#look kingdom hearts is raw earnestness and a lack of shame

[guardianlioness]

The core to every story that I love is sincerity.

[ardentmuse]

A Woman’s War (Ned Stark x Reader)

Game of Thrones - Eddard (Ned) Stark x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.75k

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, and mild angst, pregnancy, childbirth, lactation and hand expression, talk of death

Masterlist

A/N: A spiritual successor to Promises Swept and Promises Kept. Should definitely read first as this is the same MC and same universe changes in my mind. Not exactly what anyone asked for, but what I wanted to write, so there you go. 

The creak of your bedroom door roused you from your sleepless daze, but you didn’t have the energy to turn at the intrusion. You knew immediately who it was and all you could do was smile as the sparks from the fire danced upon your walls, casting a shadow long and tall as the figure moved inward, as quiet as a mouse but as imposing as a tower. 

“My lady,” Ned’s voice whispered as he neared the edge of your mattress, his footsteps softened even more by the bearskin rug that lay at the edge of your bed frame. If you hadn’t been waiting up for him, you might not have heard him at all. 

Your smile only grew as you tried to turn to see his handsome face, even more handsome now that he no longer tried to rid himself of his lush, full beard as he had gained the habit of doing during his time in the Vale, as was more fitting of southern men. No, he was of the North now, fully and truly once again, and every part of you was grateful for just what that meant. 

His large, warm hand, pressed firm against your shoulder blade, pausing your movement. His skin upon your skin was electric somehow, like touching metal after playing with wool, but you longed for it all the same. You felt the heat rush to your face at how, even now, the simplest graze of his fingers could send your body alight. And when he whispered, “Don’t move, darling,” before the distinct rustling of clothes falling to the floor filled your ears, the burn only worsened and that fiery need that often came from Ned’s presence alone grew in the pit of your stomach. Ned was being so quiet, so soft, as though he feared he might be caught doing something he shouldn’t. But no one would question a lord visiting his wife’s chambers at night, especially not a lord like Eddard who dotted on his lady with such care and affection. But this was no conjugal visit. 

You felt the mattress sink down as Ned crawled into the space beside you. His bare chest connected with your back, the hair there a pleasant tickle upon your still-heated skin. He sighed into your neck as he slung an arm tightly around your form. His fingers pressed firm into the flesh of your stomach, swollen and stretched, though not for much longer. 

“My precious warrior,” Ned whispered into your ear as he kissed delicately along the skin of your neck. “I’m so proud of you.” 

You wiggled backwards into your husband; just a few shakes of your hips as that was all your body could manage at the moment. 

Ned held you still once more.

“What did I say?” he asked with a chuckle, his nose grinding into your shoulder in amusement. 

You laid together for several minutes, watching the flicking of the fire’s flames upon the plush grey curtains of your room, the moonlight shining a crisp white to contrast the warm golds of your hearth.  

After several minutes, Ned’s hands began to wander, traveling the soft curves of your flesh, through the valley of your breasts until he began softly kneading the swell of them. The action itself was a beautiful torture, easing the pain and drawing attention to it all the same. You let out a hiss as the leaking began and when Ned felt the moisture of your milk, he seemed to be stirred to take in the room. 

“Where’s our son, my love?”

“With the wet nurse for the night,” you admit, feeling a flush of guilt pass through you. Disappointing Ned felt like tearing the stars from the sky some days. You swallowed once before continuing, “I did the first few feedings but after that, I was simply too tired, Ned. I needed to rest. I’m sorry.”

Ned’s head pulled itself from its home against your neck. He lifted himself on his elbows until the handsome expanse of him was hovering over your body. You rolled slowly onto your back so you could meet his eyes, the beautiful grey storms of which you loved so much. But right now, no storm existed, only the brilliant calm of silver ocean.

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Ned’s voice was a forceful whisper. “You went to these past few days. You fought hard. If rest is all you require, you are tougher than most men. Tougher than me, I know.” 

His hand came up to brush at the tears that were rolling down your cheek at the shame of sending your son away. Ned was smiling down at you, soft and sweet, before leaning forward to kiss you gently upon your brow. 

His voiced dropped down to a wisp; so soft and sharp you would have mistaken it for the crackle of the fire if you hadn’t been watching his mouth move.

“I’ve seen what this can cost, my love. Watched it with my own eyes. Your safety is more important to me than anything. Anything.” 

