#they feed the angst lover/tragedy lover in me

[dengswei]

@asiandramanet creator bingo — black & white — jiang xue ning x zhang zhe | story of kunning palace (2023) [insp]

[gladiatorcunt]

- APOLLO REACHES FOR THE SEA | V.

under my skin’s an intrinsic shrine

cw: kinktober prompt (s) - scent & food play, canon typical obsessive behavior, anankin & reader are both 20, reader has a pussy, more suggestive, friends to lovers, drunk-ish sex, unprotected sex, implied angst of the series’s canon events, aotc!era but pre actual aotc events, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Ani, watch out! You’re going to spill the plums!” You giggle, ushering him in the quarters you share with your Master Shaak Ti.

It’s late at night, a rare day without missions as you both get closer to knighthood. So Anakin had casually suggested swiping some food from the food stalls in the city and having a sleepover, just like old times. You’d known each other since he had come to the temple 12 years ago, and you can admit that you’ve been missing the hours you used to waste away laughing and dreaming of your futures as Jedi Masters. You had bonded over wanting to help people and become powerful enough to stop tragedy from happening, he’s whispered things to you that he fears Obi-Wan Kenobi would flay him alive for.

He’s the only one that knows anything about your family, what you ran to the Jedi Order from. You’re not allowed to have personal belongings from that time of your life, but you slipped a good luck charm in the folds of Anakin’s tunic on your 14th birthday and pecked his lips before darting off to your sparring session with your Master.

Perhaps it’s a panic response, clinging to these brief silver linings when you can sense his force signature darkening. Anakin does what you wish you could, deep down, how can you judge his heart when it’s other half aches in your chest?

“You think too little of me, Scyva.” Ani grins, balancing the tray in the crook of his arm as he follows you to your room.

Scyva, because that’s what an edgy prepubescent you had insisted on if he was going to call you a name derived from the Old Gods. In truth, it made you terribly shy that he wanted to call you Aivela, that he still does after he gives you the bare minimum of saying the name you wanted first.

“Well,” he had ‘hmph’ed back then, “Then I’ll be Izax, because that’s Scyva’s husband.”

So simple, so assured, like it was the most obvious declaration in the world to make. Playing house with forces beyond your understanding in their clothes.

Your cheeks warm as you recall the memory, you close your door hoping that Masters Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan will be delayed more than you thought.

Anakin had also managed to finesse a couple of cups of Jawa Juice from Dex’s Diner, “Master’s a good friend of his, but he won’t rat us out.”

Both of those cups are gone and empty within minutes, the pair of you doped up on the sizzling connection between you. This unbreakable bond that formed all those years ago, it’s like all your pains and troubles fade away when you’re near Anakin. He’s told you the same, with an imploring look in his doe eyes, begging you without words to understand what that must mean. Why you two are so clearly meant for each other.

He’s the chosen one, he teased you when you were 15 and had lost round after round to him in training, the force wouldn’t want it’s son to be without a chosen one of his own.

You were 16 and learning how to swim together, you had forgotten how but Anakin held you up in the water like he had been doing it all his life. You pecked his lips again then too, that’s all you ever did, the farthest you went. To do more would be to open up durasteel gates that would flood Coruscant in sparks and wet wires.

You shrug off the outer layers of your tunic, plopping down on your bed and sighing, “I could never think more of you if I tried, Ani.”

Give Anakin Skywalker a pearl and he’ll turn it into a Greater Krayt Dragon.

His seemingly stuck grin widens and he clamors onto the bed to lie right beside you, “Yeah? Typical of my biggest fan.”

Your arms brush together and a sudden jolt of fire burns down your throat.

You roll your eyes, picking up a plum and biting into it, ignoring the bob of Anakin’s adam’s apple and the flash of arousal in the force.

You don’t know why, but you make eye contact as you finish the piece of fruit, making an extra effort to lick some of the purplish-red juice off your bottom lip.

Anakin shuffles closer and reaches out to rub away what you missed with his thumb. Your breath hitches, the air in the room is shifting to something you can’t even say you didn’t anticipate or secretly wish for. Ani’s always so warm, every part of him, and the comfort his coarse finger tip brings to your often bitten lip lights a candle in your soul.

Neither of you say anything as he brings his other closer to your hip, his fingers ghosting along the curve like he’s afraid to touch you, that you’ll disappear if he lets himself buy into the delusion that he can have something so sacred. Anakin Skywalker doesn’t buy, he gets bought, but every teasing moment over the years does some serious damage to a 20 year old guy’s psyche. Maybe you should think of it like sparring, you can’t improve without throwing yourself into the fray.

The kiss he plants on you isn’t anywhere close to one of your previous “friendly” pecks, it’s ravenous. He’s enthusiastic, moving to sink his thumbs into the divots under your jaw so he can tilt your head up. He moans into it too, heady and smug with every caress of your lips and every wet pop signaling you pulling away to breathe or change your position.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Aivela.” Anakin hisses, eagerly yanking the rest of your robes off in between more kisses and briefly separating to toss them unceremoniously on the floor.

You moan, sliding your hands up his bare back and pulling at hair that’s not quite long enough to tug like you want to, “So do you, Ani, force-”

He cuts you off by snaking his tongue in your mouth, cleaning your teeth from the dark mess of the plum juice, which only stains you both even further. His arousal in the force grows and you can feel his dick twitch against your hip, the bond tells you that he loves being messy with you, that it feels right to be this real and uninhibited with each other. To be this raw.

“You ruin me, you know that? I’m trying so hard to be perfect. For you, for Obi-Wan, for the council, for my mom.”

It’s easy at this moment, with this boy, to be damningly honest. “ You’re already perfect to me, Ani, there’s nothing about you I would change.”

You’ll always love the 9 year old boy who became your first friend, and you became his, every version of him after that only fleshes him out and waters the underestimated sapling into a massive tree with nonflammable roots.

Anakin shudders when you say he’s perfect, the feeling of being indulged and complimented by a friend who he’s spent countless nights jerking off to, muffling his whines and groans into his pillow so Obi-Wan doesn’t suspect anything. But knowing his master, he probably already knows and is discussing it with your master right now.

You pick up on his train of thought, “You don’t have to be so paranoid, Ani. You don’t know for sure that anything bad is going to happen.”

He nods and shrugs it off, storing that opportunity to spiral away for later. You exclaim in surprise as he dives in to kiss you again. The kisses are hotter now, heavy and sloppy with intention. Anakin waves a hand around trying to find the tray of plums without breaking away from you, he eventually fumbles onto it and yanks it to push into your hip.

You pull back in confusion, but Anakin smiles and pushes you to fall on your back with his hand splayed out across your chest.

He takes a plum and bites off half of it, leaning down to share it with you as he crushes the other half above your body, honing in on the squelching sound and passing you bits of the plum from his tongue to yours.

“I’ve had dreams of a goddess of love on a lonely planet in the future, a god too, and they look just. like. you.” He draws back and punctuates each word with a swipe of his tongue through the plum juice on your ribs.

You hear more than see the sniff he takes of your skin, deep lung fulls of the fruity hints in your natural musk. He humps into the mattress and his cock twitches, your belly clenches when he flicks droplets of sweat off of you, the pink in his bunny tongue winking up at you in the low light.

You relax against your pillows and run a hand over his hair as he busies himself with drinking the plum juice off your body like body shots. You bask in his pulsing force signature and the tantalizing sight of your best friend Ani humping his gorgeous cock on the chub gathered on your lower stomach.

You feed him more plums, moaning as he slurps at your fingers and sucks them clean, wrapping his lips around them down to the knuckle. A bright yellow thank you rings out in the force. He’s messy on purpose, letting bits fall out of his mouth onto your tummy, just so he can take another hit off your skin and clean the juice up. He licks long flat stripes up your soft stomach, making sure you're watching as he moans and swallows down every drop.

Anakin’s pupils are twin black holes, and he actually smiles when the teasing gets to be too much to handle and you send out your desire for him to move downwards into the force. His teeth are almost sharp in this lightning, your breaths are shallow and he scrapes them over the top of your mound.

“Smells amazing.” He moans and tries to press a kiss to each little hair he finds. “ ‘s gonna be way better than some fuckin’ plums. Love you so much, Scyva, Nahut..”

Goddess of sorrow, you don’t know how you bring him to his knees.

God of apathy, hated by all but the other part of you, there’s something dark unfurling in you too.

Your half heart skips a beat. It’s probably just the Jawa Juice, you reason, even though Anakin jumps out of speeders more often than not and is so damn reckless he can handle a cup of fermented grains. You yourself feel buzzed, pleasantly tipsy in a way that only enhances the sensation of physical touch.

“You trust me?” Ani asks, long fingers poised to slip into your hole, he won’t give in until you learn to use your words.

No more beating around bush, instead more busting the fuck through that thing.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

The force flares around you, endlessly pleased.

He returns to sucking the juice off your skin as he dips two of his fingers inside at once. Sue him for being impatient, but he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted right now. By what the force is telling him, so are you. You gasp at the little sting, but you let your legs go lax against the sheets, spreading yourself wider for him.

Anakin takes a second to gawk in awe at the view, your wet hole clinging to his fingers as he slowly pumps them deeper into you. You’re both so glad he didn’t beg Dex for more Jawa Juice, there’s no way you can run from this memory forever. He picks up his dry humping, whimpering as his precum falls on your favorite blanket.

He tosses his head back to stare into your eyes and grinds against your tummy like his dick is where his fingers are. You’re nodding, making the cutest little hiccups and tensing your thighs, resisting the urge to squeeze them around his arm. Anakin chuckles as he feeds you the other two fingers, imagine how wide your entrance would stretch around his entire fist.

Your pussy flutters around his fingers and he hunches his back to be able to kiss your clit hello, taking a whiff of that too before suckling. You keen and he takes his mouth off of you, massaging your slick into his golden skin.

He moans and drives his tip further into your plush curves, circling his thumb on your clit until you both tumble over the edge. It’s not a mind shattering orgasm for either of you, too little stimulation and too pliant from the booze, but that’s okay. That won’t be the only time you’ll cum tonight, and this time it’ll feel so good the force rebuilds itself around the two of you, Anakin will do his very best to blame going in raw on intoxication.

That’s what you’ll blame for clawing at his ass and hooking your heels into his back to keep all of him inside of you, like the force itself won’t let him pull out to sleep. You’ll figure out what to do in the morning. But for now, Anakin is grabbing your hand and leading you into the fresher.

The plum tray clatters to the floor.

[studio-dreamie]

chapter 12: a cautious cat

the two walk around the hectic yet unique streets of chinatown. renjun looks around and takes pictures of almost anything. it starts with the little flowers growing within the cement, to the red lamp lights that adorned the supermarkets, to the random old vintage car that was parked out on the street. damn this seems fun i should have been an art major fr , she thought to herself as she walks around taking the rowdy yet beautiful setting in. she keeps walking down at a normal pace until she sees a little rundown dumpling spot. she turns around to look at renjun who was still taking a picture of something, “OH MY GOD I SWEAR I SAW THAT SHOP ON TIKTOK,” she doesn’t give him time to respond, and beelined straight to the store. her words didn’t fully register until he finished taking the picture of what he was focusing on. he pays no mind and continues to search for the focus of his next photo. it wasn’t until after he looked over and saw her already with the dumplings she was talking about. he moves his body towards her direction brings the camera up to his face once again and instead of zooming on an inanimate object, he zoomed in towards her. he snaps the picture, as she is standing there, underneath a tree looking at dumplings with a smile. he doesn’t realize that he begins to smile and stare at the photo. he’s enamored, enamored at how bright she looks at just one small thing, how her pink lips curve up causing the small dimple to show, the sunlight through the crack of the leaves shining on her at the perfect angle. “HEY!” renjun jumps out of his admiring stage. “aren’t you going to eat some?” she says poking one and lifting it towards him even thought she was a few feet away from him. “dont eat them all !” he says walking up to her, she pouts jokingly, “maybe if you weren’t so slow”, she shoves the fork even closer. he can’t help but look at her and say “feed it to me”, her eyes widen just a little bit, “what?” she curses at herself as she feels her heart beating a bit faster, “my hands are full duh” he says in a cocky voice putting his hands up that hold his camera and phone.. not even sure why he asked her to, he could have put his phone in his pocket. no but what if someone stole it, yeah he was just being cautious, cautious he told himself.

prev//masterlist//next

pairing: renjun x fem!reader

synopsis: the ultimate college friend group that does not escape the trials of suffering, love, drama, and weed. join y/n and her friends as they go through their third year of college together, they have no idea what's going on or what they're doing, but isn't that the fun of it?

genre: social media au, college au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, comedy, coming of age

taglist: @she-is-dreaming @wavesandkisses @jenobubbles @finnydraws @snflwrhaerecs4u @sexygrass @miniature-tragedy @sweetcandycum @fae-renjun @dinonuguaegi

[pastafossa]

Loving author Pasta, as much as a want Midland Circle to go all rainbows and butterflies. I also do enjoy having my heart broken into millions of pieces and ugly crying at night when I read TRT in bed.

Can we have more hints on how much hurt we will get?

*announcer voice* "As you can see, the Angst judges are reading over the outline now. If you'll remember, in our previous matchups, the Hound of Los Angeles arc has been our previous record holder up until this point when it comes to TRT angst. However, Pasta has informed the judges that that arc was nothing but a warmup, a taste of the brutal agony yet to come. But Jim, that's a hard arc to top angst-wise without completely gutting the audience with death and/or a true breakup. What do you think, Jim?" "Well, it's hard to say, Bill. It's true that the Hound of Los Angeles arc - a solid tear-jerker for sure, I was in the fetal position - was a good show of tears. But that also relied on surprise. Pasta's going a different route this time, an attempt to mimic the Greek tragedies of old in which we the audience are the only ones who can see the tragedy coming. She's slowly building the audience's feeling of dread - he's got that ring! Will Matt cinch the proposal? Will that building come down? Will he seem dead and Jane's left to grieve alone? Will he come back the second he can or will he succumb to the canonical crushing, brutal depression that leads him to push everyone away including Jane who as we know has a thing about being left behind? We're left to scream at the characters, begging them to stay away from that building, do anything! Please, dear god, anything, Pasta, don't do this, I've read the outline, you've got me here in your post, I'm here to tell you don't, you can't - you can't do this, this is cruel, how could you, Pasta i am begging you-"

"Right, ok, Jim's now collapsed into the fetal position again, which bodes well for our angst lovers! Let's take it over to the judges who've now seen the outline! Drumroll, please! Wait, they're... Ted, do you have the camera feed? Where'd they all go?" "Uh, I'm in the helicopter right now. It sure looks like they're, uh, outside Pasta's house right now. Let me transfer the sound-" "PASTA GET THE FUCK OUT HERE RIGHT NOW AND FUCKING FIX THIS"

"Well that seems like a solid 10 on the angst to me, Bill! Back to you in the office!"

[mawsilent]

Get to know the Mun !

Name / Alias: Símone / Vivian

Are you over 18? Yes / No.

– W R I T I N G –

Are you selective about who you write with? No (anyone) / Semi (most people, mutuals only) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private.

Are you selective about who you follow? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people).

If your muse is canon, how much do you adhere to canon? Not at all / A little / Some / Mostly / Strictly / Not Applicable.

What post lengths do you write? One-Liners / Single-Para / Multi-Para / Novella / All of the aforementioned.

Do you use icons and/or GIFS? No / Gifs / Icons / Yes / Sometimes.

Do you write on other platforms? No / Yes ( discord!!! only with close friends and my significant other though )

What level of plots do you write? Unplotted / Open-Ended Plots / Semi-Plotted / Fully Plotted Epics / All of the aforementioned.

How quickly do you usually respond to threads? Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 weeks) / Average (1-2 weeks) / Fast (less than one week) / Very Fast (less than three days) / Depends on my motivation, this can make it range from days to weeks.

What types of themes do you like? Adventure / Romance / Fluff / Angst/ Violence / Tragedy / Domestic / Family / All of the aforementioned.

What genres do you like? High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror / Comedy / Romantic / Drama / Action / Smut / Adventure / Espionage / All of the aforementioned.

Are there any themes you’re uncomfortable writing on your blog? (Not triggers) No / Yes / Dependent.

Do you have any triggers? How do you request it tagged? I only have two hard no's outside of the obvious: irl eye trauma / gore and trypophobia-inducing images.

– S H I P P I N G –

What types of relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned.

What types of pre-established relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned.

Do you have OTPs? No / Chemistry Only / Yes

Do you have NOTPS? No / Yes.

What is your muse’s sexual orientation? Heterosexual / Heteroflexible / Bisexual / Pansexual / Homoflexible / Homosexual / Demisexual / Sapiosexual / Asexual / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking.

