disheartened.

(e/c) colored eyes then hardened as he followed up with more expected backlash, the woman visually preparing herself for his sharp tongue, swallowing it all down with a quiet nod.

“Why the hell Bucciarati insisted on you coming… it's a mystery to me.” He said lowly, completely turning from her by then, not sparing her another glance after the uttered words.

Frowning, Giorno stepped towards her, his hand raised to touch her slumped shoulder before she shook her head, immediately perking,

“Okay!” She agreed, “I’ll stay here!” She chirped, “Abba’s Right,” She went on, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” She added, an undertone of hurt weaved through the façade she put on.

“So you guys go ahead. I’ll take care of things here.”

All the while her eyes were stuck on the other man’s back, watching as he drew further, his shoulders squared and tense as he went in search for the important item, the other two males following in suit, though seeming just as exasperated as her at the elder man’s choice of words.

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Fugo said softly as he walked past her, offering her a lax, apologetic grimace of a smile.

‘You always do,’ (f/n) mused, smiling back nonetheless, finding his effort to help her to be sweet, yet futile because it never changed anything.

‘It won’t change a thing,’ She added, her expression dying as they drew further from her.

She wished it wasn’t so and that somehow, the cycle would cease.

“By now… She should hate me…” Leone said to himself, his heart weighed down by the thought,

'But it's all for the best, ' he silently added, lazily blinking.

‘It’s better you’re not here…It’s better you stayed back,’ he thought with true gratefulness, a shuttered, thankful breath falling past his painted lips.

He thought of her running into the Stand user herself, doubting she’d have any better luck than he did, because after all, her stand wasn’t made much for the offensive, just as his own stand wasn’t.

Hers was meant for love; to care for and tend others. It did wonders on everyone else, the drawback being that the power was useless to her, something that was befitting of such a selfless person.

She could do wonders for others, but not for her own self.

‘And If you were hurt...I just know that bastard Giorno would have the time of his life fixing you up,’ He thought bitterly, hating how close the two had gotten, right from the start,

“It’s nice to have another healer,” she said while showing off a happy, little, quirky smile, one that made Abbacchio’s jaw clench, and seemed to have its own effect on the younger male as well.

Sweetly, Giorno smiled back, a featherlight blush dusting over his features, “(f/n), right?” He said back, meeting her halfway to grasp her hand, the small contact being something the elder man paid attention to keenly because it bothered him so much to see her cozy up to the rookie as though they were old pals.

“ Bucciarati mentioned you briefly.” He revealed to her, making her smile grow,

“Really?” She said surprised, “What did he say?” She asked curiously, wondering just what her Capo had said about her to the rookie.

What was she known for?

“He said well...” Giorno trailed off while suddenly growling nervous as the words formed a knot in his throat, “ Oh well, nothing really!” he insisted, not wanting to repeat that he’d actually referred to her as ‘the pretty, little sweetheart,’ much more, that he’d actually agreed with him the second he found himself locked eyes with her and she smiled to him, seeming to be the most amiable of the group.

It was easy to tell that in some sort of way, Giorno liked her and it irked him. It bothered him even more so to see that not only Giorno showed interest in her, but also had the nerve to go out of his way to make her giggle, finding any excuse to do so, behaving innocent with each attempt, 

"Usually the flowers trail behind you," Giorno started, falling into step with (f/n) as she walked alone, "But today..." he trailed off, humming, "I don't know, " He started, “You don't seem as bright," He added, quirking a brow, stopping right before her, reaching down to lift her chin up.

"It just isn't right," He told her, concerned, the genuine look of worry crossed over his features.

"What do you mean?" (f/n) asked, her dimmed (e/c) colored eyed gleaming up at him, curious as to what he meant.

She knew that perhaps she seemed dull, but to be fair she hadn’t had much sleep to begin with.

"You haven't smiled today," He explained, "which isn't right, as the sun should always shine," He added.

Shaking her head, (f/n) giggled, finding the quirky, little line to be even cornier than Mista’s own cheesy throw-away ones. She was ready to comment on it when his stand appeared before her, the humanoid being’s power at work,

" Giorno," She muttered, watching with growing eyes as a little flower sprouted from the blonde’s hand, the golden, little face of the white petaled blossom facing her,

"Ah...There we go," He mused, a cute, little dust of pink on his own face, chuckling at his own moronic actions.