You hated reminded Ned of Lyanna but sometimes it simply happened. This had been your fifth labor, and probably not your last if you were being honest with yourself. Ned loved being a father almost as much as his children loved him, and you could see no reason to deny him the pleasure of a keep overflowing with offspring of his flesh. He’d gone to battle for you once, so it was fairly easy to find motivation to do the same for him.

Not to mention, you still, even now after almost eight years of marriage, still had trouble keeping your hands off of each other. 

You sighed as Ned returned to your side, pulling you flush against him once more. His hands didn’t stop their exploring and soon you were but mush against his body, allowing his calloused fingers to ease away a world of soreness and pain.

“Could you…” you whispered but your voice trailed.

But you didn’t need to finish. Ned knew this routine. His hands came up to your breast once more, pushing the flesh inwards and then gently rolling out in a gentle rhythm so ingrained that you worried that you might have desexualized your body for him with how often you’ve found yourself full with milk and full with child. The gentle roll of fluid was soaking your shift but the release of pressure from your breast was certainly going to help you sleep. 

And Ned didn’t seem to mind assisting one bit. 

Soon, Ned’s voice popped through the silence again.

“Why weren’t you asleep when I entered if you’re so tired, my sweet?” 

Ned’s hand slowed as the firmness of your breast released, returning to the softened tissue you were used to. He moved without request on to your other breast and you loved him all the more for how little ever needed to be spoken between the two of you.

“I was waiting for you,” you said, feeling a lightness at the honesty of it. “I’ve missed you.” 

The growl that escapes Ned’s lips is feral and raw, though his touch stays feather-light, tender and healing. 

“Aye,” he said, his accent growing stronger with his need for you, “My bed is too big without you.” 

This pregnancy had been harder than any since your first. You had been scared thinking you might have had multiple babies growing inside of you with how quickly you swelled but the maesters had been right. Your son was just a large, healthy baby, eager to come to this side of the world. And given that you had still been breastfeeding your littlest, it seemed that you had been pregnant much earlier than you thought. 

Come your sixth moon, your maester had advised you both that you would be best to sleep alone as to not disturb your womb. He had said all this to you with a stern voice, though he never looked at you and only your husband in his reproach. It seemed it wasn’t a secret to anyone in your keep just how often your husband sought out the pleasures of your body, though certainly the feeling was mutual. 

You knew that in the south, most nobles had separate chambers and that lords came to their wives’ rooms when they had need. But that tradition always seemed so foreign to you. In the north, where sharing body warmth was often a matter of life or death when the snows began to fall, the idea of spending so much time apart from your spouse seemed wrong. You had already spent your long engagement apart, and your days thrown in the midst of ruling your kingdom, that sometimes the night was the only time you had together. Besides, just toiling away in a room awaiting your husband to call upon you would have made you feel like a whore or a broodmare somehow, just with a fancier title.

No, you were Ned’s partner, his wife, his respite from the harshness of the world, and spending over two moons sleeping in separate quarters to take away the temptation of each other’s touch was simply torture. 

And the temptation was strong, for Ned seemed to find nothing more erotic than knowing your womb so eagerly quickened for his seed.

You knew Ned would come to your bed  the moment the maesters cleared it. And even then it had been two days since you gave birth. Two days of waiting for your bleeding to reside and your blood pressure to return to you. This labor had been fast but more complicated than any previous. You were grateful for Ned’s precautions – though the reason he put them in place always pulled at your heart – because you weren’t quite sure you’d be sitting here as healthy as you were this time around without them. 

“Sleep, my love,” Ned cooed in your ear, his hand now running down the length of your hips to wrap tight in the light fabric of your shift, as though working to prevent his hands from going any further, from exploring the parts of you that were his alone to feel. “We’ll sleep in our bed tomorrow.” 

Something about the promise of it, the lack of question in his words, calmed your aching heart. You nuzzled into your husband’s side as sleep took you in earnest for the first time since you’d been pulled away from the man you loved, the only man who could take away your pain. 

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf​, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books​, @cutie-bug​, @igotmadskills​, @hazelandcoconuts​, @yallgotkik​, @amberkay284​, @the-new-galahad​, @13ofjuly​, @daft-not-punk​

[reverberatingechoesblog]

Black Feathers

Cross-posted on Archive of Our Own under ReverberatingEchoes 

For @orangescribbles, may we survive till the end of the semester my friend ahahahuhuhu

Summary: In which Sleepy Ash is a Fallen Angel who’s lived in the human realm for centuries already, and Mahiru Shirota is the peculiar human that befriends him. Sleepy Ash’s heart hasn’t been this peaceful in a very long time.   or,

a Fallen Angel! AU feat. KuroMahi.