What is your muse’s romantic orientation? Heteroromantic / Heteroflexible / Biromantic / Homoflexible / Homoromantic / Panromantic / Demiromantic / Sapioromantic / Aromantic / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking.

Are you comfortable writing smut? No / Selectively ( another discord-reserved thing for close friends and my significant other ) / Yes.

How early in a relationship do you ship romantically? Autoship / During plotting / After a couple IC interactions / Several IC interactions / Slow burn / Plot dependent / Never.

Are you open to toxic ships? No / Selectively ( listen ok the "enemies -> rivals -> what are we? -> friends -> possibly more -> lovers" pipeline gets me but it's a thing I only do with close friends & my lover. ) / Yes / I am not sure.

Are you open to problematic ships? No / Selectively / Yes / I am not sure. / If this is regarding illegal stuff I have brought up in my rules, no. I will block immediately if put on my feed. ( <- felt like this didn't need edited, sums up my feelings perfectly )

Are you open to polyshipping? No / Selectively / Yes / I am not sure.

Are you an exclusive shipper? Never / Sometimes / Yes / I would be open to discuss it.

Does crack shipping ever happen? Nope / Yes / Depends.

tagged by: stolen from @mouffete <3

tagging: whoever wants to do it :D

[beomqutie]

ㅡ txt as sad romantic tropes

genre: angst wc: 1.7k tw: angst, unfulfilled love, mention of poverty, death, terminal illness, car accident, low self-esteem, mention of one-night stand (no smut), mention of cheating

yeonjun:

star-crossed lovers; any lovers whose affection and love for each other is doomed to end in tragedy.

yeonjun and you met under unpromising circumstances. after asking soobin to study for the upcoming exam together the pair decided to go home together. though on the way home soobin decided to give you, his best friend, a visit since you were currently at the hospital. yeonjun tagged along and was starstruck after entering your hospital room.

never in his life had he seen someone so beautiful. the two of you got closer over time with yeonjun tagging along whenever soobin would visit you or visiting you on his own whenever you asked him for company. everything seemed perfect, you and yeonjun clicked immediately as if he was your missing puzzle piece. you were all yeonjun ever wanted and he’d do anything to keep you as his. still, fate had different plans for you two.

your terminal illness slowly got worse, yeonjun could see that you got weaker and weaker with every visit which worried him to death. and then one day while he was at college he got a panicked call from soobin who told him you had to go into surgery since your condition had drastically worsened overnight. very rushed yeonjun left the building to go over to the hospital, wanting to wait next to your bed when you woke up again. after the call yeonjun drowned out every noise there was, whether that be the librarian who yelled at him for being too loud, the woman who called after him when he had dropped his wallet or the car that came his way after he crossed a red light.

yeonjun never made it to the hospital.

yeonjun wasn’t there when you woke up.

if you had known that his visit the day before would be the last one you’d have poured your whole heart out to him, but now everything you could do was cry out your heart after losing the love of your life. a month after yeonjun’s funeral you left this earth too, silently hoping the two of you would meet again in heaven, where no one could mess with your love.

“we went on pretending that stories like ours could have happy endings.”

soobin:

one-sided love; love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved.

soobin always had a thing for you. the moment you walked into the room he felt as if the sun was suddenly shining brighter, the air was better and every color he could see was more vibrant. his friends noticed his little crush on you too, how he would always look your way whenever he spotted you around campus, urging him to go and talk to you.

one day working up the courage to head over to your table soobin saw something he wished he could erase from his mind. you and your significant other sitting next to each other while they tried to feed you a strawberry. his heart hurt seeing you like this, all his daydreams of the two of you together lay shattered in front of his feet.

returning back to his table he grabs his backpack and leaves his friends wondering what happened. after he got home soobin would lock his door and lay on his bed while crying. why was he crying? he didn’t know, after all, you were just a mere crush, right? maybe it was the way he genuinely thought you’d be the right one, or how he wished to finally be loved by someone, someone like you.

or perhaps it was the way his hopes skyrocketed at the thought of being able to call someone like you his, but who was he kidding? someone like soobin could never have you and this was certainly god’s way to prove that soobin wasn’t worthy of any love, specifically not yours.

“if only you loved me back…”

beomgyu:

lovers to enemies; when love turns to animosity, a trusted character becomes completely untrustworthy. worse still, they become the one person who hates you most.

you and beomgyu met in high school after he had transferred schools since he moved cities. luckily, the only available seat was next to you which lead to the two of you often being paired for group projects during class. slowly you two started to eat lunch together, walk with each other to the bus stop and started hanging out after school.

you thought the two of you would stay as best friends but inevitably you fell for beomgyu and, as if fate was on your side, beomgyu fell for you too! even after graduating high school and going to the same college everything was perfect. you trusted beomgyu 100% and he trusted you too, even your friends believed the two of you would end up marrying each other. how wrong they were.

about one month before your two-year anniversary you started meeting up with beomgyu less and less, planning a big surprise for him that you didn’t want to risk him finding out about beforehand. beomgyu did not like this the slightest bit. yes, he trusted you but he thought going through your phone while you were showering would help his situation. after all, he would find nothing and could calm his nerves. unfortunately, you were quicker than he would have anticipated which led to you catching him red-handed while he sat on your bed with your phone in his hands. of course this resulted in a fight, you were mad at him for breaking the trust you guys had built up and beomgyu was mad at you for not showing him your phone, claiming he was certain you were hiding something.

after that night beomgyu stormed out of your apartment and stopped contacting you. you on the other hand were sure that whatever you two had was over, which lead you to stay at home, crying about your breakup. your friend wouldn’t let you thought as they dragged you out to go partying, trying to take your mind off of beomgyu, which worked. that night you hooked up with a random person you met. somehow, beomgyu heard about what you did that night and was completely broken. how could the one person he used to trust with his life break his heart in such a cruel way? he thought what you were going through was a small break which would be ending soon, going back to how you used to, but now he only wished he had never loved you as much as he did.

“i can’t believe i used to love you.”

taehyun:

right person wrong time; a connection with someone who seems perfect for you, but there are extenuating circumstances pulling you apart, leaving the potential unrealized.

taehyun and you weren’t together yet, only staying friends for now. still, everything felt good. you had the same humor, shared love languages and genuinely made each other happy just by being around each other, so what could go wrong? to everyone around you it seemed like you two were soulmates and fated to end up with each other.

a lot could go wrong apparently. because after your family’s small restaurant faced a small crisis because of the economic changes you had to help out a lot, which made you a lot busier. all the while, taehyun still wasn’t over his past relationship. yes, he was cheated on by his previous significant other and yes, they broke up before taehyun even met you. however, the wounds they left him still haven’t healed and after they contacted him again, asking for a second chance, the wounds got ripped open again.

taehyun knew he loved you, with you, everything felt right. as if all the stars shone even brighter whenever he was with you. nonetheless, you were busy with your family’s business while taehyun needed to heal from his past relationship.

the two of you are as right for each other as much as lemonade is right on a hot summer day. still, even if you were the right person, now wasn’t the time. maybe in a few years, the two of you could try again?

“i guess this is the irony of love”

huening kai:

the one that got away; a love story that did not work out and leaves the couple, or one of them, always wondering what might have been, or what could still be someday.

the thing between you and kai was doomed from the start. he was the son of one of the biggest and most successful companies in south korea while you were a rather poor college student on the verge of getting kicked out of your apartment. people knew the two of you wouldn’t last but what could kai do when you were the first one to make him truly happy and be himself after years of desperately trying to fit his dad’s standards. and you, who was undeniably thankful for kai whenever he put a smile on your face amidst all the troubles you faced in life just by being next to you.

the two of you wholeheartedly believe you could change fate, you believed destiny could be changed. nonetheless, fate did not change. after his dad got wind of the relationship he wasted no time in sending kai abroad to get him away from you, fearing he wouldn’t take over the company anymore for your sake. you on the other end lost all hope. even in the short time of your relationship, you felt out of place next to him. people always told you he was too good for you, only using you for his fun or out of pity, yet you didn’t want to give up.

so after kai went abroad you distanced yourself from him, answering texts very late or not at all, not responding to calls and even blocking him on your social media accounts.

despite the fact that your heart hurt like hell you tried moving on and met someone new. after graduating college kai came back and immediately started looking for you, still not over you even in the slightest bit. searching the whole city he found you in a wedding hall, walking down the aisle arm linked with your fiance. after the wedding he approached you to congratulate you and big his final goodbye, not wishing to ruin your life when you clearly found happiness in someone else.

“you could have been the love of my life y/n”

taglist. @hee-pster @valley-of-lies @astrozuya @kflixnet

© beomqutie, please do not translate, copy and/or repost my work.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Previous - Chapter 4 - Next - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here / art here and here

One month later

"While star-matches are rare, they often result in the most famously intense and controversial love and often end in tragedy and even death. Among the most well known from the legends are Tristan and Ysolt, Orpheus and Eurydice, and Hades and Persephone. Many famous couples throughout the centuries have been suspected to be star-matches, and doubtless many of them were. However, during this dark age of war and strife, there were star-matches that shined so brightly that there could be no doubt of their existence…"

— Balthazar the Wise, On the Legends and Myths of the Clans

"So tell me, again, what the master plan is supposed to be here," (Y/N) murmured, tracing lazy circles on Dabi's chest as they lay together, sweaty and spent. "We can never finish talking about it without arguing, and we can never finish arguing without fucking each other quite dumb."

A fire blazed in the center of the tent, casting everything in warm golden light. Dabi had left the flap of the tent open so that the cool nighttime breeze could flow through, keeping their space at the perfect temperature. Only moments before, (Y/N) had been straddling his hips, wringing his cock dry from orgasm as she rode him, and now that they were both finished, the world seemed to grow hazy at the edges in the afterglow.

Dabi hummed, and (Y/N) felt the low reverberations of it through her hand on his chest. 

"The Empire is a lion," he told her, his eyes languid and half-lidded, "and the Clans are a pack of wolves. No matter how great the lion is, or how many wolves he's killed, if he has no sheep on which to feed, he starves."

"So you plan to destroy everyone— everything— and rule over ashes?" she asked, laying her head on his shoulder. "If the lion starves, so do the wolves, after all."

Dabi sighed.

"At some point, the lion decides it's too costly to steal from wolves, and it retreats back to its pride."

(Y/N) didn't have to say how ridiculous she thought that notion to be; she'd told him many times over the last month that in a battle of attrition, the Empire would win, even if it was solely because it had the most resources. 

"Why choose the path of destruction when you can disrupt the pattern of this madness from the inside with minimal bloodshed?" she asked, tracing the line of his jaw with a finger. "Can you not feel pity for the people who suffer at your hand?"

"No one felt pity at my suffering," he huffed, rolling to his side so that they were face-to-face under his furs. "Nor yours, love. Why should I feel for theirs, hm?"

(Y/N) frowned. "Because it is right— because it is human, Touya."

Touya. (Y/N) had been using that name more often as of late— or, rather, the man lying next to her had been that name more often as of late. There were times, it seemed, when he was more one name than the other, more villain than nobleman, or vice versa. Among his men, this man was Dabi— a general, a leader of men, a war-dog on the prowl— but here, in his tent, beneath these furs, he was gentle, sweet, and kind. Here, in her arms, he was Touya, the lost little boy of Clan Todoroki, a warm and caring man, the man that she—

The man that she loved. 

"Would it please you if I were to give this whole thing up?" Dabi asked her, using the knuckle of one finger to trace the curve of her cheek. "If I turned tail and fled, let the Clans hunt me down like a dog? Is that what you want?"

Eyes of azure watched her, lazy, yet piercing; his voice said that he would do anything to please her, but the question was pointed, sharp with intent, like a needle hiding beneath silk sheets. 

"It would please me if you could find peace," she replied, taking his hand and splaying it against her cheek, feeling its warmth. "If we could sleep in a castle instead of a tent— if I could introduce you to my friends, if I could see your brother again— that would please me."

"My brother," he growled lowly, a nasty, jealous thing, "You mean your betrothed."

"I mean my best friend."

Dabi scowled, but did not turn away. 

"You will marry him one day, and sleep in a castle with him, and meet often with the friends of yours he already knows," he said, angry, but truthful. "The only peace I will find is when I sleep beneath the earth in the Mother's embrace, or when the Empire kneels at my feet."

He pulled his hand away from her cheek, but (Y/N) caught it before he could withdraw it entirely, raising a brow.

"Jealous?" she asked, and she could practically feel her lover's temptation to turn away instead of facing the issue at hand.

"Of my father's favorite?" he retorted. "For what? His eugenic success? The love of my parents? Your cunt? All things I can live without, pussy-cat."

(Y/N) wanted very badly to give him a slap for that, but she barely— just barely— restrained herself. By now, she had learned to recognize hurt in Dabi, to understand that lashing out was his best and only defense against the things that hurt him the most; now that she had exposed a thorn in this dragon's claw, she could try to remove it, and with it ease his pain. 

"Your brother never had my cunt," she told him gently. "How can you be jealous of a thing that doesn't exist anywhere but your own mind?"

"I did say that I wasn't jealous," he replied, and (Y/N) sighed. 

"Shoto visits your grave every chance he gets," she told him, revealing perhaps too much of what she knew. "I've watched him, sometimes, from the far wall of the cemetery— he talks to you, asks you for guidance and advice, and there is always a candle lit at home for you and a cup poured out to your memory."

"They love me dead better than they did alive," Dabi mused, watching her expression intently. "What does that tell you, pussy-cat?"

Well, that didn't work. On to the next tactic.

Diatraction.

"I am the Mother, and she is me," (Y/N) replied, slowly moving the hand that held his wrist so that she could guide it to her breast. "Can you not find peace in my arms?" 

Touya paused for a moment, then smiled— a true and tender smile, only for her. 

"No," he replied, his tone teasing as the calloused pad of a finger brushed over her nipple, "Never there. I can't bloody win with you, and I can't quit either— so I fight in circles with you, with never a moment's peace!"

He pinched her gently then, and she smacked him with an outraged squeak. They laughed together for a moment— his eyes crinkled cutely when he laughed— and then they grew quiet. Dabi pulled her close and held her, kissing her forehead lightly.

"How long do you intend to stay here?" he asked, suddenly dreadfully serious, and (Y/N) pulled back, unwilling to answer such a loaded question without looking her lover in the eyes. 

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, when are you going to stop fooling around here and get back to being the Hand?" In a manner so unlike himself, Dabi's tone was free of bitterness, free of judgment, but shackled with the sort of sadness that hid itself within the cover of nonchalance. "You know that you're free to go— no one here would stop you, and my superiors don't even know I have you. So why are you here, and when will you leave?"

There were many answers (Y/N) could give to answer that question. 

She could say that she was here because the Mother willed it. That wouldn't be a lie— not when she'd felt the hand of the goddess on her as she had in the last few weeks. She could say that she was here because she wanted to be, and that wouldn't be a lie either, technically. She could say that she intended to gain information from the League, or that she wanted to stay and heal and protect those wounded at Black Dabi's hands, and all of that would be true, but— but not the biggest, ultimate truth. 

In the end, she decided to say the safest truth— the one that would reveal little while concealing nothing.

"I'm here because I need to be," she replied, "And I'll only leave when the Mother sends me in another direction. Does that satisfy you?"

Dabi's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her with faux skepticism. 

"I am never satisfied," he said, leaning forward to place his forehead against hers. "I always want more of the world than it can give me."

"More, you say?" she asked, trailing a finger down his chest, under their furs and down to his belly with a wicked little grin. "What more can the world give you that you haven't already got or given up?"

The knuckle of her right forefinger grazed the white hairs of his happy trail, and Touya made a deep, grumbling sound low in his throat.

"I could use the freedom to worship as I see fit," he replied, brushing hair from her shoulder as he pulled her closer. "I'd like a bit of land, and vengeance on my father— though not necessarily in that order."

"Is that all?" (Y/N) asked, her gaze flicking downwards to his lips as one of her hands wandered to the thatch of hair just above his cock. "It seems so simple— is there nothing else?"

"What else is there?" he said, grabbing her wrist and staring intently at her face as he propped up on one elbow. 

"Oh, plenty." (Y/N) raised her leg, trailing her biggest toe over the thin flesh of her lover's ankle. "Many men want wives."

Dabi gave her a look.

"And what would I do with a wife?"

"Love her, I'd expect." (Y/N) looked anywhere but Touya's face, feigning innocence as her knee brushed his manhood. "Maybe father her children, even— many men find the idea appealing."

"I'm too difficult to be a husband," he told her as he shifted, finally giving in to her teasing as he slipped a hand between her legs,"And I don't feel particularly suited to fatherhood, either."