Perhaps it was over the top, but he knew it would liven her up, and that's all that mattered to him at the moment, because to him, if anyone deserved to have a smile drawn over them, it was the kind woman.

All the while, (f/n) thought of him as sweet, the charming young man being someone she greatly appreciated for his considerate nature, while on the opposite end, the other man in the room brooded, annoyed.

"Tch, " Leone clicked his teeth, his eyes fallen far away from the pair as he ground his teeth together, turning his nose,

'She'll grin at anything he does,' He thought irked. 'She'll just stupidly smile at any shit anyone tells her,' He added, wanting to turn back and eye the cute, little expression, but knowing full well it would scathe him as he remembered just why it existed.

"Shit.." He muttered, trying to push the thought of her away as he realized that she’d yet again invaded every bit of his mind, even during his final moments of what was supposed to be peace.

And it seemed as though somehow, his thoughts had reached her, because before him a small moving blur grew, coming closer to him with hasty speed,

“Abbacchio!” He heard her say, following up with large pants as she knelt before him, immediately falling to both her knees to be more on his level, the skin above both joints burning from the sudden, harsh friction.

He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, the smell very faintly wafting into his nose as she came even closer, slipping through the personal bubble he’d kept himself in. 

During then her (e/c) colored eyes skimmed over him and every beaten bit of him that was visible, visually shaken at the sighed of his missing limb.

'she came…' he thought to himself, 'she….bothered to come…' he added, grimacing.

After he ordered her to stay…

After he'd pushed her away so many times already…

‘You always come to me…’ He said to himself, falling forward, his heavier body almost toppling her over with the sudden action.

"Hey!" She began worriedly, steadying him, slowly easing him back towards the wall to sit upright, “Come on now,” she encouraged him, her comforting smile present as her hands which were firmly placed on his shoulders immediately went to cup his cold cheeks,

“Abba,” She urged him, “ Stay with me,” She added as she gently eased his lolling head straight, trying to get a better look at his paled face with frantic (e/c) colored eyes.

“I’m right here now,” She told him, “ So you're going to be just fine,” She assured him with an unshaken determination.

He squinted, trying to get his eyes to work right, only to find himself stuck on her own shining (e/c) colored gems.

Her (dark/light) eyes looked into him, and as she did so, he felt an electric charge run up his spine at the glance, the powerful bolt that came down on him raking his entire being with unforgiving violence.

He was spiritless in the motion, yet somehow found it in himself to stray his golden orbs away, deciding to not challenge her own look with his own fading will, the man slowly growing even smaller beneath the grace of her sweetly trained stare.

“Quit staring...Quit looking...at me...like that,” He grumbled, savoring down the bitter metallic taste in his mouth, "Tch… you damn idiot," he rasped, slowly shaking his head from her sweet hold, doing so with all the mustered strength he had left.

He couldn't feel anything, and yet it burned, her touch scathed him, the unbearable ache that was present bursting through from deep within his being.

Maybe she was overreacting she reasoned, chuckling wearily, but unable to fight back tears,

“ It’s just...I...I thought I’d come here too late!” She cried out, not able to resist the urge to hold him, latching onto him with desperation, the bloody grime over his body sticking onto her clothing, causing her smell of sweetness to be masked by his pungent gore.

By then his head was pressed to her chest, placed right over her heavily beating heart as she continued to shake, holding on tightly in a desperate embrace, 

“For just a moment there…” She muttered, “ I thought I was going to lose you,” she added, little tears still pricking her eyes as she began to heal him, her (e/c) colored eyes closed as she coddled him.

'stop...stop touching me ...' he thought to himself, his lethargic body beginning to squirm as she tended him, her hold on him remaining unmoved.

'stop crying over me,' he added feeling her tears fall over him, the droplets falling onto his face even after she’d expressed her relief, despite the fact that gradually his body began to feel warm again, function slowly coming back to him.

'stop…' he pleaded, his bottom lip quivering, wanting to snap at her and make her go away altogether.

He could feel his fingers begin to move, his gaze beginning to align right with the more time he spent under her care.