Brother, no! You mustn't do this!

Sleepy Ash, please, you must reconsider!

I’ll do it. I’ve made up my mind already.

(Understand that that person cannot be left alive. It’s too dangerous!)

What you did was unforgivable! How could you! Wasn’t he important to you too, Sleepy Ash?!

It was necessary. It was necessary. It was necessary!

(Please, please understand that it was necessary-)

What the Council has decided is final. This is the price of your sin, Sleepy Ash. We have no choice-

It was for the best.

(It was for the best. It was for the best!)

Was it really for the best? Are you still telling yourself that, Sleepy Ash?

Don’t you remember how much he cared about you and your siblings? Don’t you remember, Sleepy Ash?

He’s not the same person, not anymore.

(I-)

(I wasn’t wrong! I-)

(Someone please, please, tell me I wasn’t wrong-)

--

The Kingdom of Heaven is cruel with punishments, Sleepy Ash learns.

Sleepy Ash is taken from his home and dragged off, visible to all of the other Angels. He hears the whispers of the Seraphims as he passes by.  

A purge, someone whispers, how shameful.

That’s Sleepy Ash, is it not? He killed-

How vile! Criminal. He deserves to be punished!

Sleepy Ash is blindfolded, hands tied behind his back as he is led to his punishment site.

All the while, he thinks of his siblings at home and wishes that he could apologize. He thinks of their Senior Angel and how kind he was when Sleepy Ash and his siblings were mere fledglings.

He thinks of the troublesome, but happy times he and his siblings had with their Senior Angel.

He thinks of their Senior Angel’s slow descent to madness, of his ambitions to create his own kingdom, not unlike Lucifer’s own.

(Sleepy Ash thinks of this, and he thinks of the blood on his hands and the numbness of his heart.)   

--

Please, someone tell me what I did wasn’t wrong, Sleepy Ash thinks during his punishment, in the midst of the excruciating pain that came with his wings changing color.

(Like being burned alive. Like being stabbed a thousand times. Like being ripped apart.)

Brought to his knees, Sleepy Ash’s screams fall on deaf ears and he wants to die die die-

(Pain. Pain pain pain Stop STOP STOP IT HURTS STOP STOP STOP SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE STOP-)

The members of the Council, the Archangels, had only watched him dispassionately as the last of his feathers were kissed with darkness and Sleepy Ash had fallen unconscious.

--

Sleepy Ash dreams of a past long lost and abandoned.

A kind smile.

“Sleepy Ash, was it? I’ll teach you everything you have to know about being a Pro Angel like me!”

Sleepy Ash, but here he is much younger, much more innocent. “That sounds troublesome...I don’t want to,” Sleepy Ash responds.

The Senior Angel pouts at him and flails his arms. Sleepy Ash immediately decides he’s too energetic for his liking.

“Where’s your motivation as a newly hatched angel? You need to set an example for your other siblings!’’

Loud. He’s too loud. Sleepy Ash shrugs and prepares to glide over his home. “I’ll be retiring now. Good bye.” He positions himself and breezes pass the older angel who is stumped by how fast he flies away.

(He’s too earnest, Sleepy Ash thinks, but he’s not a bad person.)

“Wait, come back! I’m assigned to you and your siblings, Sleepy Ash don’t ignore meee!”

.

A strained smile.

“Have you ever thought about it, Sleepy Ash, why we Angels blindly follow the Will of our Creator?”

Lawless is napping on their Senior’s lap, nestled and relaxed as Sleepy Ash considers his strange question. All of Love on the other hand sleeps peacefully beside Sleepy Ash, snoring lightly.

“We are his creations,” Sleepy Ash murmurs dutifully, carefully adjusting All of Love’s position on his shoulder, “His Will is our Will.”

The Senior Angel runs delicate fingers over Lawless’ hair. “I think that it’s unfair,” He confesses, “Why is our freedom restricted like this? Why can’t we choose for ourselves, when the humans that He created are free to act however they wish?”

For this, Sleepy Ash has no response. They are Angels and they are His Creations and to speak like this would be considered a crime.

But the Senior Angel says nothing more and only quietly stares at the distance.

.

A manic smile.

“I’ll stage a rebellion, Sleepy Ash, and when that time comes, I will liberate all of you from His rule…”

Sleepy Ash stares up at him in horror, noting with a sickening realization that their Senior Angel is wingless.