"Oh?" (Y/N) replied. "Could have fooled me with that appetite of yours."

(Y/N) was, of course, referring to his current occupation of pushing leaking seed from their earlier encounter back inside her, playing with the mess of her folds in a sort of possessive, prideful way that lent itself to further inferences.

"You mistake me, pussy-cat." His voice betrayed the smile that was hidden as he dropped wet, warm kisses from her neck down to her shoulder. "This is something I do and have done with you, and no other."

"You don't get points for trying to make me feel special when you've already gotten me in your bed," (Y/N) chided, though she shivered as he pressed his thumb lightly into her clit. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Then you should know that I wouldn't lie," he replied matter-of-factly, plunging one long finger inside her, followed by another. "Lie back— I want to taste you."

(Y/N) did as she was bid, spreading her legs, and Touya settled between them, her knees over his shoulders as he licked a broad stripe up her sex, his tongue obscene and divine against her clit. 

Dabi, she'd learned, lived to eat pussy. He loved the taste, the smell, the feeling of it, and it seemed that his favorite pastime was fighting for his life between her legs when she'd already come and her thighs were closing involuntarily to crush his head in defense of her poor, overstimulated clit. 

"Touya," she gasped, throwing her head back as his fingers curled inside her and the chill of the wind tightened the skin of her nipples. "Touya, please."

At that, he lifted his head, and her wetness glistened on his chin, painted golden by the firelight. 

"What is it, kitten?" he asked, withdrawing his fingers to reach up and pinch one of her nipples with warm, wet digits as he moved up her body, hovering over her with a smug expression.

"I want you," she murmured as she looked away, almost ashamed, but Dabi took his other hand and held her chin so that she had no choice but to face him.

"All this time, and you're still bashful when you're asking for what you want," he said, leaning down to kiss her lips, his mouth tasting of salt and sweat and slick. "Sit up, sweet one, I'm going to rearrange us."

(Y/N) went, willing and pliant, to where he placed her. Dabi sat with his legs crossed, his cock hard and straining against his abdomen, and he guided (Y/N) on top of him, her legs wrapping around his torso. As she sank down on his length, the position put his cock deeply inside her, and instinctively, (Y/N) began to move, grinding her hips back and forth to feel the stretch of him reach deeper and deeper until she could no longer tell where he ended and she began. 

"That's it," Dabi praised, slowly, gently kissing any part of her that he could reach, from her breasts to her neck to the outer shell of her ear. "Fuck yeah, grind on me— you feel so good."

(Y/N) let the praise wash over and through her, and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her more tenderly than she had ever been kissed. As she rocked against him, she felt his hands come up behind her, roaming over her back to support her, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring unhurriedly. They were so close, so intertwined— and just then, (Y/N) felt some curious elation rise in her chest, a thrill of intimate pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her. She had never been this close to another person before, in sex or otherwise.

I love you, she wanted to say, but didn't.

"You're so beautiful," said Dabi, interrupting her thoughts as one of his hands found her breast. "Have I told you?"

"Mm," she replied, words catching in her mouth— but Dabi didn't need a response. 

"When I first saw you," he said, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak of her breast, "I knew I wanted you. I hated you, but you were so pretty that I wanted to keep you all to myself— I even lied to Shigaraki for you, hiding your presence. Do you know the penalty for that?"

(Y/N) shook her head, all sense lost to sensation, lost to the movement of the cock inside her.

"If he knew, he'd try to kill me— and, if I didn't see it coming, he could probably manage to do it. It's mad that I didn't give you over to him the moment that I got you, but I can't make myself feel sorry for it. I'd do it again, and again, and again, if I could."

He paused, but only long enough to groan as she clenched around him.

"And that whole nasty business in Illan," he continued, his eyes locked with hers, "I was ready to burn the fucking world for you. I knew their reputation, knew their capacity for violence for goddess-blessed of any kind, and all I could think was that I couldn't let them have you. If you were going to die, I wanted to be the one to kill you— if you were going to be free, I wanted to be the one to give you your freedom. Is that mad?"

(Y/N) didn't have an answer— not when Dabi's attention had been turned to her clit, where his fingers made smooth, unrelenting circles in her flesh.

"If it is madness, then I don't want sanity," he told her, stupidly sincere as he watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing. "Do you feel that way, ever? Like you could burn the earth for this?"

"Yes," she cried— but whether it was in response to the question or the stimulation, she wasn't sure. 

Dabi became silent after that, and (Y/N) was immersed in sensation, in the touching of every inch of their bodies. They stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time, grinding and writhing and kissing and biting, until her lover's patience ran out, and his fervor overtook his affection.

"Lean back," he instructed her, moving his hands to her hips. "All the way, that's it— I won't let you fall."

(Y/N) did so, and then Dabi was on top of her, moving in and out, in and out of her, fucking her closer to orgasm with every thrust.

She must have wailed like a wildcat as she came, because Dabi thrust two fingers in her mouth— both a gag and a source of stimulation as she sucked on them, running her tongue over calluses and large, bony knuckles— and there was rustling outside, and a slight chuckle from one of the men stationed as lookouts. If (Y/N) had been anywhere else, she might have been ashamed, embarrassed; but here, in Dabi's arms, kissing him, with his seed filling her, she could muster no shame, and no remorse. 

"I could forgive my brother," he told her later, after they'd cleaned up and settled back in, her head on his chest, "If only he hadn't put a ring on your finger. For that, I'll hate him until I'm dead or that ring is gone. Can you understand that?"

(Y/N) could and did understand, perhaps more than Dabi intended. Those words— as many and weighted as they were— could have been summed up in only three. 

I love you, he might have said, and saved himself some breath. 

"I don't love him," she said in reply, knowing what he needed to hear. "You know the man I love."

Dabi cracked an eye open, like the sleepy lid of a lizard's eye.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She shifted slightly, raising her head. "He's you."

She laid her head back down, pressing even farther into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. He didn't say it back— didn't have to. (Y/N) heard the words in the way he kissed the top of her head— soft, gentle, and affectionate— and in the way he wouldn't let her get very far, always shifting to follow her when she would turn to get more comfortable. 

Goodnight, Touya, she thought, closing her eyes for the last time that night. Sleep well. 

***

Something was wrong. Dabi could smell it in the air, could feel it under his feet. Change was coming— things hadn’t been right at all for over a week now— but he didn’t know how, or when, or what to expect when it finally did come. 

The men, he'd noticed, had been restless of late. Since Dabi had single-handedly destroyed Illan, there hadn't been a whole lot for them to do; it had been far too long since they'd sacked a village and split blood, and now the men's morale was suffering for it. Hell, even Jin was on edge, and everyone who was anyone knew that a twitchy berserker was never a good thing. As Dabi saw it, if the man didn’t find some way to ground himself, everyone in the camp— including himself— was at risk.

As if that wasn't bad enough, (Y/N) had been sick, slowing their camp down. The past two mornings, Dabi had woken to the sounds of her retching, and she hadn’t been able to stomach the usual rations provided for her by Spinner. The very smell of roasted duck the night before had sent her out of the tent, covering her mouth with one hand and clutching her stomach with the other, but this afternoon, she craved spicy pickled quail eggs— which she hated— with a hunger that bordered on violence. Dabi wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her, but it seemed an unnatural illness— one that was beginning to frighten him.  

Storm's coming, he noted, staring off into the cloudy, darkened horizon as he reined Bandit around, waiting for some of the men to pass ahead of him so that he  could check on (Y/N). That's no good— Shiggy was hoping we'd get a lot farther today than we will. 

And that was a whole other problem. Dabi had never been solely loyal to Shigaraki as much as he had to his own cause, but now Shigaraki seemed to be… spiraling. Dabi had been hearing rumors about Shigaraki talking to himself, claiming to be a goddess-chosen bearer of ultimate power, edging the League closer and closer to the Summit— making strange, unhinged claims and exhibiting behaviors that had never been present previously. It was worrying, worrying, worrying. If Dabi's ambition and Shigaraki's came into conflict, the fallout would be horrific. 

"Dabi?"

Dabi turned and saw (Y/N) urging her horse out of line to ride up beside him. Her expression was tight, pinched as though in pain or discomfort, and Dabi felt a weight settle heavily over his shoulders.

"Yeah, pussy-cat?" he asked, his voice more tired than he'd intended it to be.

She fidgeted a little, looked away.

"I think we need to talk.”

Dabi clenched his jaw and tried to be patient despite the myriad of thoughts and fears swirling in his head.

“Is it important, or can it wait?” he asked, his eyes on the road ahead of them. “We’ll stop in a few miles to rest the horses, and prepare for the storm— we can have a bit more privacy then.”

She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, and Dabi turned to look at her, concerned. When he did, he found that she was silently crying with a hand over her belly and the other on the reins of her horse.

“What is it?” he asked, nudging Bandit a little closer, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes red and full of fear, and Dabi's world stopped. 

The fields are ripe for sowing, the aes sídhe had said, And there is more than one kind of seed.

And then, later— afterwards, it had said— 

Though there is much you do not know and cannot see, your child will be strong. My mate has foreseen it. 

Beltane seemed so long ago, like a distant dream, but— but if (Y/N) was right… 

“It shouldn’t— I keep track of my moons, and I take root-of-the-virgin every morning, but—”

Dabi moved his gaze downward to her torso, eyes wide with disbelief, but he noticed a slight roundness to her figure that hadn’t been there before, one that could easily have been written off as a heavy meal or two, but with the other signs and symptoms…

Fuck.

“Hey, let’s not panic,” he said as Bandit tossed his head, raring to get back on the road as he watched the other horses ride ahead of him. “Have you stopped taking the— the whatever it is, now that you think…?”

(Y/N) stared at him, bewildered.

“What?”

“Did you stop taking the anti-baby root?” he repeated. “I don’t know much about these things, but it can’t be good for you or— or the baby to keep taking it.”

“I— yeah, I did,” she replied, still as skittish as a fawn. “You’re— you aren’t angry with me?”

Now it was Dabi’s turn to be confused.

“Why would I be angry?” he asked. “Aren’t all children a gift from the goddess? Especially… yours?”

(Y/N) looked at him for a moment, her expression caught somewhere between horror and befuddlement, and she collapsed into tears, crying like a child with her head in her hands.

“Hey, now,” Dabi said, unsure of what he should do to comfort her, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on before I can help you, pussy-cat.”

She looked up at him then, and her wrecked expression was like a knife twisting inside his chest.

“They’ll shame me,” she cried hoarsely, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks, horrified. “They’ll treat me like the scum of the earth—”

“Who?” Dabi demanded, still puzzled. “And why?"

Really, Dabi didn't understand— what’s to feel but pride and respect, and maybe a little envy, for a woman who is growing with child, powerful with proven fertility, the ability to create life?

“The priests, the holy men of the Church— I’ll be a pariah!” (Y/N) choked on a sob, nigh upon hysterics. “An unmarried woman, pregnant— I can forget trying to negotiate with them. I’ll be lucky if they don’t kill me! I’ve ruined everything!”

Dabi’s expression darkened at that. 

“That’s enough,” he snapped. “Dry up the waterworks, pussy-cat, no one will be killing you without going through me first."

"You don't understand,"she protested, but Dabi wouldn't hear any more.

"So what if they shame you?" he demanded. "They can’t take away your power, your faith, or the love the people have for you. What can they really do to you that matters?”

(Y/N) shook her head, and her sobs broke what little was left of Dabi's heart.

“They can make laws that prevent me from performing any rites or ceremonies, including Welcomeings,” she replied, trembling. “They can drag young priestesses out of temples by their hair and have them whipped for collecting rainwater, they can destroy sacred places and reward those who desecrate our holy ground— they can make it so that the world forgets the Mother altogether!”

Dabi tried not to be frustrated or lash out with anger; since (Y/N) had come into his life, it had come to his attention that doing so usually made matters worse where she was concerned. 

“They can’t, and they won’t,” he told her, and Bandit stomped the earth with his hoof as though in agreement. “We won’t let them. If the world needs to end to prevent it, I’ll burn it to ash myself. Do you hear me? Nothing is going to happen to you, this baby, or our faith.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You’re okay. We’re okay. It’s okay. Okay?”

(Y/N) took a shaky breath and looked at him with uncertainty, but she nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Her cheeks were swollen, and her skin was colored from crying, but she had never looked more beautiful to Dabi than she did in that moment.

Brave girl, he thought to himself, watching her breathing even out. That’s it, in and out.

“Ready?” he asked her, nodding to the procession.

“Ready,” she replied, only somewhat weakly, and they rode together to their proper place. 

A child, Dabi thought, watching (Y/N) as she rode beside him. Our child.

Dabi had never considered having a child. After the botched job his father did, he figured he’d save everyone the pain of producing a little copy of himself and die before he could fuck up and give in to biology… only, he hadn’t accounted for meeting someone like (Y/N), or for loving her. She had stumbled into his life like a bull in a china shop, knocking carefully-placed shelves to the floor and smashing his known world to bits in a matter of weeks. Now, in the ruins of his old self was this new, terrifying version of himself that didn’t care for anything outside of holding, loving, and protecting (Y/N) to the best of his ability. It seemed that his former ambitions— destroying his father and the Clans, reclaiming what the empire had taken— all seemed so small, now, in comparison to keeping (Y/N) with him. She was all he wanted, his only pride, his only joy.

He loved her, or as near to that as he knew how. 

And now that she was with child— with his child— everything had changed.

“You need to see a Healer-woman,” he spoke aloud, glancing over to (Y/N), who still looked troubled. “I don’t know where to get one of those.”

(Y/N) shrugged, frowning. 

“I used to see the matron of Clan Midoriya,” she said, self-consciously touching her torso, “But she’s at the Summit, currently.”

Admittedly, the Summit wasn’t too far. It was perhaps three days’ ride to the southeast— an easy journey for a party of two or three to make in a little less time than that. However, appearing at the Summit could mean big trouble if Dabi were recognized, and if he let (Y/N) go alone, she might never return to him. Dabi would not risk that, not unless she were in urgent need of the best care available.

“What about any of the villages close by?” he asked. “Would any of them have someone you could see?”

(Y/N) chewed her lip, considering.

“Maybe in Aryon,” she said. “A little shepherding village a few miles east of where you want to make camp. There should be someone there who can help.”

Dabi nodded. That was certainly more reasonable than taking a detour to the Summit.

“We’ll go there early tomorrow,” he told her, “Just you and I. Sound okay?”

(Y/N) agreed, but Dabi couldn’t help but feel that there was still something amiss. 

“If you’re feeling well, we’ll talk more after we make camp,” he promised her. “Just— just take it easy, okay?”

For him, she tried to summon a smile; and though the smile she managed was a small and half-hearted one, Dabi was pleased by it nonetheless. He smiled right back— an expression that he was sure looked as wrong as it felt on his face— and (Y/N)’s own smile grew until it stretched her cheeks with its width.

That’s my girl, he thought, turning back to the road. She’ll make a fine mother.

***

As the sun began to dip lazily below the horizon, (Y/N) sat alone in Dabi’s tent, anxious and nauseated. 

Outside, Dabi was still managing his men, supervising and assisting with even the most simple tasks. Completing everyday chores with the men, (Y/N) knew, was one of the ways in which Dabi earned their trust; it showed them that he wasn’t too good to pull his weight, and it gave him an opportunity to interact and observe the men he was leading so that he knew them and knew them well. It was so strange to watch someone who should have been a brigand act like a soldier, like a nobleman’s son— like a prince, even— and (Y/N) wondered at the loyalty he inspired from the men he led. Often, she thought that if Dabi had stayed with his family as a child and had grown up with his siblings, he would have grown into a leader more fierce and awe-inspiring than his brother.

The would-be Todoroki heir-apparent, she thought, touching her belly. I suppose I fulfilled my duties, but with the wrong Todoroki in line for the seat!

Shoto was going to be… something. He was going to be something, and while (Y/N) wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he was going to be, it wasn’t going to be good. The words shocked, hurt, and offended came to mind, and on their heels came furious, insulted, and disappointed— but none of them felt right. Realistically, he would be some mixture of all of those things, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to face him.

You could run away with Touya and never look back, said a tiny, insistent voice in her head. You could have your child together and grow old far away from the Empire’s reach. 

The idea was tempting beyond words— but that was not (Y/N)’s destiny. She was the Hand of Cerridwen, and her place was with the people. 

Before she could think any farther about her predicament, the ground in front of the tent flap darkened, and Jin the Twice ducked inside, his split forehead creased with worry.

“Jin,” (Y/N) greeted him with a tired smile. “How can I help you?”

Jin looked askance, as if unsure of himself.