“(F/n),” He rasped lowly, her head rising at the utter of her name as her face lit up the sound of his voice. And it was then that she drew back from him, her brightened eyes gazing into his glowing eyes with expectancy.

(E/c) eyes stared right at him, her face streaked with salty tears and as she saw the dimness from his golden eyes begin to fade, her face lit up with sheer joy,

“Leone,” She said softly, a smile gracing her, very faintly taking over her, "I’m so ha-," she started, cut off as his hand that was now healed, took hold of the back of her head, tightly weaving itself through (h/c) strands as he grabbed her,

"Why don't you just stay away from me?" He said lowly, teeth grit together as he shoved her down, straddling her as he glared down at her, " You shouldn't be here," he reminded her, “remember?” he asked her, having thought he’d been very clear.

“Are you an idiot?” He went on, his grip on her hair bound tight enough that it began to sting, causing her to wince, “If that asshole was around still...what would you have done?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

He thought about it with so much rage it had him shaking,

‘ Don’t you get it? I’m doing this for you!’ He thought to himself with utter frustration. 

All the while her eyes were wide as she wordlessly looked up at him, caught beneath him as he continued to loom over her, the sight making his hold slacken for just a fraction of a second, realizing just what he was doing,

“Damn it (f/n),” He grumbled, continuing to look down at her, completely taken by the sight of her in her current state, his vexation slowly dying out.

Through teary-eyed and bloodied, she seemed beautiful lying beneath him, her (h/c) colored strands caught in his hand and tangled there to create the very same scene he’d selfishly conjured up on more than once occasion.

Mindlessly, his eyes then drew down to her lips, tempted by the sight of their inviting curve and thickness, causing his own to press together with longing.

She was filthy now, drenched in his blood, her back pressed onto the filthy ground as well, and even then, it took nothing away from her beauty and much more, the undeniable attraction he had for her.

“It’s so damn annoying when you think I need you,” He told her, trailing off as he came down closer, his lilac-colored lips almost touching her (color) ones, “...even more annoying when you're right.” He muttered, hating just how perfectly she fit beneath him.

They fit like two puzzle pieces slowly being inched together, and he’d already known it would be the case.

“Leone...I want to tell you I l-”

“I know,” He said quietly, “ I already know,” He told her, his heart racing, not wanting to hear her say it, because he knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he actually heard her say it.

He was currently struggling, unable to function right, and the single admittance would undoubtedly rattle him, making him do something he’d long fought,

“So quit crying. And quite following me around like a lost dog,” He told her, his voice soft, the words meant to be snide, but missed all the bite they needed.

“I...I don’t want you around me,” He struggled to say, biting his lip afterward.

‘You say so.. but you haven't drawn back,’ She noticed, ‘You’re shaking...And all the while your eyes...Your eyes are so soft,’ she mused, a sudden realization falling down upon her with the weight of a ton,

‘...You’ve been doing it purposely.’ she understood, ‘ But you’ve also been hesitant.’ 

"...Why do you do this?" She asked him, her heart heavy as she looked up at him, seeing the same hurt crossed over his features as he tried to push her away yet again.

It was a frail shove, but a sign of resistance nonetheless.

‘Whenever I feel so close to you...Whenever we’re just inches apart, you find a way to drift back away.’ She thought to herself, helpless as she was stuck in the same repeated cycle with him.

Yet again, he was so painfully close, but all the same remaining distant, blocked off as though there was a stone wall between them.

"- It's better," He said to her, though sounding unconvinced.

He shook, his breath being both inhaled and released in the same shaking manner as for just a second, his lips brushed hers, accidentally smudging the soft color of his lips onto hers,

“How?” she dared to ask. 

“ Don’t you get it? I’ve been trying to fight it... But when you go out of your way for me, I just want you more,” He admitted, swallowing down harshly. "So just quit it already," He begged, "Before I regret it...before you regret it too," he added.

"I'd never regret it," She insisted, "because I lo-"

Cutting her off, he smashed his lips to hers, his palms both pressed to her cheeks as he rocked his body to hers, wanting to completely melt over her,

“(f/n)” He said in between the heavy kiss, “What did I tell you,” He panted roughly, his lips trailing down her jaw, falling over the flesh of her neck with long, wet kisses as his hands traveled down to her waist, holding her still.