(He had exchanged his wings for the power of Lucifer.)

“I’ll free you all from this life, I will destroy our Creator with my own hands, and build my own empire. Sounds nice, don’t you think?”

“Don’t do this,” Sleepy Ash begs quietly, summoning his weapon into his hands, “Don’t do this, please.”

All Sleepy Ash gets in response is mad, mad laughter.

.

A bloodied smile.

“Sleepy Ash...why do you look like you’re about to cry?’’

Sleepy Ash shakes and shakes. His hands are drenched in blood and so are his robes and everything is red red red -

His opponent hacks and coughs. Glassy eyes stare up at him.

“I’m sorry...Sleepy Ash...I couldn’t free you guys after all… I wasn’t strong enough...”

And when the Senior Angel closes his eyes forever, all that Sleepy Ash can hear are his own screams.

(Sleepy Ash dreams and dreams and he almost wishes that everything that happened had only been a very bad dream.)

--

When Sleepy Ash regains consciousness, he is alone.

His wings are curled behind him and he struggles to sit up, only to find himself dizzy and weak. His back is painful and his wings feel like they’re on fire.

Where am I?

The ground is cold and wet and Sleepy Ash shakes his head, trying to focus.

This isn’t the Garden of Eden. Certainly, the Garden of Eden has never looked like a decrepit forest, and never has Sleepy Ash seen the Sky so far from him.

(Far and out of reach. Never meant for the likes of him.)

He coughs and coughs as he tries to unfurl his wings. The moment his eyes catch sight of the black feathers,

(Fallen.)

Everything comes rushing back to him.

Cast out of the Garden of Eden with the scent of blood on his hands and the weight of his shame blatant and mocking, Sleepy Ash screams and screams and screams until his throat is raw and he can no longer make a sound.

(Fallen. He is a Fallen Angel.)

(Dimly, he wonders if he can hear the phantom chuckle of the Senior Angel he had killed.)

--

Exiled from the Kingdom of Heaven, far too tainted to remain an Angel, yet lacking the impurity to enter the Realm of Hell, Sleepy Ash finds himself wandering through Earth, haunted by the past and unable to step towards a probable future.

It’s been several centuries since then. Perhaps even millenniums, but Sleepy Ash has long since lost count.

A sentence worse than death.

For it is but fools who yearn to live in the world forever.

--

The first few centuries in the human realm leave much to be desired for Sleepy Ash.

Humans know a Fallen Angel when they see one, and do not hesitate in reminding him of that fact.

Stay back, monster!

How vile! How dare you bring such sin here…!

Murderer! Murderer!

Such a disgusting creature.

And so to avoid troublesome situations, Sleepy Ash has decided to live in seclusion.

It’s infinitely easier that way, to avoid humans and to repent for his mistakes of the past.

(He lives in solitude and Sleepy Ash thinks that it’s only a little bit lonely.)

--

Sleepy Ash doesn’t know how it happens, but it happens.

It happens when he’s taking an afternoon nap under the shade of one of the largest trees in the heart of the forest, somewhere far away from human settlements when-

“An angel?”

Sleepy Ash jolts awake and finds a rather young human staring at him with his lips slightly parted.

Sleepy Ash knows there’s no more point in trying to hide his wings and resigns himself to the inevitable. With the weight of his shame, the accursed black wings furled behind him, Sleepy Ash turns his face to the side, avoiding the eyes of the person in front of him.

He sits quietly, anxiously waiting for the harsh comment that he was sure would follow after seeing the color of his wings.

Filthy.

Graceless.

Unworthy.

Fallen.

He’d heard it so often in the first few centuries that he’s lived in the realm of the humans.

(Heard it enough times to make Sleepy Ash thinks that that’s all he ever was, a Fallen Angel, neither fitting here nor there.)

But it never comes.

Instead, what he hears stuns him because not once has anyone ever called them-

“Beautiful,” the younger boy breathes out in awe. His eyes are large and round and carry the most beautiful shade of brown that he’s ever seen.  

Beautiful, the human boy says. He had called Sleepy Ash’s sin beautiful.

The Fallen Angel stares at him, unable to say anything. The younger boy grins at him with such an open expression and a hand extended in a greeting.

(And in that moment, Sleepy Ash thinks that the ice in his heart has begun to thaw.)

--

“Kuro, I’m here today, too!”

For the first time in a very long while, Sleepy Ash, now Kuro courtesy of Mahiru, looks forward to spending time with someone other than the silence of the forest.