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it before Dabi had pointed it out to her one night, but Jin had seemed restless lately. At first, it was little things— mumbling to himself, habitually toying with his knife— and then it had become worse, until he'd taken to pacing the length of the camp and starting fights with himself over dirty boots and empty wine-flasks. The fact that he was reaching out now, and to (Y/N), of all people, was both reassuring and a little scary.

“I don’t know, priestess,” he replied. “Can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course— come in, come in.” 

(Y/N) stood, rearranging things so Jin would have a comfortable place to sit. When she was finished, she patted the seat beside her, and Jin lowered himself to the floor, almost comically large in the small space of the tent. 

“I’ve been… troubled, lately,” he admitted. “Distracted. The parts of myself that are usually at odds are— well, they’re agreeing. The only thing is, I’m not sure I agree.”

Oh boy, did (Y/N) identify with that.

“Do you feel comfortable telling me what the conflict is?” she asked gently, taking one of his hands in hers. “Sometimes, hearing an objective opinion on the matter can help, if that’s okay.”

“You won’t tell Dabi?”

Jin wouldn’t meet her eyes, and (Y/N)’s heart hurt for him.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” she promised. “Your secret will be safe with me.”

Jin looked at her then, and nodded slowly, steeling himself.

“Priestess, do you remember… do you remember the day we, er, found you?”

How could she have forgotten it? That was perhaps the most memorable day of her life, and (Y/N) told him so with a playful grin.

“Well,” he replied, “Then that means you remember the babe that you— well, we— Welcomed that day? And his mother?” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah, I do. What about them, though?”

“I’ve— I’ve been having dreams about them,” he replied, looking away once more. “I always see Jenny and her little boy— they’re traveling, and every time I see them, they’re a little closer to the Summit. I can never talk to them, but I always get the feeling that Jenny is lonely.”

(Y/N) went very still. 

“Jin,” she said slowly, “Are you thinking of leaving the League for this woman?”

Jin looked up at her then, alarmed, but (Y/N) touched his shoulder, attempting to reassure him.

“Maybe,” he replied, still uneasy, and (Y/N) did her best to hide her shock. 

“I don’t want to be a deserter,” he told her, shamefaced. “I love these men like brothers— but— but I feel a calling. Jenny needs somebody, priestess, and I want that somebody to be me. I don’t— I haven’t ever wanted anything for myself like this, ever, and I’m terribly afraid it’s going to get me into trouble.”

“Oh, Jin,” said (Y/N), unable to stop herself from smiling. “I don’t know what to say. Are you in love with this woman?”

“I don’t rightly know,” he said with a hapless little shrug, “I’ve never been in love before.”

There was a certain superstition among the novices of the Old Religion that when the goddess made the world, she split stars and turned them into people. With one half of the first star forming as a woman and the other as a man, the two halves were destined to find each other, their fates intertwined. Matches such as these— or those that seemed perfect enough to be so— were what the novices liked to call star-matched, and those two halves of a star were soulmates. Even as Cerridwen’s chosen, (Y/N) could neither confirm nor deny the existence of star-matches and soulmates, but this thing between Jin and Jenny seemed more profound than mortal means could provide explanation for.

“I think you very well may be in love,” she told him, patting his hand. “And when you’re ready, I think you should tell Dabi.”

“Tell Dabi what?”

Dabi himself stood under the suspended flap of the tent, eyeing his lover and his right-hand man with something akin to curiosity. (Y/N) fought the urge to hide her hands behind her back like a guilty child caught stealing cookies.

“Jin was just leaving,” (Y/N) replied smoothly with a sugary-sweet smile. “Isn’t that right, Twice?”

Jin hesitated, ever loyal; he would rather die than lie to his commander.

“I was thinking, sir,” said Jin, “And I wanted to talk with the priestess about that thinking.”

He glanced back at (Y/N), almost asking for permission, and after she had searched Dabi’s face, she nodded for Jin to continue.

“You see,” Jin began, still nervous, “Do you remember the day…”

He related the story to Dabi exactly as he had to (Y/N), and as he listened, Dabi lowered the tent flap, increasing their privacy. 

“So you see, sir, I was conflicted,” Jin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My place is here, but my heart is with her. If you command me to stay, sir, I will, but—”

Jin stopped then, his face coloring to the roots of his hair, and he stopped talking entirely, embarrassed. 

“And what do you think of this, High Priestess?” Dabi asked, his expression unreadable. “What advice did you give my lieutenant?”

(Y/N) looked to Jin for permission, and when the man shrugged, she gave Dabi her answer. 

“I told him to ask you, when he was ready to do so,” she replied honestly. “Is that satisfactory?”

Dabi walked over to her and smoothed a hand over her hair— an oddly affectionate gesture in front of other eyes, but somehow an appropriate one to allow Jin to observe. 

“Any advice from the Mother is always satisfactory,” he replied, his voice low and gentle. His eyes were soft, and he looked as though he wanted to kiss her.

“So?” (Y/N) asked, looking up at him from where she sat. “What say you, Dabi, Black Dragon of the League?”

Dabi hesitated— watching, waiting, thinking. (Y/N) could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered every fact, every detail. If she had been asked what she thought of him before she had gotten to know him, (Y/N) wouldn't have credited Dabi with the brains to command an army of ants— but after having watched him for these past months, she knew that he had all the strategic savvy of a seasoned general.

“You’re my most trusted soldier,” he told Jin, extending a hand to help him to his feet. “You’re the best man in the company by far, and I love you like a brother.”

Jin accepted the hand up and thanked Dabi— but Dabi wasn’t done.

“There is nothing I would withhold from you that you desire,” he continued, looking Jin square in the eyes, “But in leaving this camp without orders, you know you would be leaving for good.”

“I know that, sir,” Jin replied, though he looked forlorn. “I know it well.”

“And you also know that if you’re recognized at the Summit, they won’t hesitate to end your life then and there, yes?”

Jin nodded in the affirmative, tears welling in his eyes. (Y/N)’s heart sank to her stomach, disappointed— but Dabi still wasn’t finished. 

“Then I have a proposition for you,” he said. “Are you willing to hear it?”

Jin nodded, and Dabi explained a plan to him in a way that reminded (Y/N) all too much of Shoto and sent a pang of longing to her heart for her best friend.

“You will leave this camp at daybreak tomorrow,” said Dabi, one hand on Jin’s shoulder and the other propped on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll say I’m sending you as a spy to the Summit to see what’s happening. In reality, you’re going to go and establish yourself in the city, find your sweet Jenny, and woo her as you will. Are you following so far?”

“I am, sir,” Jin replied, his expression befuddled, “I’m just not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Once you’re well established with another identity, I want you to ask around about the matron of Clan Midoriya and see if you can get a message to her. A message that I’ll send with you. That is your one and only task. Is that clear?”

It was only then that (Y/N) understood what was happening. 

A favor for a favor, she realized, watching as Jin agreed to the terms without a second thought. Dabi’s giving him an out and losing one of his best men in exchange for… in exchange for someone skilled, someone familiar to care for me.

The depth of Dabi's feelings for her in making the exchange was not lost on (Y/N). 

“It’s all settled then,” said Dabi, clapping Jin on the back. “Tomorrow, you’ll be on your way. Best of luck to you, Jin.”

With that, they parted ways— each of them with an affectionate smile— and then (Y/N) and Dabi were alone in the privacy of the tent, watching each other intently.

“How are you feeling?” Dabi asked, kneeling next to her to take one of her hands in his own. 

“I’m okay,” she shrugged. “Tired. Nauseous.”

Without prompting, Dabi took a large, warm hand and placed it beneath her shirt on her torso, right where the worst of the discomfort was. His hand became unnaturally hot as it rested there, and it was oddly soothing to have something warm and soft pressed against her uneasy belly. 

“Better?” he said with a small, almost timid smile, and (Y/N) nodded.

“A little,” she replied. She paused for a moment, thinking, then added, “Will you hold me?”

“Of course,” Dabi replied, and he shifted until (Y/N)’s back rested against his chest, with his arm— heated to ease her discomfort— resting across her belly.

“I’m sorry I had a meltdown today,” (Y/N) told him, relaxing into the warmth of his body. “I don’t know what came over me, making a scene in front of the men.”

Dabi huffed a laugh. 

“I think that was preferable to the way you were shouting for pickled quail eggs earlier,” he told her, planting a chaste kiss on her shoulder. “You were a terror— I think Spinner was ready to hit you with that cast-iron pan of his.” 

(Y/N) laughed in spite of herself. 

“I can imagine,” she grinned. “I think you were ready to strangle me yourself. You know, come to think of it, you’ve grown incredibly patient since we met.”

“It was that, or kill you myself,” he said, but (Y/N) heard the laughter in his voice. “And, as it happens, I rather like having you around, pussy-cat.”

They grew quiet for a moment after that, and (Y/N) allowed herself to think about nothing for a moment, focusing only on the heat of Dabi’s skin against her own. It was nice, trusting him, feeling safe with him. If she could, (Y/N) would never leave his embrace.

“Would you like to talk now, or do you want to sleep?” Dabi asked, dropping his stubbled chin into the junction of her neck and shoulder. “You seem tired.”

(Y/N) wanted very badly to sleep, but she knew she wouldn’t truly rest until they’d talked about this… new development.

“I just— I need to know,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Are you okay with— with me being pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Dabi said, gently caressing her stomach. “More than okay.”

Now that was surprising.

“Really?” She turned, eyeing him warily. 

He shrugged. "Yeah."

“You’re taking this a little too well, Touya.”

“Well, there’s no use in not being okay with it,” he told her, smiling lopsidedly. “It’s not exactly reversible, y’know.”

Oh, but wasn’t it?

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. 

“There are ways.”

Dabi stiffened, straightening his posture. 

“Ways to what?”

“Reverse it,” she replied simply.

Dabi was silent for a long time, then, and (Y/N)’s heart began to race in time with her thoughts.

What if he wants the baby gone? she thought to herself, her nausea coming back at full force. What should I do? How can I tell him that I want to keep it when it could easily ruin both our lives?

“It’s your body,” he said slowly, “So it’s your decision. But if it means anything, anything at all… I would do everything within my power to be a better father than my father was to me. I know this may not be what you wanted— what either of us wanted— but…”

He took a moment to grab her hand, squeeze it, and bring it up to his lips for a light, sweet kiss.

“… I love you, and I will love this child until the day I die.”

(Y/N) was speechless. He'd never said those words before, and the fact that he was saying them now, meant— well, it meant—

"Are you in earnest, Todoroki Touya?" she asked, turning in his arms to face him.

"Oi," he grumbled, eyeing her up and down. "Are you calling me a liar, pussy-cat?"

"No, I'm asking if you are one," she corrected him, carding her fingers in his hair. "Do you really love me?"

"As well as I know how," he replied, flushing prettily as though embarrassed. "In any case, I'm quite sure I've forgotten how to live without you, if that counts for anything."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she threw her arms around Dabi and held him close. 

"We're keeping this baby," she said, burying her face in his neck. "Whatever comes… I want this child, I want you, in my life."

In response, Dabi put his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I love you, pussy-cat," he told her, kissing her temple. "Thank you."

(Y/N) didn't ask what he felt the need to thank her for. She already knew; she heard the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

Thank you for loving me back. 

It was something remarkably Todoroki-like of him to say, and yet so remarkably himself that (Y/N) wasn't sure how to take it. All she could do was hold him, keep loving him, and give him a child that would see him as a hero and love him even more. If (Y/N) had anything to do with it, she would shower Dabi in love and make him so happy that he would never even remember the pain of his childhood, or the horrors of war.

If only she could find a place to settle down with him, a place to have and to raise their child, to be a family— but no place like that existed for a man like Dabi. He'd be hunted to the ends of the earth before he would be allowed peace, and after all the destruction he'd caused, (Y/N) couldn't even deny that such a thing could be called justice. 

If there is no place for us, she thought, burrowing further into the smoke-smell of her lover's chest, Then I'll make a place for us, if I have to. 

[ggukkiereads]

Fic List | Daechwita AUs -Yoongi

This is based on an ask sent a few weeks ago. It was also timely because a few days later, BigHit dropped the sword-practice video (anon is channeling their inner minstradamus =))

So here you go, the day the earth stood still and thirst for Yoongi aka Agust D went rampant, resulting to birth of fics in honor of the king 😅🥰. I remember just binge-reading these for days. So thank you dear authors for feeding on our thirst and whipping out these wonderful fics!

Happy Birthday 🎂 to the coolest and the cutest MinYoongi! #TangerineKitty

S - smut | F - fluff | A - angst | 

Note: if link to fic doesn’t work, click on author and go to their masterlist (works even if author changed url)

Beloved @bang-tan-bitches - one shot | 17.4k | Emperor!Yoongi, Yandere, Thriller | Court was just a game of politics after all. And you intended to win  | S   (this is ashasgfad! That ending)

Checkmate @btsaudge - one shot | 1.9k | King!Yoongi, Tyrant King except to Queen!reader | S, kinda F, PWP

Daechwita @bgyulix - drabble series [5/?]  | 4.5k | Dystopian AU, Childhood Friends, Gang AU, Rebel!Yoongi | a series of drabbles about yoongi and his spy, as they try and topple a king | A, F, S (promising concept)

Daechwita @chemicalpink - drabble series  [3/3] | 6k | Assassin!Reader who got caught, Servant!Reader, Emperor!Yoongi, Historical AU | A, S, F 

Daechwita @ironicarmy - one shot | 3.6k | King!yoongi x Queen!reader, royalty AU | S, PWP, F 🔥🥵💦

Daechwita @jinings - series [2/?] | 20k + | servant!yoongi - king!yoongi, princess!reader, period drama, Historical AU | All that Yoongi knows is that King Park must be killed- he just didn’t plan falling in love with his daughter along the way. | A, F, eventual S 

Daechwita @se0kie - one shot | 3.9k | King!Yoongi x Concubine!Reader, Royalty AU, established relationship (?),  with a twist in the end 😉 | S, PWP 

From the Ashes @fortunexkookie - one shot | 7.4k | Historical AU, Royalty AU, Star-crossed Lovers, inspired by the MV, scarred Yoongi | A, F, S (I love that it capitalized on the theories or snippets of info that came out during MV’s release. I remember reading something about royalty x scars) 

Gwanghae Flow @btssavedmylifeblr - one shot | 3k | Historical PWP | The queen receives a forbidden visitor in the middle of the night | S 

Honsool @bangtanlalaland - one shot | 2.3k | emperor!yoongi x gisaeng!reader  | a little F, S, PWP

Kingdom of Joseon @dreamescapeswriting -  one shot | 7.9k | Agust D x Suga, historical AU | F, A

Make Me Proud @moonscriptsx - one shot | 5.6k | this is kind of different because it is about Daechwita the mixtape, established relationship, Idolverse, Idol!Reader | With the release of his second mixtape and her album, the public are eating up the so-called chart rivalry between (Y/N) and Yoongi | S, PWP, F

Mark of Yun-ki @ladyartemesia - one shot | 8.6k | Hybrid AU/ABO, Fantasy AU, Daechwita AU | S, F

Moonlit Throne @hobidreams - drabble series [29/?] | 40k | Historical AU (Joseok era), Royalty AU, inspired by Daechwita MV | S, F, A 

Rise of the Nation’s King @justimajin - two shot [2/2] | 19k | Historical AU, Royalty AU, like the MV there’s King Agust and Yoongi | A, F, S 

Shadow’s Birthright @thebiasrekkers - series [5/?] | 19k | Historical AU (Joseon era), Fantasy AU, Supernatural AU, Magic, romance, tragedy, eventual love triangle (?), King Yoon vs Min Yoongi  | “two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared” | A, F, S (this is so fascinating) 

Stay @luffles424 - one shot | 3k | Historical AU, Assassin!Reader, PWP | S, F

Step on Me @honsoolie - drabble | 2k | crack, Idol AU, Yoongi’s shooting for Daechwita MV and reader is the extra (the one Agust D needed to step on during the video 🤣) | F 

Tiger Layer @kimtaehyunq - one shot | 3.6k | King Yoongi, Servant!Reader, You are here to serve your king. In any way he pleases, PWP (lol I remember author used “Yoongi’s royal d*ck” and I cannot forget, cannot unsee 🤣)| S, PWP 🔥🥵💦

The King Isn’t Dead @another-army-spot​ - one shot | 17k | historical AU, political AU, royalty au, potential marriage AU | S, F, A

Whispers @btxtreads - drabble series [4/4] | Historical AU, Yunki vs Yoongi (like in the MV), Empress!Reader, Time Travel (?) | F, A 

The King’s Serpent @apotaeose - drabble | 1.6k | King!Yoongi x Mercenary!Reader | A, light S & F

Note: the fics are Daechwita MV-inspired (the mad king vs rebel yoongi) or about the Daechwita mixtape. This doesn’t include other emperor/king yoongi aus

🌷 posted: 2021 March 9 (KST); updated: 2021 March 14 🌷 other lists 🌷 I love to read so feel free to recommend a fic =)

[doctorprofessorsong]

More Destiel Fic Recs

Who needs sleep when you have top notch stories to read? Here's another broad list of things Song has read and loved. Enjoy!