“Just stop, “ He argued, also being a hypocrite, occupied with trailing his mouth over her, not being the one to draw back instead.

“No..” She breathed, “Because I...I love you.” She said instead, feeling his body suddenly tense, his actions stopping, suspended as he held in a breath.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much Leone,” She said to him, her hands reaching for his long strands of hair, the silky lengths weaved through her fingers before she curled them down to her palms, tugging them whilst he released the air in a small, light groan.

‘And I don’t want to ever lose you,’ She thought to herself, eyes shut tightly as she focused on the feeling of his hands roaming over her body, desperate to grip every bit of her.

As she’d seen him bloody, and barely alive, she knew she couldn’t live without telling him the truth that lay locked within her chest, much more when she began to understand his own reasoning.

“(f/n)...I...I love you too,” He finally admitted, breathing along the side of her neck with tightly shut eyes as the last bit of his resistance died, by then the only thing he held back on was the threatening tears that welled in his eyes as his body relaxed, finally finding ease.

So this was basically Abba the Tsun-Tsun （≧ｙ≦＊）

[thewildomega]

Feral Red Dog Ch.5

Opening your eyes the horror from your dreams faded away. Looking at the wall of the room you blinked. Bright light shinned in from the window facing out towards the garden, the pink petals from the cherry blossom trees floating in the breeze. What time was it? Hearing the ticking of a clock you moved your eyes around until they landed on a clock sitting on the dresser, 11:37? It was nearly noon but you were still so tired. Your body felt heavy and your mind fuzzy. Glancing down you blinked again, no clothes, only a white sheet and duvet covering you. Moving to roll over you hissed through your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut. Oh, oh damn it hurt, everything hurt. Making it to your back something red caught your eye and you turned your head enough to look at it. Red blotches spotted the white bedding, blood. Suddenly it all came back to you. 

You gotten married yesterday. To Sakazuki. Last night was your wedding night. The both of you had... mated... more than once you believed but you couldn't really remember much after the... Pushing your hand up to your neck you felt over the extremely tender wound with your trembling fingers. A bite, he had claimed you. Tears were quickly filling your eyes and rolling down your temples. He had done this, mated you and claimed you all against your will. Feeling your lip tremble you rolled back to your side. 

Crying there for a time you decided it was time to get up but when you moved to stand you choked back a sob. Holding your lower abdomen with your hand when the pain rippled there you paused. Regaining yourself you bit your lip as you pushed yourself to your feet, your legs unsteady. Looking back to the bed you saw more blood stains in the middle where he had taken your virtue. Dropping your head you took in a shaky breath and started towards the bathroom in the hall. Closing the door behind you you turned on the light and lifted your eyes to the mirror but gasped at what you saw. Bruises, bites, handprints, your body was littered with them. Your lips were swollen and red, looked to be a slight bruising to the bottom one as well. Looking down for the first time you noticed the smear of blood on the inside of your thighs. Licking your lips you turned on the water to the shower. 

After taking as hot of a shower as you could manage, scrubbing your body and whimpering when you rubbed over your raw feeling nipples and sex you got out. Drying off and brushing your teeth then hair you wrapped a towel around you, the things huge on you, and headed out towards the bedroom. After remembering that he had moved your clothes you went back into his room and peeked through the drawers until you found your clothes folded up and placed in beside his. Pulling them on proved to be a difficult task, at this point you weren't sure if the bruise there would be from you or him. 

Bathed and dressed you stripped the bed to be washed. You didn't much give a shit about pleasing him but you didn't want to keep looking at the proof of what had happened last night either. It hurt to move around much, your body feeling like you had been ran over by a wagon. After starting the wash you fixed yourself something to drink and a small breakfast. Sitting at the table you chewed your food slowly thinking how in the hell you had ended up in a situation like this. You regretted leaving that island now, you should have just stayed there like Garp and Sengoku had told you to. Sighing you finished the meal and drank the rest of your tea. Just what the hell did you do now?

.....................................