--

“My name is Mahiru Shirota!” The brown-eyed boy introduces himself cheerfully.

Sleepy Ash, still in a state of shock, only gazes at the boy in silence. A lot of questions are running in his mind, none of which he can sort out as of the moment.

The boy in front of him doesn’t lose his smile, as he continues to ask,

“What’s your name?”

Sleepy Ash doesn’t know how to answer and a part of him feels like he has forgotten how to answer, how to speak in basic conversations after his seclusion.

(Answer him. Answer him.)

“Ah, well, if you don’t wanna tell me, would it bother you if I call you Kuro?”

Kuro. The name rolls easily off of the boy’s tongue and it echoes pleasantly in his ears. Sleepy Ash’s eyes grow soft and his heart grows lighter.

He nods.

(Sleepy Ash likes the name very much, and every time Mahiru refers to him by that name, it feels as though Sleepy Ash has been given a second life, a second chance).

--

Mahiru is perhaps the oddest human Kuro has met.

(And Kuro has met a lot of humans in his first few centuries in the human realm, none of which he can remember fondly.)

Mahiru is perhaps the oddest human Kuro has ever met because Mahiru never mentions anything about his wings. He is content spending time with Kuro and brings him home-cooked meals every time he comes over.

(Kuro doesn’t tell him that his kind has no need to eat the same way humans do, but he accepts the food Mahiru makes because Mahiru always looks happy when Kuro eats the meals he makes and wishes not for the first time that he could taste the flavors mixed into the hearty meal.

But Kuro tastes the warmth and the effort Mahiru has put into it, and for him, that is enough.)

Kuro doesn’t know if the reason for the lack of attention towards his wings is because Mahiru isn’t aware of the stigma of the color, or if he chooses to ignore it, or -

Why aren’t you turning me away like the rest?

-and he tells Mahiru as much.

Mahiru looks at him thoughtfully and lets the information sink in. Kuro absentmindedly ruffles his feathers, trying to keep his anxiety hidden.

Why have you stayed, when the rest have all decided to leave?

Is it because you can’t see the monster I am?

One of Kuro’s feathers fall off and Mahiru follows it with his eyes. Smiling, he goes over and picks it up.

“You’re beautiful and wonderful, and you can never make me think otherwise,” Mahiru declares, tenderly pressing his lips against the black feather.

It’s a very intimate gesture and Kuro feels himself flush in spite of himself.

“Kuro, you’re beautiful,” Mahiru repeats, as easily as he showers Kuro with kindness and selfless affection.

And Kuro-

Kuro furls his right wing over his cheek, if only to hide the blush on his face from Mahiru.

--

“Doesn’t it ever get lonely?”

His thoughts swirl with memories of solitude in the heart of the forest, where the most company he can keep are the wild animals and the sound of rain from time to time.

It gets lonely, sometimes.

It isn’t until Kuro sees Mahiru gazing at him with an almost crestfallen expression that he realizes that he answered out loud.

(It isn’t until Kuro sees Mahiru gazing at him with an almost crestfallen expression that he realizes that he answered honestly.)

Mahiru stands up, then, startling Kuro slightly.

He gazes at Kuro with determination in his eyes. “You won’t be lonely anymore!” Mahiru declares, “I won’t let you be!”

And spoken with such conviction, it makes Kuro want to believe his words.

--

While Mahiru never remarks about his wings (black, fallen, monster), Kuro finds him staring at it with open curiosity more often than not.

(It’s understandable, Kuro thinks, that Mahiru is curious about his origins. Angels are peculiar beings, and well, Fallen Angels are even more so.)

“If you ask me about them,” Kuro says one cloudy day, watching Mahiru roll out a soft blanket for them to sit on, “I would tell you.”

Mahiru pauses from his actions, eyebrows raised. “About what?” He asks. Kuro unfurls his wings and motions over to them.

“About these.”

(If Mahiru asked him about his wings, Kuro resolved that he would tell him. Kuro would never deny Mahiru anything.)

To Kuro’s surprise, Mahiru shakes his head.

“I won’t ask, Kuro,” Mahiru tells him with a serene smile, “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me yourself.”

Kuro opens his mouth to say something but Mahiru walks over to him and pats his head, gentle as his fingers tangle in his hair.

“Only then, Kuro.”

--

Mahiru’s fingers are soft when they touch his wings.

(Gentle, always gentle. Kuro doesn’t think he’s ever known true gentleness until he met Mahiru.)