"A Ghost Story" by emmbrancsxx0 aka @valleydean (Explicit, 248k plus prologue with one chapter pending, to be posted 5/2/21)

This is a God tier, instant classic, absolutely staggering fic. Seriously. I cannot stress enough how much I love this.

It's really two stories. One is a historical AU slowburn tragedy set in the 1860s in which wealthy heir Cas falls in love with groundskeeper Dean.  The second is a modern tale in which reincarnated Dean and reanimated ghost Cas try to build a life with the spectre of their past hanging over them. That description doesn't do it justice. The story is legitimately twisty and mysterious, with past Dean and Cas being unbearably cute while modern Dean and Cas are a fire that burns brightly (but they bring the angst). Top that off with truly amazing prose and you will somehow wish the 200k+ word fic wouldn't end. Seriously, read the below passage (SPOILER OBVIOUSLY) and tell me how you can just go on being normal.

He couldn’t speak, except to say that he looked at Dean and he suddenly understood poetry. That, all his life, he’d perfected notes composed by other men on the piano without knowing what any of them meant until that moment. All those psalms and scripture recited in church, and he’d only now found religion.

"The Care and Feeding of Castiel" by MalMuses @malmuses (Explicit, 24k words)

A top notch wing fic featuring art by Lizleeships. Who could ask for anything more. Set in an unspecified quiet time in the bunker, Dean notices that Cas is acting strangely and realizes he needs Dean to step up and provide him with support (something he is all too happy to do). It's caretaker Dean at his best. Lots of fluff and comfort.

"Something's gotta give" by sourpastels (20k, T) @rowenacoded

A Lebanon fix-it! Dean finally has his family in one place. John, Mary, his brother, his angel and his kid. It should be everything he ever wanted. Right? A satisfying case fic in its own right (they all hunt together) with some good meaty emotional beats. 

 

More under the cut

"undercover" by yolock (Teen, 7k words)

This one is light, short and fun. A case fic that gives off Red Sky at Morning/Bela Talbot vibes. Dean is forced to work with rival hunter Cas undercover at a charity event. It's It's fake relationship, enemies to lovers trope fest. 

"In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved)" by caelum_writes (11k words, Teen) @badjoices

Oh what to say about this time travel fic. 2005 immediately pre-show Dean is transported to 2021 to find himself happy and domestic, surrounded by a family he loves. He works to come to terms with the man he becomes (and the man he was). There is something inherently tender and sweet about this fic. About Dean, Sam, Cas and even Eileen interacting with the traumatized kid Dean used to be. It's hopeful and kind. 

"Kingdom Come" by ahurston (Explicit, 17k words) @ahurston

I love everything ahurston writes, and part of that is that ahurston treats Dean and Cas with a certain kindness, even when taking on Cas's self worth issues or Dean's repression. Another part is that ahurston eventually makes these two dumbasses (affectionate) use their words and it's so very satisfying. 

This fix-it fic is one of my absolute favorites. Cas wakes up on the coast of Maine, naked and alone, and he has to make his way back to Dean. Most of the fic is dealing with the aftermath of Cas's confession and death. It's moving and hopeful and everything these guys deserved. 

"Love Languages" by tiamatv (9k, Teen)

I sweet little fix-it fic in which Dean saves Cas from the empty. Dean is repressed. Cas thinks Dean can't love him. Sam is tired. It's great and really sweet how resolution comes. Plus I love the way Cas is saved. The solution in this one is really touching in my opinion. I just really really loved this one.

"Wedding Singers" by bendingsignpost @bendingsignpost

Look, I would probably read the ingredients of a cereal box if bendingsignpost wrote them. That being said, if you haven't perused his Tumblr one shots on AO3, you are missing out and that isn’t just my absolutely embarrassing fangirling talking. Bendingsignpost excels at taking often ridiculous prompts and turning them into exceptional short stories. I could probably do an entire post on my favorites. 

This one is silly and sweet and I just had to include it. Openly bi Dean has joined the Gay Choir and he is struggling to get the words to an Enochian song down correctly, so he naturally asks his angel friend, Cas for help. Chaos ensues.

"you're fooling yourself" by cowboydeanwinchester (13k, Teen) with bonus second story in the series so far @cowboydeanwinchester

Dean and Cas have retired from hunting and moved into a house to raise toddler Jack. I am a huge sucker for baby/toddler Jack, and this fic delivers. There are a ton of adorable toddler moments (including Cas calling Jack little bee, which sent me over y'all). There is so much healing and repression and there is even "platonic" snuggling. It manages to be fluffy and cute while also taking on Dean’s trauma in a real and meaningful way. 

 

"When It Comes to Being Loved" by Sass_Master (37k, Explicit) @sass-master-stina

Dean fakes a case to get Cas alone at a romantic cabin in the woods and confess his feelings. Now he just has to get the courage to speak up.

This is one of the softest things I have ever read. Even after Dean gets up the nerve to tell Cas how he feels, they take their time. There is a quiet intimacy in this fic that makes you feel like you are some place quiet and safe. If you want to read about two touch starved characters finally getting all the physical affection they crave, this is for you. 

"Tripping" by Hatteress (goddammitstacey) (Explicit, 49k words)

This one is an older one and a fairly popular one, so it probably isn't new to a lot of the fandom but it's still worth a read if you missed it. An alternate S5 where Dean and Cas get together thanks to some interference by the universe. It's funny and the old school Cas vibes gave me so much joy. There are also some pretty solid Sam/sibling moments. 

I will put in a minor content warning that Dean has some pretty heavy internalized homophobia and repression going at the beginning of the fic, which tracks with the timeline. Also noting some canon compliant death and a temporary MCD. That being said, it's easy to see why this one has staying power. It's very entertaining.

 

"i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)" by sobsicles @sobsicles (Explicit, 74k words)

Sobsicles has written a fix-it that starts in S13 with the widower arc. It is absolutely incredible. It will gut you. Multiple times. But the story that ends up being told is so incredibly satisfying and the ending is doubly so. Because it does have a happy ending and a soft epilogue and, my friends, it is beautiful. 

The thing about this fic is that it takes the canon and it reshapes it in a way that fixes a lot of frustration over the last three seasons. Plot points that didn't work, unclear motives, etc. are recontextualized in a way that make the entire story cohesive and beautiful. It will make you want to petition to have Sobsicles write the reboot/movie/miniseries. Once you stop crying and drink some water, that is. 

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 06

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Growly and a wee bit possessive Dom!/Werewolf!JB, dirty talk, cunnilingus with a creamy finish, consensual protected vaginal sex, multiple rounds, biting, mild cussing/swearing, love making bordering on fucking, talk of consent and limits (IMPORTANT!), panty sniffing (look, he’s a wolf, okay?), implied baby/puppy fever, first time sex/loss of virginity, a sprinkle of angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom being confused about what it means to be human

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

Also, I may have gone a bit overboard in the adjectives describing JB as a big lad, but he is. Have you seen the picture of his back?

HE’S A BIG LAD!

Anyway, if that’s a point of critique for this chapter aside from my implied love for his body hair, so be it. However, I said what I said and what I said is a fact.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

Will you have me?

The question hangs heavy in the little space between us. I’m not used to being left in control like this, so my mind short circuits at the mere thought of it. The anticipation of my answer weighs heavy on our shoulders, my tongue tied with not knowing how to say what it wants and his with the worry of denial.

Jaebeom gives my hip an assuring squeeze, a signal that he might be disappointed yet won’t push my boundaries.

“It’s okay if you don’t-’’ he starts, speech rushed as he averts his gaze from my lips to the pillow in the corner of the sofa. 

“Yes,” I interrupt him, the interference blurted out with his touch. I run my fingers through the light dusting of dark hairs on his arms. “I will have you.”

Because I want and need him as much as he does me.

Visibly holding back, he tenderly presses his lips against mine. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll treat you right, love you like a wolf loves his she-wolf.”

“I’m a she-wolf?” I raise an eyebrow at his comparison, thus hopefully hiding the flush which makes it feel as if it’s still summer instead of November. 

His answer isn’t helpful in calming the storm of butterflies which rises from my stomach to my chest, where they rest on my ribs and tie it tightly. Neither is the mysteriously strengthened scent of musty books in the woods.

“Bunny, most of the time. Now, she-wolf,” he drawls, panting as he presses his chest against mine, our hearts beating in unison beneath our clothes. “Mine.”

Hearing the claim adds fuel to the flames, further spreading the warmth between my thighs. Feeding the hunger of his skin on mine and truly be his she-wolf.

So, I reach out to pull his shirt off. Nonetheless, just as I touch the underside of it, he already pulls away to do it himself and toss it aside afterwards. Bottom lip caught between my teeth, perversely fascinated, I trace a path from his solar plexus to the little trail of fuzz leading into his pants.

Jaebeom runs his tongue over my lower lip, distracting me with the silent question of being allowed more as his hand wraps around my mine and firmly presses it against his crotch. Without hesitation, I palm him through his jeans, immorally glad with the sensation of his hard throbbing bulge, the control over his blatant wanting.

The feeling of wetness below develops when his tongue cheekily dips between my lips and licks the roof of my mouth.

However, it worsens when he flips us around and crouches between my legs, intent to take my jeans off. His fingers hook over the rim, softly tugging it with a tender look asking for consent. 

I nod, helping him by undoing the button and zipper to easier worm out of them. 

He tosses the piece of clothing in the same corner as his shirt. 

A shudder goes through me when the rough skin of his palm glides from my calves to my thighs. His moustache leaves a pleasant burning sensation in its wake as the wolf man kisses his way up.  

And deprives me of all the air in my lungs, gone in a single involuntary gasp, when he presses his nose against my crotch. He inhales deeply, the breath he lets out one of intoxicated delight. The low vibration in his purred praise is almost enough to prematurely send me over the edge. “Fuck, you smell good.”

JB doesn’t make the effort to take off the white cotton panty. Instead, he curls his finger around the fabric, pulls it aside and runs his tongue in between my folds. I clasp a hand over my mouth to muffle the embarrassing moan that erupts from my throat. No need to let the neighbours know what we’re doing.

The licks slowly chip away at my sanity, but the tremors of his sonorous hums strike my core like thunder and leave me tethering on the cliff of ecstasy. Withal, it’s when he starts drawing tight circles around my clit and starts on it that I absolutely go feral.

I lose control over my hips, the controlled rocking transforming into desperate bucking. A satisfied growl erupts from his throat when I weave my fingers through his long black manes, tugging at them while I throw my head back as his tongue dips into me. The undercut he got while I was away has already gone, the short strands almost grown back to the length they had when we met. While it looked good, his long hair has supremacy.

Partially because it makes for a mouth watering sight when it falls over his left eye, obscuring the ocean in it, and his full lips are glossy with my arousal. The predatory expression on his face doesn’t do me any favours either, especially since he now fully resembles the animal he likens himself to. 

A wolf entranced by its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

The similarity sends a pleasant chill down my spine, which culminates in fire as he easily dips two fingers into me and sets a steady rhythm. Fireworks explode before my eyes with every thrust, leaving me a whimpering mess needing more than the still too little fulfillment his fingers give me. Nevertheless, they give me enough to steadily push me towards my orgasm.

My stomach clenches as he speeds up. Automatically, I strengthen the grip on his hair, earning myself another pleased grunt as I hold on for dear life. “Jae- JB, please, I’m gonna- Baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Good. Cum for me. Need you nice and wet.” Despite basically having forbidden biting, he sinks his teeth into the inside of my thigh to purposefully place his mark there. I hiss at the sting, though resort back to keening again when he laps the sore spot with his tongue. “Might not fit, otherwise.”

Not... Not fit? How big is he?

Barely have I formed this first coherent thought in the past two minutes when the knot in my stomach unravels. The world falls away, melted like the words in the scream of relieved pleasure. 

Gone as I float in bliss, oblivious and limp.

The ignorant peace is short-lived, every exhausted nerve painfully set on edge again after a brief reprieve.

Like Icarus fell, I fall from my high.

Such is pleasure.   

The throbbing pain of overstimulation guides me back to reality. Blinking in drunk-like confusion, uncomprehending of where the agitation comes from, I look down. Slowly the living room sharpens like the image of the lover on the floor, carefully licking up the mess between my legs. With a smug though adorably satisfied chuckle, he kisses my clit once he’s done.

“Let me-’’ To catch his attention, let him know I’ve returned, sort of, I scratch him under the jaw. Notwithstanding, my voice sounds as if it’s still stuck in the delirious limbo. “Let me suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. Believe me, I’m already about to lose it as is and,” he nuzzles my palm, panting more than before, “I will if we don’t make it to the bed right now.”

“You can fuck me on the couch. Or the floor,” I suggest, half-dazed by the orgasm and aroused by the primality of being fucked on the ground.

“Bed. I want to make love to you. Not mount you.” His features contort as if he’s struggling with the same untamable beast he fought with earlier, the strain audible in his voice when he continues. It sounds more as if he’s talking to himself than to me. “Not yet.”

“If you want my consent-’’

“I’m not mounting you,” he growls, making the argument sound as if it is uttered by a beast instead of a human.

I flinch at the ferocious outburst, my muscles tense and the hairs on the back of my neck raised in alarm.

“Oh God, no. No, no, no.” Jaebeom sits up, the feral agitation replaced by genuine concern, and cups my face. Foreheads rested against each other, he stammers an apology while barely keeping it together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that. It’s just- It’s just that- I don’t want to because I don’t want to be who I was. The old me would’ve mounted you, but I can’t. I won’t do it because I want to be good for you and not treat you as cruelly as I once used to treat others. I’m human now, your boyfriend. I’m not-’’ he takes in an unsteady breath, conflicted as he tries to think of the right thing to say, “I’m still a wolf, but not the beast in the forest. Not anymore. That time’s behind me.”

“Beast in the forest?” I tug lightly on his ear, confused by the cryptic phrase.

Thus far I could understand you, but now… I don’t. I can’t. What do you mean? What happened that makes you explain yourself like this?

“It’s a long story I’ll tell you someday. But,” he nips my nose and steals a kiss, “not now. Just don’t ask me to mount you or anything that involves getting really rough, okay? That’s my... hard limit? Is that how humans say it?”

“They do. But,’’ I lean back, smile and nod in acknowledgement of his boundaries, ‘’I’ll be mindful of it going forward.”

“Thank you. Really, it means a lot to me.” A wave of relief visibly washes over him. “Do you have one?”

“Well, biting remains a no-go.” I look at the inside of my thigh, where the bite mark has already started to turn a fiery pink mixed with plum purple. “I’ll let that one slide.”

Like a puppy being denied its toy, he looks at me. “But… But I like biting you. It’s how I show you I care. How I let others know you’re mine.”

“We’ve talked about this. What am I supposed to tell my colleagues and supervisors if they see the hickeys? Yes, plural, because I know you won’t leave it at one.” I tap him on the nose, barely repressing a chuckle at his sulky pout. 

“Just tell them I’m the one who gave them to you.” Broad shoulders slightly slumped, he whines his protest. Evidently, he doesn’t see the implications nor the consequences of his love language.

“Okay, let’s say my colleagues don’t mind. However, those higher on the corporate ladder will. It’s not professional.”

“But what if I place them in in- incon- inconvenient... no, uhm, places you can’t see them?”

“Did you mean inconspicuous?”

“That’s the word, yes!” He snaps his fingers, glad with the vocabulary reminder.

“It’s still a no, though.’’ I shake my head, relenting as I add, ‘’For now.”

He perks up, encouraged by an idea that’s popped into his head rather than the nuance to my response. “Can I bite your wrist again, though? You can cover it up with your sleeve.”

“No.”

“Biceps?”

“No.”

“Ankle?”

“I wear ankle socks all-year round, so no.”

“Legs? You don’t strike me as the type to wear a skirt.”

“True, but no.”

“Stomach?”

“My God, Im Jaebeom! No means no. No biting and that’s the end of it.”

He’s not one to quit, is he?

The wolfish lover huffs, displeased and not afraid to show it. “Fine, no biting. For now.”

He mutters something else under his breath, but it’s too convoluted to make sense of it.

Just as I’m about to ask him about what he said, a boyish giddiness overtakes him. “But I can do this, right?”

He takes my blue and green checkered blouse off, not bothering with undoing the buttons but pulling it straight over my head and tossing it onto the small heap of clothes next to the sofa. Fortunately, it’s an oversized piece of clothing. Otherwise, I fear JB might have ripped it apart to get his way.