Finishing up with his work a little later than he wanted today he removed his hat long enough to brush his hair back before putting it back on. Stopping on his way home to pick up something for them both to eat since she never seemed to cook a decent meal he continued on his way with the paper bag in hand. Seeing the worker of the ice cream shop closing up for the day he let out a sigh, he should probably pay the young man for the ice cream his omega had stolen. Walking over to him he saw the man look up, his eyes widening a bit before speaking.

"Oh Vice Admiral w..what can I do for you? I was just closing up but if you would like some..."

"No. Yesterday you were yelling about someone running off without paying, a woman. It was my omega... I mean my wife. I assure you I have punished her for her crime and I would like to pay for it now." he told the young man, moving to take out his wallet. 

"Y..your wife? Sir that's not possible I mean... that can't be your wife." Seeing the terrifying man raise his brow he licked his lips. "I think there has been some mix up here sir."

"What do you mean? Yesterday you were yelling about a woman running off without paying and..."

"Sir it wasn't a woman, it was a girl. A little girl and her friend."

"You are sure? My wife said that you gave her the treat...for free."

"Oh yes I remember her, pretty young woman, red hair." he smiled but instantly straightened up when he saw the man's hard eyes. "I mean nothing by it sir. Yes I gave your wife a free sample." 

"Why?" he asked, his voice coming out deeper, the alpha in him thinking this young man was a threat to his omega.

"Well just because sir, she was walking by all by herself and she looked rather lonely so I thought it might help cheer her up. We have a new flavor anyways and sometimes giving out samples helps with business you know." he said with a small grin. "Your wife though she was very kind, kept asking if I was sure it was okay to give her some for free." 

She hadn't stole the ice cream, she wasn't a thief. She kept trying to tell him she hadn't but he didn't believed her, he had just assumed the worst of her. While yes she had left the house when he had told her not to, breaking one of the rules he had set and angering him he still felt guilty now for falsely accusing her. Last night he had even punished her for stealing and then lying about it. After spanking her repeatedly when she kept saying she had cried out what he thought was false innocence she had finally broke and admitted to the crime. But she had been innocent the whole time. "I see." he sighed. 

"I do hope she liked it, I had a big rush come over as soon I gave it to her so I never got to get her opinion on it."

Looking down to his wallet he pulled out a small bill, "I wouldn't know but how about making a small one of the same flavor and I'll let you know what she thinks tomorrow." 

Nodding the young man smiled, "Sure thing." 

Walking into his home with the bag in one hand and the small ice cream in the other he removed his shoes at the door, tossing his hat and keys to the entry table. He could hear the dryer going but that was it. Knitting his brows when something hit his nose he quietly walked into the dining room and stopped when he saw the table set. Two bowls of what sorta looked like beef stir fry and two cups of tea were placed at their spots at the small table. She had made dinner, an actual dinner. He didn't yet know how it tasted but it at least smelled good.

Setting the ice cream and take out on the counter he went in search of his omega wife. She hadn't been in the living room or kitchen, the bathroom door was open and he didn't see her in either of the rooms. He did however notice that the bed had no blankets on it, only sheets. Getting angry at first when the idea that she may have yet again ran away filled his mind he was walking towards the door, about to yell her name when he stopped. Back up a step he turned towards the door to the garden and saw it was partially opened. Sliding the door open the rest of the way he looked outside and saw her there. Walking quietly over to her he saw her laying on her front in the grass with her arms crossed under her head, a book beneath them. One look to her face and he could tell she was sleeping. 

Breathing out he thought of what to do. On one hand he didn't want to wake her, she looked so peaceful right now but on the other she hadn't eaten yet and she was still thin. No he had to wake her, she had to eat. Crouching down beside her he brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen to her face and gently shook her shoulder. "Y/n. Come on wake up." he spoke in a deep low voice but she only groaned in response. Sighing he shook her a little harder. "Omega I said wake up." 

" 'm sleepy." you told the meanie as he tried to wake you, lifting your arm to try and push away his hand that was shaking you. 

Grabbing her wrist he knit his brows at the red area on her palm. "What happened to your hand?"

"Burnt it while cookin' supper." 