Touch them, Kuro had offered and Mahiru had only acquiesced because Kuro took his hand and brushed them over his wings.

“Soft,” Mahiru whispers, “Like doves’ wings.”

There’s something almost reverent in the way Mahiru traces his fingers over his wings and Kuro sits motionless as he allows Mahiru to satiate his curiosity in the only way Mahiru will accept.  

I won’t ask, Kuro.

I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me yourself.

And Kuro is so tired, so tired of keeping it to himself.

“It was a punishment,” Kuro begins and he feels Mahiru still for a moment. Kuro sucks in a breath and continues.

“For ending the existence of someone dear to us.”

Mahiru doesn’t say anything and Kuro thinks that he’s disappointed Mahiru, maybe disgusted him even, but Mahiru resumes moving his fingers with tenderness.

The words spill out from Kuro’s lips as he recounts everything that’s happened to Mahiru, who only continues to brush his wings as Kuro speaks.

(Millennium's worth of memories and regrets are released and Mahiru-)

(Mahiru hasn’t said a word and when Kuro finishes, he finds himself gazing up at Mahiru.)

Mahiru, with the light of the setting sun behind him, Mahiru, who has tears running freely down his cheeks, who buries his head in Kuro’s shoulder as he embraces him tightly, who feels so incredibly warm and real as Kuro embraces him back.

--

Ever since then, Mahiru’s taken to running his fingers over Kuro’s wings, always delicate and reverent with the action.

Ever since then, to return the favor, Kuro’s taken to kissing Mahiru’s open palms each time he arrives and before he leaves to return to his home.

 (And while neither of them openly say it out loud, their actions have always spoken so much louder than their words.)

“Take care in going back,” Kuro will say, when the sun is close to setting.

“See you again tomorrow, Kuro!” Mahiru will respond, and Kuro will kiss his open palms before he leaves to make his way back to his house.

(They repeat this cycle, and with every passing day, Kuro finds it harder and harder to part with Mahiru, and Mahiru finds it harder and harder to leave Kuro.)

(One day, Mahiru asks Kuro to live with him. Kuro doesn’t give a verbal response, but he buries his face on Mahiru’s shoulder as Mahiru chuckles fondly. He understands what Kuro wants to say.)  

--

On a particularly cold night, both of them are on the veranda, with Mahiru sitting in between Kuro’s knees, his back leaning onto Kuro’s chest.

Kuro breathes out, arms wrapped loosely around Mahiru’s waist. Both of them sit together in relative silence until Kuro breaks it with a soft, “I never understood it, back when I first met you.”

When Mahiru makes a questioning hum, Kuro takes it as a sign to continue, “You called me beautiful then, when you first saw me, even with my black wings.”

You call me beautiful even now, I don’t understand it sometimes, is what Kuro doesn’t say. Mahiru hears what he doesn’t voice out anyway.

“You’re beautiful, Kuro, back then and even now,” Mahiru murmurs, enveloped in Kuro’s arms, “You can never make me think otherwise.”

(And oh, how easy it is for Mahiru to say such kind words, how easy it is for Mahiru to calm Kuro’s heart, then and even now.)

“It’s you that’s beautiful, Mahiru,” Kuro intones, letting the wind carry his voice, “Dazzlingly beautiful, sometimes I’m not sure you’re real.”

Mahiru slowly untangles himself from his embrace and gazes at Kuro with kind eyes, pressing his forehead against his. He leads Kuro’s palm to his cheek and chuckles, fond. The warmth Mahiru radiates is undeniable and Kuro revels in it.

He feels so strongly for this young man, so strongly and it’s been centuries since his fall, but it is only with Mahiru that the demons in his heart quiet themselves until they recede into the periphery of his consciousness. It is only with Mahiru that the demons in his heart quiet themselves, enough for Kuro to think that perhaps someday, he will be able to forgive himself for what he has done and the demons will forever stay quiet as well.  

“I’m real, Kuro,” Mahiru says, soft and sweet, “And I’m right here with you.”

Kuro’s tears fall before he can stop them, and he presses a delicate kiss onto Mahiru’s awaiting lips.

--

End.

Notes: 1. This is an AU. I took way too many liberties with the ideas of Angels and Fallen Angels. Some parts I left vague so everyone can interpret it however they would like. I just really wanted Kuro with black wings and Mahiru who loves him a lot and Kuro who loves Mahiru a lot too.  2. I love KuroMahi.

3. I hope you enjoyed!