Clueless about his plan, I stare at him as he takes off his pants. It goes smoothly until the fabric has to be pulled over his bulge, his cock noticeably pulsating in his black boxers. Awkwardly wriggling with a sheepish smile on his face, he struggles with the remainder of his outfit as I avert my gaze to the side, turned into a flushed mess thanks to the outline of his size.

He’s packing.

A noise that’s a mixture of relief and triumph pulls my attention, but I haven’t even turned my head or I’m met by a pair of devilish mismatched eyes. Not a word can be uttered before the wolfish lover massages my breasts through my white lace bra and squeezes them together to bury his face in them. His hands feel sturdy and safe, his moustache pleasantly scratching against the skin and setting it aflame with the same burn that warmed my thighs.

A fire that threatens to get out of hand when he sits up a bit to press his erection against my folds, my core throbbing in harmony with his own desire.

“Just to be sure,” he pants, voice low, “you really want this. You want me?”

“Yes.” To assure him I’m all in, I kiss him while fumbling with the shell of his ear. “I want this. I want you, Jaebeom.”

“Yay,” he adorably mutters against my lips before tenderly kissing them.

Then, he pulls away and leans over to the pile formed by our clothes in the corner. From the back pocket of his discarded jeans, he pulls a small packet which he presents to me with an uncomprehending expression. “Jinyoung told me to use these, but I- uhm, I don’t know h-how to...”

“Give me that.” I take the packet from his hands and rip it open.

His eyes go wide when I reach for him, lips parted with animalistic pants as I pump him a few times before rolling on the condom. 

He bows his head, eyebrows squished together as he tries to understand the function and merit of birth control. “So now you won’t pup?”

It takes a bit of thinking to decipher his words, though it doesn’t take a lot of brainpower. “I won’t get pregnant like this, no.”

“Hm, would’ve liked to whelp pups on you.” He sighs and looks up, face full of affection. “But if this is right, if this is how you want me and it’s good to you, then I’ll go with it.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off of the sofa, hoisting me up so he can support me by the thighs. Thus, clinging to him like a koala, I let him carry me to the bedroom. Unfortunately, it’s a short trip of about three seconds that ends by being carefully laid down on the floral sheets.

It’s even more of a crying shame he pulls away, his imposing frame illuminated from behind by the lights of the old harbour as he sits on his knees at the foot of the bed. Just the mere implication of being smaller than him, of having a big guy like him at my side who loves yet could also easily manhandle me, has me squirming with anticipation.

He situates himself at my entrance, but doesn’t slide in immediately. Instead, he searches my face for any sign he no longer has my consent. 

A smile flashes over his lips when I nod to assure him I haven’t gotten cold feet at the last second.

Slowly, Jaebeom pushes the tip in, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he keeps watching me, looking out for signals of pain.

It would be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt, the stretch of his cock burning me from the inside out. Nevertheless, regardless of the discomfort, a wonderful sensation of fulfillment also overtakes me with every inch he adds.

“Fuck!” Head thrown back, the wolf man lets out a drawn-out moan. It flows over into a possessive growl when he directs his gaze down at me, eyes half-lidded and his breath shallow. “So tight.”

“It’s- It’s my first time,” I shyly admit between gasps, embarrassed of the fact.

“You- You’ve never-’’ He flinches as something shoots through him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Withal, before I can ask if he’s alright, he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I’m glad you let me be your first. Also, I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s said that once you’ve had a wolf...” Bit by bit, he bottoms out only to thrust into me hard enough for my eyes to roll back as within ecstacy starts to bloom like a flower in spring. “You never go back.”

His gaze darkens, the hazelnut forest and ocean in his eyes gleaming with predatory delight, as he adds. “Maybe because I won’t let you.”

I know I chastised him for being possessive during our last call, but the suggestion of the claim he has on me adds to the wetness between my thighs. An involuntary whimper rises from my throat.

He chuckles darkly at the meek noise, his voice bordering on animalistic. “You’re mine.”

I hold his hand in place as he cups my cheek, relishing the warmth and roughness of palm. “My bunny.”

His hand falls away, only the imprint of it on muscle memory left to cherish. He grabs me by the ankles, keeping my legs spread as he ruts his hips into mine at a beastly pace.

None of us is able to speak, all reason lost to sensuality. Not that we need to since we thrive on action and gestures rather than words in our frenzied state. Yet, even though he fills me up all the way up to my head, he’s still too far away. So, I curl my finger, beckoning him closer, keening for his touch. “C’mere.”

He perks up at seeing the gesture and lets go of my ankles to cover my body with his. The weight of it presses me further down into the mattress, his arms on the sides of my head the pillars on which he balances himself to not accidentally crush me. The touch of his dewy skin on mine gives me an odd sense of safety and unity, makes it feel as if we’re one and the same, our minds connected. Although, perhaps it’s his scent, the scent of a forest underlined by the sweetness of fruits mixed with dusty books, that truly drives me dizzy.

“Better?” He nudges my nose with his, a concerned noise following the question.

“Yeah, I like this better,” I confirm.

I press my lips against him as I glide my hand down his wide back, digging my nails into the flesh of his ass as I draw him in further. “Like that. Want- Want it like this. Need you close. Deep.”

JB entwines his fingers with those of my unoccupied hand, the knot kept together by his steady grip resting on the pillow as he adjusts his movements to heed my wishes. The pace remains steady, enough to drive us into sensual hypnosis, but not relenting to the instinct to chase our highs. It’s slow.

Like Love. 

Face buried in the side of my neck, he clenches the edge of the mattress as he tries to say something but only succeeds to form a coherent flattering sentence after a few tries. “You smell so good.”

Perhaps it’s because I’m in a state of delirium, unable to function as a human, but the compliment stirs up a storm of images in a corner of my mind I didn’t even know existed. It turns him into a real wolf as his teeth scrape my throat when he takes a whiff of my scent, his tongue licking the skin to get a sliver of the taste without biting. In spite of being dazed by him, my body and mind pick up on the wilder tones in his being and put it forward as extra proof it’s not a man I’m lying with.

It’s an utterly disgusting thought. Yet, the fantasy is what lies at the heart of the shot of relief and freedom that makes me arch into him. I rush my hand from the small of his back to his hair, weaving my fingers through his dark locks and gripping them to have some sort of anchor in a world of blinding light.

A soft purring sounds vaguely to my right, faint as if the sound is light years away. Notwithstanding, when I open my eyes again, blinking to sharpen my sight, I discover Jaebeom is the source of it.

Tiny droplets of sweat trickle down his skin. His bangs are matted and sticking to his forehead. His chest rises and falls fast as he breathes shallowly.

He’s beautiful.

A beautiful mess.

My perfect ruin

Jaebeom leans in and kisses my forehead before he searches for my eyes, a look of tender adoration in his when our gazes lock. 

I don’t know whether it’s because I’m floating on the aftershocks of my orgasm, but whatever it is he asks gets warped into a questioning sound akin to a dog’s whine when it wonders about something. Notwithstand, I strangely seem to understand him. “Yes, it felt really good. You make me feel good. Incredible.”

I scratch him behind the ear in the way that makes him putty in my hands. “Does it feel good for you too?”

A frantic nod substitutes a proper answer.

Unsure at first, he starts rocking into me again as if he’s aware of how easily he can drive me into overstimulation. Withal, the careful movements rapidly grow sloppy as he picks up the pace, relinquishing his loving carefulness.

Mouths brush past each other, chasing the ghosts of kisses. My stomach clenches in the delicious way it did before despite exhausted nerves begging for mercy although they are still as powerless as my speechless tongue. Our tangle of fingers come undone, his gripping the mattress again whereas mine cling to the wolfish lover by his broad shoulders.

A drawn-out growl vibrates against my lips when I clench around his cock and dig my nails into his flesh. The ferocity of the sounds sends a shiver through me, a wonderful mixture of pleasure and fear. 

The anxiety of a bunny hunted down by a wolf.

  A helpless thing to be devoured by a beast.

  About to be ravished by him.

A loud bang makes me flinch, but the tension melts the moment I notice it’s his hand gripping the headboard instead of the mattress.

I tighten around him, spurred on by the rash action. “I’m close, Jaebeom. Make me cum. Please,” I drawl, deliriously panting, “please make me cum.”

He whispers an uncomprehending distortion of his name, but doesn’t pay much more attention to it than I. Instead, my focus shifts to something that knocks the breath out of me, panic sharpening my senses.

An unmistakable ripple goes through his skin, flowing beneath my fingers like a wave caused by a violent force that tries to rise from the depths of the ocean, impatient to disrupt the calm surface. 

To interrupt him and show the world what truly lies beneath the lovable exterior.

To destroy him as I know him.

A gentle though weird bookworm.

A man.

My man.

I shriek his name, dismayed about what’s going on. Immediately, he stops thrusting and checks my expression for any clue as to what has come over me. Maybe it’s because of his instinct, lost in lust, that he can’t talk, but a puzzled animalistic low purr substitutes the question.

“I- I’m sorry,” I stammer, not quite there myself, “but it felt as if something was moving under your skin and it felt so real that I- I-’’ I swallow down the sob that rises in my throat, threatening to erupt. ‘’I just had to check if you’re alright.”

“Fine,” he responds softly in between pants, though the uncomprehending undertone only adds to my concern. He nuzzles my nose with his, a lick and peck on the tip meant to add credibility to his answer. He shifts his weight, letting go of the headboard to brush my hair with his fingers in an attempt to calm me down.

“Fine,” the lover murmurs again, although the word can be an imagination, made up out of the sonorous hum rising from his throat.

‘’Stay close. Please,’’ I dig my nails further into his shoulders, afraid to lose him to some unknown force that’ll rip him away from me, ‘’please stay close to me. Stay with me.’’

Regardless of not being given an answer directly, he starts moving again with no distance between us so we can pick up on every change in each other. Nevertheless, whereas he easily is lost to the primal drive for release, I remain as wary as I can be despite my dazed state. All the same, after a few more thrusts, his cock snugly situated inside and heavily twisting, we both come undone.

Long black manes thrown back like a wolf howling to the moon, JB lets out a moan that holds the middle between an exclamation of relief and a howl. I cry to the heavens before going limp, muscles melted now that I don’t have to worry about the thing roaming beneath his flesh or anticipate the moment the tight leash on reality finally breaks.

A noise like a wild animal clawing through a piece of wood resonates in the background as the world is obliterated by white light. Then again, it might be my imagination informed by my fantastical perception of him.

I’m the one to first come down, not as out of my mind like I was during the first orgasms. I don’t allow myself to be nor can I thanks to the lingering shock of what happened. Or, rather, by what I think happened.

I place my hand on his cheek to guide Jaebeom towards me as he drunkenly tries to follow my voice, swaying as if waking up from an anesthetic in his still heightened state. Clumsily, he bumps his head into mine, although I immediately forgive him for it when he chuckles sheepishly in apology after a pained whine.

Holding him by his biceps, I flip us onto our sides and shuffle back a bit to slip him out of me. I suck in a breath to combat the whimper at the discomfort of emptiness that follows in the wake of the loss of contact. He hisses in response, also affected.

But Jaebeom has a splendid idea to make up for the lack of the intimacy, replacing it with its casual yet equally as affectionate counterpart.

He wraps his arms around me, unbothered by the sweat covering my skin and I not minding his sticking to mine when he tucks me under his chin. I place my hand on his chest, bury my face in it, and close my eyes.

The strange rippling beneath his skin keeps haunting my mind, the vivid memory sketching a realistic image of what it must have looked like from another point of view. I know I felt something, that I’m not imagining things even though I was influenced by overstimulation and a newly building orgasm.

However, now is not the time to discuss my worries. Not that he’d listen anyway, knocked out cold and softly snoring in the twilight hush. So, I curl up further into his sturdy form, hiding myself in the protection of his strong arms and deciding to leave the matter alone like I did the comparison to a beast in the woods.

For now.

Tomorrow is a new day.

And mornings are for coffee and contemplations.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I was always on the fence about Ondra having the capabilities of erasing memories. It could be good... or bad. I even had a hard time with my Watcher deciding which was best.

Going into White March Ii, I did not expect this much lore. After the Council of Stars, I thought a little poorly of Ondra. Then again, siding with Rymgrand makes sense. Erasing the souls. Forgetting it all. That would seem favorable to her... if it wasn’t for Rymgrand and Skaen, I would have been more forgiving... but... no. She is siding for her own selfish reasons. Not for the good of the world. Not for what is best for the souls. Ondra is a selfish god who relishes off of the worship of her followers. She feeds off of their regret, guilt, and sorrow. 

And yet... I can’t help but feel emotionally drawn to her. The goddess who does what must done. The goddess who takes the pain and does not falter. The goddess who remains wrathful and sorrowful so others may not have to suffer that same fate. I didn’t understand it until I heard her speak of Abydon. And really... it crushed me.

Perhaps it is my fascination with lovers to enemies / enemies to lovers. Or the fact that that I am drawn to angst and tragedy. But the tale of Abydon, Ondra, and the moon have brought me to tears. And I mourn the loss of their love.

[wolf-and-bard]

Resigned To Fate

Prompt: Memory Alteration / Gaslighting

Relationships: Guxart/Vesemir (from one of the witcher-centric cards), Lambert/Aiden (background)

Rating: M

Content Warnings: heavy angst, suicidal tendencies, grief, mild gore, self-harm allusions

Summary: In the aftermath of the betrayal of the Cat school, Vesemir has not only his own school to hold together, but also a traumatised lover to care for. In which: Vesemir is strong and Guxart is weak and they find it hard to meet in the middle.

Word Count: ~2k

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

I.

Witchers survive.

Witchers endure.

Witchers outlast.

No matter the tragedy that befalls them or how difficult the contract. When they're being persecuted and beaten, starved and denied basic human decency. There's always a way forward.

Survive. Endure. Outlast.

Those are the thoughts Vesemir clings to, each sentiment falling as a whisper from his cracked and splintered lips to puddle at his blood- and gut-soaked feet, each word accompanied by the low wheeze of his shovel penetrating dry earth.

He couldn't fight for them, has to bury them. All of them.

He doesn't cry like the pups do, they haven't yet understood.

This is no genocide. This is merely a manifestation of what has been a long time coming, a natural course of history.

Vesemir cradles that truth tight to his chest. He survives, endures, outlasts. It's his birthright, duty, privilege, honour, burden, curse, cure, calling, punishment. It's a law of nature, the first one the new recruits learn when coming to the keep.

Nothing breaks Vesemir.

II.

When the wolves all sleep, the living in bed rolls pushed together in the great hall, the dead in their forever resting places of hard-packed dirt, the new day is already sloshing over the horizon in waves of muted scarlet. Vesemir finds no beauty in that, he doesn't think he will find any beauty in and around Kaer Morhen ever again. All that was tranquil about this place has been soaked in blood and so, it seems, has the sky. He fills a pack with their sorry dinner's leftovers - stale bread, hard cheese, dried berries - foregoes the soup and the spirits. Two deerskins of water and a faded quilt blanket. It smells like cinnamon and honey, like comfort he hopes. It's not cold enough to warrant any kind of coat yet, but halfway across the courtyard, Vesemir finds himself shivering. He unpacks the blanket and wraps it around his own shoulders, then briskly walks out of the keep's enclosures, the sun a cool caress on his stained cheeks. He's never hated her more than in that moment.

III.

She follows him even into the dingy half-dark of the outpost's only bedroom. The curtains are drawn, the room lit by a single artificial torch, but Vesemir finds another echo of the red horizon in Guxart's eyes as they meet his across the few paces that separate them. Seeing him is somehow still a bit of a surprise.

Guxart doesn't look haggard and wrung-out the way Vesemir knows he himself does. In the wake of their shared misery - the imprisonment, the wait, the release to find their schools in ruin and their charges mostly dead or mutilated - Vesemir aged a century while Guxart is frozen in time, barely more than a shell of the witcher Vesemir begrudgingly fell in love with.

His salt-and-pepper hair falls in curls just below his ears and his greyed beard looks freshly groomed, obscuring the permanent tremble of his lips, pressed together to contain the creature of mourning that grows in his chest. His slitted pupils are constantly thin so that they nearly drown in the red hue of his irises. There are but two things about Guxart that have changed in their trudge through agony - in physicality that is. He is pale now - almost as pale as Vesemir, who always used to look like a wraith next to Guxart's light-brown skin - and his voice has lost all its natural thunder. A husk, yes. But not irrevocably so.

Guxart may be broken, but Vesemir is barely more than cracked and he can hold it together for the two of them.