Sighing he scooped her up into his arms and stood, feeling her tense and then whine. "Hush, you can sleep after you eat something." Taking her into the dining room he set the book she had been reading on the counter before sitting her in her spot and saw her wince but didn't say anything for now. Moving to his own spot he set down and grabbed the chop sticks. Looking down sat the food he rose a brow but took some and placed it in his mouth. To say he was pleasantly surprised was an understatement. It was actually decently good. Glancing over to her as he chewed his second bite he saw her head dipped down, only lifting enough to place a piece of beef into her mouth. 

Refusing to look up to him you waited for him to start complaining. You knew it wasn't the best food in the world but you thought it was better than the fish you had attempted to cook. Still you knew he would have something hurtful to say. He wouldn't care if you had tried your best on it, if it wasn't perfect then it didn't matter. 

Watching her slowly eat, refusing to meet his eyes he swallowed the food in his mouth and reached for the tea. It was cold, the same as the food but too be fair he had been later than normal today. Besides, holding the cup in his hand he instantly warmed it back up to the right temperature. taking a sip and then placing it down he saw her eyes look the steaming drink, her brow twitching before she looked back down. Seeing her collar fall some he took sight of the deep and angry looking claiming mark on her neck and felt his lip twitch. Mixing the food a bit he glanced to her and then the food, taking a breath. "The rice is overcooked and a bit too much soy sauce..." watching her shoulders curl up some he licked his lips. "...There's room for improvement but it's good.... I like it."

What? Had you heard him right? Slowly looking up to him you saw his face relaxed for once and grinned a little. It wasn't an outright compliment but you would take it. 

"Where did you learn to make it?" he asked as he continued eating. 

"Tsuru used to make it for me."

Humming he swallowed, "That explains the overuse of soy sauce, I believe the woman could drink the stuff. Probably why her face is always scrunched up." he said and heard a small giggle. Shooting his eyes to his wife he saw her smiling some as she looked down to her bowl. He couldn't help but grin a little at the cheerful sound.

The rest of their meal was spent in silence. He finished before her and when he glanced to her bowl he saw she still had a little of rice left but she didn't look as if she wanted any more of it. Figuring she was done eating he had stood and moved to grab her Ice Cream, sitting it in front of her. 

Looking down at the ice cream you knit your brows and then lifted your eyes up to his to see him starring down at you. He looked even more humongous from this view. 

"I know you didn't steal the ice cream yesterday." he told her in a low voice. He hated admitting when he was wrong, when he had done wrong. 

Dropping your eyes back to the frozen treat you bit the inside of your lip. 

"Well aren't you going to eat it?"

Taking a deep breath you looked back up to him. "No." 

Growling he narrowed his eyes at her, "Why not? 

Grabbing the small cup you stood, holding back your discomfort and moved over to the kitchen. "Because this doesn't make it all better. This doesn't make what you did right." hearing his growl deepen and seeing his lip lift into a snarl you kept your head up, refusing to back down. 

"EAT IT!"

"NO! You hurt me, you punished me for a crime I didn't commit! I tried telling you I didn't steal it but you didn't believe me. You didn't even give me a chance to explain you just chose to think the worst of me!" you yelled back, dropping the ice cream into the trash. 

Seeing her throw away the treat he had bought for her he snarled, steam rolling from his shoulders. "Well if you hadn't left the house like I told you to none of that would have happened in the first place!"

"I am not your prisoner! You can't keep me locked up in this damn house for the rest of my life!"

Chuckling darkly he moved closer to her, starring down at her. "Can't I?" he asked and saw her brows knit together. Backing her up to the cabinet he placed his hands on either side of her to block her in and leaned over her some. "I know omegas aren't the brightest bunch but I will only say this once more so you would do well to remember it. You are mine. You belong to me. I own you therefor I can do whatever I want with you. If I want to never have you see the light of day again it will be so. If I want to chain you to my bed and make you my own personal fuck toy I will. I am your alpha and you will obey me."

"You're no better than a damn pirate." you hissed. 

Clenching his teeth he had his hand fisted in her hair before she knew it. Holding onto her tightly while his other hand unbuckled his belt and undid his pants he felt her try and push him away but it didn't even make him budge. Pulling down the waistband of his boxers he allowed his already hard member spring free. When she averted her eyes, refusing to even look at his cock he only smirked. "I am getting fed up with that sass of yours. This mouth is for sucking my cock not talking back." Gripping his cock he tilted her head back and tapped the head on her closed lips. "Open." When her bruised lips remained shut he snarled, "Open!" he commanded, using his alpha voice. Seeing them part a little he pushed the tip past her lips but then stopped and glared down at her when a thought crossed his mind. "You bite me little one and I will make your life a living hell." he warned. 

Feeling him press his cock into your mouth you gave an small suck and heard him let out a sigh. When he kept his painful grip in your hair you felt him slowly push your head down to take him deeper. It didn't take long for him to hit the back of your throat, making you let out a small gag. Instantly you tried to stand back to full height but he only pinned you to the cabinets. 

She had only taken about half of him and she was already gagging. Rolling his eyes he reminded himself that she had never done this before he urged her to take more. When he had forced most of it down her throat he let out a deep moan and let his head fall back some. Damn she felt good. No she wasn't skilled but her mouth and throat were warm and tight. 

Pushing on his hips when you ran out of air you heard him let out a deep breath and loosen his grip just a little, the pain no longer making your scalp burn. Coming off you sucked at the tip but then heard him speak again, his voice deep and husky. 

"Use your tongue." 

His voice was gruff but you obeyed. Cupping the underside with your tongue you heard him breath out a 'Good omega.' not caring at all for the way it made a pressure build between your thighs. Sucking harder you felt him bob your head up and down until soon you caught on to the rhythm and found yourself fucking him with your mouth. A mixture of saliva and precum dripped down your chin but he didn't seem to notice. Nor for the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. 

She was starting to learn. Good. Smirking he loosened the grip in her hair and started petting her head. "That's it, keep sucking your alpha's cock." he said in a low voice. He was close but he held back.

Your jaw now ached along with the rest of your body. It had been almost fifteen minutes now and he had not let you stop. You were sure your throat would be bruised from the pounding of his dick. How desperate your lungs were to get a full breath of air. When you felt his thighs that were bigger around than your waist start to flex and then his hand in your hair tighten again you glanced up at him. He looked at you once, his lip twitching as he pulled almost the whole way out. Was he done? Before you could think hard on it he was shoving back in, plunging his thick dick down your throat and filling it with a hot, bitter fluid. His deep growls and grunts filled the air of the home. You tried to pull away, push him away but he held you in place, you closed your lips around his shaft as it threatened to spill out. Choking on it you felt some drip out of the corners of your mouth. When he had filled your entire mouth with his seed he slowly pulled out and glared down at you with those cold black eyes. 

Holding the back of her neck to keep her upright he glared down at her. "Swallow." he commanded. He could see the will to fight in her eyes but with a lift of his lip she finally submitted and he watched her throat bob as she swallowed his seed. Grabbing her jaw with his other hand he squeezed, wiping up the drop of cum on her chin and pushing his thumb up to her lips. "Open." he said and pushed the drop into her mouth when she did, making sure she had swallowed all of it. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?" he told her. She said nothing in reply and he smirked as he released her and stepped back. "Clean up dinner." was all he said before walking away. 

Standing where he had left you for a moment you heard the shower turn. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you felt sick to your stomach. Shaking you turned and stumbled over to the table to clean up. Once that all was done you placed the take out food he had gotten in the fridge before moving to grab the dried blankets for his bed. Quickly making it you turned off the lights and moved to the guest bedroom, curling up under the covers, tears spilling from your eyes. 

Getting out of the shower he checked the kitchen and dining room to find them both clean. Huffing he grinned, good girl. Walking to his bedroom he pulled on a pair of boxers and went to get into bed when he saw it empty, only the freshly cleaned bedding there. Narrowing his eyes he walked to the guest bedroom door and saw it cracked. Pushing it open he saw her sleeping on the bed, curled up tightly under the covers. While he wanted to wake her, demand she go get into his bed he took notice of her light shaking from leftover sobs and sighed. Closing his eyes he turned and walked out of the room, cracking the door back and moving to his own empty bed. Sniffing the bedding he growled lightly, it didn't even smell like her. Dropping his head down to his pillow he closed his eyes and went to sleep. 

A/N: Comments always welcome. :)