"Ves," Guxart croaks from his perch on the bed and Vesemir doesn't pretend like this is a happy meeting. He draws the door shut behind himself and opens the curtains with a precise blast of Aard. The light that filters in is grimy still and Guxart turns his back on it. It's the only thing he can do. In an act of protection, born from love, Vesemir had to shackle Guxart's wrists and ankles, just so the other witcher wouldn't hurt himself. Last time, Vesemir was nearly too late and that is not something he will stand to experience again. It's a precarious arrangement, temporary, but Vesemir didn't know how else to help either Guxart of himself. Bringing him to the keep would have been certain death for them both.

"I brought food."

"I'm not hungry."

Vesemir puts the pack down by the window and slips out of his boots, then crawls up on the bed and drapes the quilt over both their legs. The sight of it puts his gut in a twist.

This is where he used to let go. Relax his shoulders and drop the teacher, the torturer. Just be. Guxart gave that to him and he to Guxart. Had he any imagination, he would let his head fall to the brick behind himself and close his eyes, imagine it's just another morning after a night spent tangled up in each other, relishing dawn's kiss and each other's presence.

Vesemir is exceptionally bad at self-delusion.

"Will you have water?" he asks. Guxart shakes his head, remaining in his strained position, even when Vesemir jerks his chin to the side in an invitation to sidle up to him.

Guxart, for his part, is exceptionally bad at accepting love and pain at the same time.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Fine," Vesemir replies and they look at each other. It's not a staring contest like they sometimes held across the training fields when their students were locked in combat. It's searching for some remnant of joy and coming up short.

"There's dirt under your nails," Guxart murmurs without breaking the eye contact. "You buried them."

"I did."

"Mine also?"

"They took them back to the Camp."

Vesemir can still hear the hisses of cats, wolves, and swords alike as the witchers collected the bodies of their fallen comrades to separate and honour them. Vesemir suspects that what he feels for Guxart will be the last love ever lost between the two schools.

"It's all my fault."

"Come here," Vesemir says, keeping his tone levelled, understanding. He opens his arms a fraction, a more blatant invitation.

Finally, Guxart slumps against Vesemir, a heaving dead weight. Vesemir brings his arms around Guxart and presses his face into his curls. He finds little comfort there and lots of reminders to all that he lost at the hands of Treyse and Radowit's damned mage. Guxart presses into Vesemir with all the strength his restrained body can muster. They don't fit together quite so well anymore.

"They gave me a choice," Guxart says. "They gave me a choice."

"What choice?" Vesemir asks, mouth dry. He blinks rapidly as he rubs soothing circles over Guxart's sharp shoulder blades. In a moment here, he will have to think about how to feed the other witcher against his will, a painstaking process. Why keep at it?

Because he has to.

Nothing breaks Vesemir.

"They took me away one night," Guxart continues. "When you were asleep. They took me away and told me how I was to arrange it. Their death sentence. And they gave me a choice."

"What. Choice."

"They said they would spare them. All of them, all of our beautiful pups and kittens. They said if I throttled you, they wouldn't make me act out the treaty. It's why we were put in the same cell after that first week."

No such thing happened.

Vesemir knows.

He feared for their schools during their time in Radowit's dungeons, but his mind was sharp always, awake and waiting. Even then, he knew of Guxart's tendencies to slip from reality into madness fashioned by others. A consequence of the meddled-with cat mutagens perhaps, or a personal disposition. Doesn't matter. What does is that Vesemir was awake in the cell opposite - never sharing, never touching - watching his lover pass from one fever dream into the next as they kept him drugged, whispering to him, sentiments Vesemir himself managed to deflect when the guards - or his own mind - threw them at him.

This is your fault.

You brought this upon them, mutant scum.

They will die for your sins.

Nothing. Breaks. Vesemir.

"A lie," Vesemir sighs and presses his lips to Guxart's scalp. The other witcher shudders and the worst part about this is that he knows they will have this conversation again. And again. And each time, Guxart will believe a little less.

"They were our children, Ves. They were our children and I betrayed them. Traded their life for yours. If you had been given the same choice, would you have been strong enough?"

They both know the answer to that. If it had been between Guxart and his wolves, Vesemir wouldn't have hesitated to kill his lover. But that is entirely beside the point.

"There was never such a choice and what happened is not your fault."

"But it is. My fault. I spared you. And then I went on to kill them all. Treyse, he tried to stop me once we got out, but I gave the command anyway. We could have stood together, could have flattened all Kaedwen to dust, but I was greedy. I wanted you and the reward. I wanted... I wanted..."

Nothing ever. Breaks...

"You're talking nonsense. We were only released after the massacre took place, remember? Treyse was the one to commit treason, he gave that command."

"I have to die," Guxart says numbly. He doesn't listen now and his bound hands paw at Vesemir's thighs. "I have to die. You have to kill me."

"No."

"Please, I cannot live with this pain. Knowing it was all my fault, I cannot... how can you?"

Vesemir closes his eyes. Nothing. Nothing has yet broken him.

IV.

There is no containing Guxart forever. Vesemir knows this, Guxart knows this.

He waits, tends to his lover until such a time that he feels he's coaxed Guxart away from the brink of self-destruction at least. At the end, most of what hangs between them is fatigue and resentment, indistinguishable from the scraps of nostalgic affection they yet harbour. Vesemir does not remember what it felt like to love without care. He has to let go.

"I'm sorry, Ves," Guxart says when it's time to part, a whisper over Vesemir's lips in what will likely be their last ever kiss. "I know you mean well, but I cannot believe you. I have to repent."

There is no penance for a crime uncommitted. The only forgiveness you should want for is mine once you leave me here to grief on my own. You will wander and you will weaken and you will wither. Nothing will break me like you will, the moment you fade from sight.

Vesemir bites down on these thoughts. They're silly, selfish, and he is neither.

"Take care of yourself."

Guxart nods and turns and walks away.

And Vesemir doesn't break.

V.

Decades pass.

Vesemir fixes up whatever fissures did sneak up on him, he remains whole, he moves on.

Guxart may be out there, he may not. Vesemir will never know what fate Guxart has resigned himself to and that is acceptable.

It is acceptable.

Until the day Lambert comes home, announcing that he has given and lost his heart to a young cat by name of Aiden. He howls through the night and Vesemir holds him, the way he himself needed to be held back then perhaps, and he understands that all the glue he has been applying to his own heart was a sorry fake.

Vesemir has been broken for a long, long time.

And once he accepts that, he feels the years fall off his shoulders like leaves from an old tree, preparing for another winter. Possibly its last.

[matth1w]

Lupus Uxor Chapter One: Reunion(s)

(Gif credit)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Collection Summary: A look into the life as the wife to Remus John Lupin.

Chapter Summary: Long awaited reunion(s)

Collection Warnings: angst, death, typical HP violence (will be updated)

Chapter Warnings: None

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 557 words

Note: Because he deserves more

Forever Friends: @captainrogerss​ / @commander-writergirl​ / @fics-not-tragedies​

D O  N O T  R E P O S T  M Y  W O R K

You slid your hands slowly up the front of Remus’s soft jumper, savoring the feel of his lips against yours and his warmth underneath your touch. It had much been too long for you both. 

A light hum came from within his chest and a smile threatened to break your connection—

“Oh, s-sorry professor.”

The poor boy seemed to be frozen in place as you stilled, moving only to pop your lips together to stifle a giggle, feeling just as much a caught schoolgirl as you had when professors would catch you two as students. Feeling a gentle pat on your arm, you stepped away from Remus and turned around as you heard your lover’s low voice.

“You alright, Harry?”

You somehow stayed on two feet as you heard that name and met the young boy’s eyes.

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered out. 

“I... Er.” He paused and tilted his head, something seeming to have come over him.

“Who are you?” His tone was clipped.

You should’ve expected it but it hurt nonetheless, especially with the surprising malice. 

Remus noticed your lack of response so he spoke up, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back. 

“Why, this is my wife.”

You shook yourself out of it and smiled at Harry politely as you stepped around the desk to introduce yourself.

“Hello, Harry. My name is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.” Harry said right back politely. Almost automatically. Like he didn’t care who you were and wouldn’t give you a second thought.

It hurt your heart tremendously and you couldn’t stop yourself from taking in every bit of him, his messy hair, his slightly baggy clothes...

Harry had turned to Remus but then looked back at you as he felt your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, undoubtedly not sorry “You’re looking at me as though you know me.”

You just smiled sadly as you moved your eyes back to meet his, another pang of heavy emotions hitting you.

“I knew your mother and father quite well. Lily was my best friend.”

You felt Remus squeeze your arm to comfort you in the quiet manner he always did. 

Harry nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. It was enough for you as well and you patted your husband’s hand softly.

“Well, I’ll let you boys get to it.”

You smiled at Remus before turning to Harry, summoning all the lightheartedness you could manage.

“Don’t let him feed you too much chocolate, now.” You winked with a —very convincing— cheeky smile. 

Remus shook his head with a chuckle as you walked out the door and smiled one last time at him, a knowing look shared between you two. His eyes lighting you up, instantly washing away your circling thoughts and signifying he very much intended to continue your rendezvous later on.

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Harry who seemed to be smiling genuinely for once. His air of annoyance gone.

“You know...” Remus began as he ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm down and focus.

“The whole chocolate thing, I got it from her. She used to bring me sweets when...” he caught himself. 

“Well, when I needed some comforting.”

Harry nodded, caring little about the topic at hand and wanting to get on with what he desperately needed to speak to the professor about. 

[solynaceawrites]

Days Gone [1] In the Blood

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Eva, Sparda, Vergil Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Angst, Hurt, Character Study, Character Death Chapters: 1/7 written for @dmcweek​ Summary: A look at the lives of the Sparda family and the tragedies they've endured, starting with the years before Eva's death.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“It’s in the blood,” Sparda says.

Eva looks up from the book she’s been reading. The lounge is bright and warm, and through the window comes the late-June sun and the sound of her boys playing in the yard, so she shouldn’t be anything other than comfortable. Yet there’s something to her lover’s face, a darkness in his eyes, a pinching at the corners of his mouth, that leaves her feeling very, very cold. “I’m sorry?”

“The blood,” he repeats. On his lap is one of the swords he plans to leave to their children—Dante, she thinks—and he runs his fingers over the edge with a wry smile. “My blood, to be exact. Tell me, do you know what demons do to one another?”

Eva shakes her head. She knows what he is, of course, has known since he first stumbled into her garden with a dazed look and a wound in his side that oozed a thick, purple fluid more like tar than blood, but he’s never told her of his life before they met. Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she lies awake and stares at him in the dark, the handsome face he wears now so unlike the monstrous one that belongs to his true nature that she can almost convince herself she dreamt it. But that otherness is there: in their love-making, in the quick and easy way he heals, in the inhuman strength and speed he possesses. Now, he looks only weary, tired, and she marks her place and goes to him, kneeling next to his chair and reaching up to touch his face.

Sparda leans into her, nuzzling her palm and looking at her with those sad, grave eyes. “They kill, of course. It’s in their nature, or what little of it there might be. Mortals are food and hunted for sport, their torture a delight. And they will turn on their own for little more than petty amusement, alliances turned to slaughters at the simplest change of whim.”

“Are you worried that Dante and Vergil will be that way?” she asks, keeping her voice low and soothing.

He considers her for a moment, her not-quite husband. Then he shakes his head. “I could not say. I had a brother once, who I loved more than anything in the world. Yet when the time came for me to make a choice, I attempted to kill him, and sealed him away when that failed. You want to ask if I regret it,” he chuckles wryly, “and I do not. It was a necessary thing. Ugly, yes, but necessary.”

“Sparda,” she begins, only for her voice to die in her throat when the change occurs.

It’s slower than it was years ago, before the twins were born, and starts in his face. The skin shifts, melting and reforming like wax as the eyes take on a glassy shine and the healthy, olive tone of his complexion fades to an ashen gray. Horns grow from the hair, which hardens and curls into a helmet, and the armor flows from there to coat the rest of him, until the knee she’s balancing herself on is rough and cold to the touch. “What legacy,” he asks with a tongue not suited for human speech, “am I leaving for them?”

To that, she has no answer. So she takes his hand and pulls him from his seat and up the stairs, knowing that the boys will be out all afternoon, and in their bedroom she comforts him as best as she knows how, whispering words of love and devotion into his ear until both of them are spent and the sky outside has gone the pale umber of evening. And when the twins return, covered in mud and scrapes and bruises, she cleans them up and makes a dinner fit to feed a small army, and she helps them get ready for bed, and all the while that question nags at her. What legacy? she thinks, soaking in the bath. One of a good father, if a little absent and strange. But the image of that strange smile and the sword on his lap will not leave her, and the chill of it remains long after she has fallen asleep.

She finds Vergil in Sparda’s study the next morning. Eva pauses in the doorway, a dusting rag held uncertainly to her chest as she takes him in, a boy who is small and precocious for his age, so unlike his rambunctious younger brother. His head is tilted back so that he can look up at the sword on the mantle; this one is much more Oriental in design, made to be wielded with grace and poise, and it will belong to him one day. Which means that it’s only natural that he’d show interest, isn’t it? Why, then, does it fill her with the same discomfort from yesterday? Why does it bring back the nightmares she thought she had shaken off? 

Trying to bring some of the normalcy back to her day, Eva forces a smile to her face and knocks on the open door. “You know you aren’t meant to be in here when your father is gone.”

Without turning around, Vergil replies, “He said it was fine.”

“Did he?” She steps inside, moving to stand next to her son. “Well, I suppose it’s alright, then. Where’s Dante?”

“Out,” he answers vaguely.

That could mean anything from the yard to the playground to the woods to accompanying Sparda on whatever errand he’s running, and she kneels and places her hands on Vergil’s shoulders, looking up at the sword with him. “Do you like it?”

He hums. “It’s pretty.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “it is.” And that isn’t a lie. The hilt is wrapped in a lovely blue fabric that complements the intricately crafted golden hilt wonderfully. What she does not say is that she hopes he never has to use it. “Your father used it once to do a great thing. Did you know that?”

Finally, Vergil looks at her, his eyes wide with a wonder he so rarely shows. “He did?”

“Mm-hm. You see, there were once demons who wanted to hurt people, just because they thought that they should be able to. Your father used this sword to seal them away.” She glances up at it. “He calls it Yamato.”

Curious now, Vergil allows her to lead him to the armchair in the corner, and he climbs into her lap, something he has not done in over a year. “What about the other one?”

“Hm.” She smooths his hair back. “He said its name is Rebellion, and serves a much different purpose. It’s meant to protect the weak and avenge the injustices they’ve suffered.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Sounds stupid.”

“Do you really think so?”

“No,” he admits, “but it’s for Dante, and Dante is stupid.”

“Vergil, you know that’s not true,” she admonishes.

He frowns at her, looking uncharastically like his father. “It is. He hides my stuff and always wants to do what I do. He won’t leave me alone unless I play with him, and then he gets me in trouble because he plays rough and you don’t like it.”

She bundles him into her arms with a sigh. It’s easy to fall back into the role of matriarch in the daylight, particularly with the familiar friction between her sons to occupy herself with. “You must be patient with him. He only wants to spend time with you.”

“I wish he wouldn’t,” he mutters. 

“That’s enough of that,” she says. Downstairs, she hears the door open, followed by voices—one chattering excitedly, the other answering in the short gaps allowed by the first—and Eva nudges Vergil down, dusting specks of dirt from his shirt. “Go down and see if your father needs any help, and then you can finish your chores.”

“Yes, mother.”

She kisses the top of his head and sends him on his way. There’s a hint of guilt for it; out of the twins, Vergil is far easier to handle than Dante, preferring books and tidiness over the haphazard, yet harmless mess that seems to follow Dante wherever he goes. That makes it rare for her to display any sort of shortness with him, but—

I had a brother once . . . I tried to kill him. 

—she doesn’t want him to push Dante away. 

The rest of her day passes in the normal routine. Vergil and Dante do their chores, while Eva takes care of the house and Sparda works in the yard. They eat lunch together, her reminding all of them to fold their napkins in their lap and to keep their elbows off of the table, and then the boys go out to play while she catches up on her sewing and Sparda reads the newspapers he insisted on subscribing to. He reads her the horoscopes and more interesting classifieds, but otherwise the only sound is the soft music that comes from the record player. The odd mood from yesterday has disappeared. When she looks out of the window, she sees her sons sitting in the grass with one of Vergil’s books open between them, and she smiles.

[honestlyfrance]

hug infinitely

pairing: sam/bucky

square filled: eyelid kissing/big protective hug ( for the kisses bingo held by @bingokisses​ !)

warnings: angst (kinda), swearing from narrator

summary: Bucky is a caring person who wants to keep a reckless man named Sam in his arms forever. 

a/n: or just me being poetic about one hug in 1.5k words :) it’s the first fic i’ve done in a long time so yay for writing this all less than 24 hours! enjoy and leave some feedback <3

my masterlist | find this on AO3

It’s only a fact that you can’t protect who you love from every little inconvenient thing. You can’t fix every crack in the world just so you could breathe easy thinking your love wouldn’t trip. You also can’t make the sun go away so your love can’t get a sunburn on your nice little beach date. It’s miserable thinking that the world just has it’s ways to hurt your love, but that’s reality, and to have it bother you so much, it’s only a tragedy in three acts.

Bucky Barnes was a protective person at heart, it’s just in his nature to be so. He cared about a lot of things too, and it ranges from friends to family, even pets to strangers. There’s one person though that sends his heart racing every time, but not out of love, but rather out of worry, yet it would be a lie if Bucky says he doesn’t love him.

Enter Sam Wilson, the one person Bucky thought could match Steve Rogers’s reckless behavior and constant belief that his body is immortal and is probably Superman. What irks Bucky though was that, unlike Steve who is probably immortal due to the serum, Sam was human to the bone. The man’s veins pump with unaltered blood and his hair grows at a normal rate. His metabolism isn’t fucked up and his teeth grind in a nervous tick. Sam Wilson is so human that he does backflips off of balconies just because someone bet him to do so. He’s fucking unhinged at some points and he’s immobile late at night and God, Bucky just fucking adores this human so much despite his blood pressure going through the roof.

Bucky Barnes worries for this man so much that he would publicly punch the hospital wall and set his forehead against it like some widow in a Noir film who just found out her husband died. He will not even look at anyone’s eyes as long as they were Sam’s open and lively ones, no! It’s only when another team member pokes at his reaction will he try to regain his demeanor.

Sam Wilson just makes Bucky Barnes weak.

It’s just their normal.

There are days where Sam Wilson gets called for a last-minute mission, one that is only more dangerous than the last one, and he has to personally ring up Bucky saying, “No, no, I’m fine. I don’t need you to come with me. Just get yourself comfy in bed and wait for me. We’ll go to the movies and see what’s new once I’m done.” and that’s the only thing that could keep the man sane for a while.

It’s not that Bucky was helpless when Sam wasn’t around — he’s completely fine even! he has his agendas outside of the man, too! — it’s just that the mere idea of Sam Wilson being bedridden due to broken bones, internal bleeding, a coma, or anything of the sorts just scares him… the mere idea that Sam Wilson is easily broken, fragile even, a kind of fragile Bucky isn’t familiar with anymore… It hurts Bucky to even think that they’re two different kinds of glass.

Oh, but his heart yearns so much for the time when he could scrape his knee and feel so bad for it. When was the last time Bucky was worried that he could get killed by the wrong rusty nail? Humans are too fragile, he thinks, and they only get more fragile as they grow old.

Bucky yearns for the time when he too was human to the bone.

And that’s why Bucky holds Sam a little longer than the last time.

This was why Bucky runs his fingers through Sam’s hair slower than usual, cascading his hand up and down the nape of his neck just so Sam could feel warm somehow. This was why Bucky sets his chin on Sam’s shoulder and inhales the scent of burnt fabric and gunfire, wanting to breathe it all away so Sam could feel clean of war. This was why Bucky grabs Sam by the waist first when hugging because he didn’t want to let go of what makes Sam his lover, forever wanting their atoms to intertwine with each other and become everlasting, even if it was just for a little while.

All of these little things make Sam Wilson feel like the only person left in the world, and it’s not a lonely kind of feeling. Being held in Bucky’s arms like this after months of feeling rough hands and doubt in his body and head, it felt like being a bird perched on a telephone wire, looking over the empty road and just feeling the nip of the breeze swift past you. Bucky’s arms around Sam felt like sunshine after stormy seas, and he loves it, drowns in it, feeling his knees grow weak whenever Bucky even moves his hands the slightest to bring him closer. It pains Sam to even feel so warm and calm and just so full of life in such arms.

The little things like Bucky whispering “I miss you” or “I love you, I love you, I missed you so badly” into his ear was enough to make Sam sob, because he truly couldn’t have known anything less before this. It was such a soft epilogue to his melancholic novel that he could practically see it as a best seller, and Bucky didn’t even write it, he was just right there cheering him on and giving him a nice little place to write all of the things Sam’s seen and done in peace that it’s almost impossible to imagine. Bucky has this feeling of home in his arms that when Sam falls into them he just knows that there’s no turning back now — Sam has never felt so small in Bucky’s arms, he never felt the whole world engulf him in such warmth and softness and ugh this hug was just too good to be real.

It’s all Sam ever knows as he buries his head even deeper into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder, feeling light as a feather as the man lifts him, as if his entire body wasn’t enough to hold, Bucky seemed to want Sam’s entire soul in his hands, Sam’s entire breath, Sam’s entire stars, Sam’s entire life, Sam’s entire existence in his hands. Bucky seemed to want Sam Wilson so much as Sam Wilson wanted him and it’s just a perfect scenario, it’s probably just a dream.

And this was why Bucky holds Sam in his arms a little longer than the last time. He wanted Sam to feel what it’s like having the world wrapped around his finger and by God, this amazing man will have that kindness.

Sam felt safe being small and engulfed in Bucky’s hugs. It’s like nothing outside matters and all that ever did matter was the fireplace brewing in their chests, breathing out smoke like chimneys in December, feeding each other warmth until the coals of their houses ran out. Sam felt so fucking safe like this, his mind is all but a grassy field on a plateau overlooking a vast ocean that had waves lapping against the cliff-like touch starved lovers reaching for the sun. Sam felt like he never was that touch starved teen back in his high school years, wanting to succumb to someone’s touch when he’s lost all sense beforehand because Bucky’s breathing into his neck “You’re home. God, you’re home now.” and to think that this isn’t loving is just the coward’s way out of this hug. Damn right Sam is gonna sleep in Bucky’s arms tonight because tonight, Sam is so full of love he forgot what it was like to be empty.

Bucky tries so hard to admit to himself that he does love Sam and his broken bones and whatnot, the only thing stopping him is the heartbreak he’ll receive when one day Sam will be gone, finally realizing that he’s not the Superman everyone thought out to be — not the infinite river of hope and bravery he was meant to be. It sickens Bucky to even think that this Captain America, the Falcon, Samuel Wilson, isn’t infinite. To even think so is the cowardice’s way out of this chokehold.

Maybe if he held Sam long enough, the love that just exudes out of him will heal whatever malice tried to break this incredible man. If Bucky could kiss all of Sam’s worries away, then peace could be a fiery red sunset over the sea. If Bucky loved then Sam could feel loved.

It’s crazy, Bucky knows. Love doesn’t work that way. Love doesn’t heal, it breaks. This is why we have broken hearts in the first place, but oh with the way Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and mumble sweet nothings into his shirt Bucky could now believe that this moment will be the single greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

The only time Bucky felt the need to let go of Sam is when he needs to set a gentle kiss on the man, one on the forehead, one on the nose, and each on the eyelid. He wanted Sam to close his eyes and just feel the softest thing he could offer. Bucky wanted Sam to fall asleep in a nice bed with nice thoughts, perhaps even with a smile that he couldn’t wipe off.

Bucky wants to heal every wound Sam has and kiss the pain goodnight after every mission.

Bucky wants to have Sam in this hug infinitely.

Bucky wants as much as Sam wants him.

And yeah, they’ll have this as long as they could.

[bangstanfics]

Ode to Safe Travels || JJK

☆ Pairing: Knight!Jungkook x Princess!Reader

☆ Word Count: 4.8k

☆ Rating: 17+

☆ Genre: Medieval au, royalty au, star crossed lovers, romance, angst, and more angst

☆ Warnings: Major character death, implications of smut

☆ Summary: It was a forbidden romance that was bound to end up in tragedy. You both knew that, and yet that didn’t stop you from falling hopelessly in love with your metaphorical and literal knight in shining armor, Jeon Jungkook. 

☆ A/N: My first ever fic, oh gawd I wasn’t sure when (or if) I was going to post this, but Valentines Day seemed like a good day. This short story is part of my “A Second Chance at Love” series (a series about lovers whose circumstances caused them to not end up together during their first life, but are given a second chance when they are reincarnated) and is the prequel to my main story “Chasing Stars.” Also, all the italicized writing is the present, and the regular text are flashbacks of the past. Yes! That was done with a purpose and no I won't directly say why (unless you figure it out owo). Enough of my blabbing, I hope you all enjoy!! :)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 

I’ll be with you, forever.

It was his promise to you as he sat in his barren cell, deprived of the basic necessities of life - food, water, human contact. The shackles around his arms denying him access to one last touch of your skin, to caress your cheek and brush away the tears that you couldn’t stop from falling. His big doe eyes that reflected stars now reflected your contorted expression, overtaken with grief. Despite his circumstances, he managed to smile and attempted to ease your fears with his words.

God, how you hated yourself in that moment. There he was, waiting for his moment to come on death’s vendetta, yet he was comforting you. You, the princess who spent her sheltered life behind the castle walls, ignorant to famen, war, and poverty. You, the princess who was always draped in the finest silks and gold and carried herself with too much pride. You, the princess who was always pampered by servants and knights alike, adored by the entire kingdom.

Finding solace in his words was a privilege you would not allow yourself to have in that moment.

“Would you like to have a different meal prepared, your Highness?” the voice of the servant cut through your heavy thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You glanced down at your untouched food before turning your attention back to the girl. She was new, you noted, and unaware of the fact that your lack of appetite had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the memories of him that constantly flooded your mind.

“No,” you answered after a moment of silence, “This will suffice.”

She waited, as if expecting more, but when you offered nothing of the sort she bowed her head respectfully and left the dining hall, leaving you alone to replay that fateful day over and over again.

He was right, though. Even after his passing, you saw and heard him everywhere you went. His hushed voice in the wind, calling your name. His shadow trailing your footsteps of abandoned corridors. His lingering scent in the sheets of your chambers. Even now, in this massive hall with the long table stretched out before you, you could feel the weight of his presence sitting in the empty chair across from you. The ghost of his smile barely visible to your eye and yet you can remember it so distinctly. However, rather than comfort, it only served as a bitter reminder of the future that was abruptly taken away from you.

You closed your eyes once again and allowed your consciousness to drift back to that day, resuming from the point where you hopelessly reached your hand through the bars in an attempt to seek refuge in the warmth of his arms. He did the same, extended his hand out towards you, but the chains that restrained him to the wall only allowed him to move a few feet. Your desperate attempts to reach each other proving futile against the cell bars.

“Please don’t leave me,” you pleaded through your sobs, “Please don’t leave me all alone. I can’t do this without you.”

His smile was weak, but reassuring, “My love,” his voice barely above a whisper, all the might and confidence you were so accustomed to hearing had disappeared, “Don’t say that. You are the strongest person I know. Hell, the strongest person in this nation. Do what you always do when you fall, jump back up and keep moving forward.” You shake your head, unable to speak through your broken sobs. You wanted to tell him he was wrong. The truth behind your unwavering nature was not an iron will, but the knowledge that if you fell, Jungkook would be right there to catch you and help you back up.

“Jungkook please,” you tried again, “Let me fix this.”

“But there is nothing to fix,” he tried to reason, “Our destiny had already been mapped out in the stars long ago. I know you do not believe in these myths and folklore, but sometimes there are moments in this lifetime that are meant to happen to allow others destinies to fully take course.”

This destiny he was so fixated on, meant nothing to you if he wasn’t there to take part in the journey with you. You wanted to tell him that, but the words stayed as a lump in your throat as you stared into his brown orbs. The unwavering determination was set ablaze in his eyes, as he sent you a silent message - he was doing this for you. In that moment, you were faced with a burden so great that the mere thought of it left the impression of the universe’s vast loneliness coursing through you.

You had to leave him.

Turn around and allow him to take part in fate’s cruel plans.

“I love you,” were the final words you had to offer, “I love you so damn much,” your cries growing louder with each passing declaration, knowing it will be your last.

“And I love you,” he projected what little strength he had into this confession, so they would never leave you, “Even after my time in this world has come to an end, my love for you will not end with it.”

You felt your hands tremble at your sides as the desire to embrace him one last time overwhelmed you. To brush your lips over his and murmur sweet nothings into his ears to reassure him that your heart was forever his and nothing, not even death, could break that bond. Your lover, your best friend, your world. He was it all and so much more.

With a heavy heart, you rose from your spot on the ground and left without a second glance. Too afraid that if you did, your resolution would break and you would run back to Jungkook’s cell. Instead, as you traveled down the dimly lit hall, you broke into uncontrollable sobs. The force of your whimpers reverberating through your chest, causing the halls to echo back your sorrows. Your hands found their way to your hair as you began rummaging through your locks, searching your head for an answer. A swarm of profanities whirled your mind as they attempted to escape through your mouth. You physically had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from revealing your location to the castle guards. But the insanity of the situation was getting too much and with each passing second your hope continued to dwindle close to nothing. You frantically shook your head, forcing the negative thoughts away. Jungkook already had given up, so you knew you couldn’t do the same.

You were at a loss for breathe as you found yourself hyperventilating, knees succumbing to the reality of the situation. Was there really nothing you could do to save him? You clawed at your chest, desperate for air as your head sunk lower and lower, eyes meeting the concrete floors. Your vision was filled with nothing but the gray cracks and crevices, hoping to find a silver lining in any one of its imperfections. But there was nothing and when you realized this, you screamed. An ear curdling scream meant for the heavens, hoping they would hear your plea and allow Jungkook to live.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” a heavy breathe brought you down from the memory you were reliving and you realized you were no longer seated at the dining table. To your side, the familiar face of the Head maid with a look of concern etched onto her features. Of all people you had to encounter, you just had to encounter her - Mrs. Kim. The same woman who helped raise you and feed you when your parents were busy managing their kingdom. The same woman who kissed your wounds and was your shoulder to cry on. The same woman who gave birth to one of your closest friends, Kim Namjoon. The same woman who betrayed you.

“Don’t touch me!” you immediately recoiled from her touch, the momentum of your movements, bringing you down to the floor as a result.

“But Your Highness--” Mrs. Kim reached out to help you up, but you responded by scurrying further back, until your back hit the end of a wall.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me! Don’t help me! Just get away!”

Mrs. Kim was visibly hurt by your words, you could tell by the way her eyes clouded with tears, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Afterall, she was the one who revealed your relationship with Jungkook to your parents.

“What if… we ran away together?” you whispered to Jungkook one night after love making. Your naked bodies intertwined between the silk sheets of your bed, as the soft rays of the moonlight peeking through your windows enhanced Jungkook’s features. His doe eyes seemed to sparkle more, his smile was bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen it. Then again, you could attribute that to the fact he had an orgasm not even ten minutes ago, but still - he seemed different. A radiating glow. You wondered if you had one too.

“Where would we even go?” he decided to entertain the idea, although deep down he knew it was impossible. Your parents would spend whatever resources necessary to bring you back here to Reeva. Afterall, you were, not only the eldest, but the most qualified of your siblings to inherit the throne. Your younger sister, a carefree spirit who would rather spend her time exploring the city than learning how to write eloquent letters to convince an enemy kingdom to decrease their tariffs, did not have the knowledge or skill to be a bridge between the people and the law. Your younger brother, a fool most people would describe him, but you saw him as a man with no ambition. He was indifferent to the world and would rather spend his time exploring the beds of the young maidens in the castle. That left Reeva in your hands.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” You finally decided as your answer, “The world has so much to offer us, Jungkook. Why stay in a place that forbids us to love each other just because I’m seen as heir to the throne and you’re seen as my protector.” Jungkook loved hearing you talk about your immense love for him. The way you would sacrifice everything for him. He had never known a love so deep and pure. Growing up as an orphan, he thought love was a concept that didn’t exist. People would abandon each other eventually, it was only a matter of time. Yet, with you, no matter how many times he failed or made himself look like a fool, you remained by his side and encouraged him to get back up. He reached out his hand and gently stroked your cheek, admiring the way you released a content sigh at the physical contact.

“A place where we could love each other freely…” he tested the idea with his tongue, saying it out loud for the first time. He had to admit, a swarm of butterflies invaded his chest at the mere thought of being able to hold your hand freely in public. Without any spectators giving him dirty looks, or covering their mouths to point out how you carried an air of grace, while he carried himself with the mannerism of a commoner.

“Mmhm… Doesn’t that sound nice?” you smiled sleepily, your previous activities with Jungkook draining you of most of your energy, but you still had enough power to lean forward and press your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips before releasing a low hum of agreement.

The moment, like every beautiful moment in life, did not last.

The door to your chambers was forced open with a great kick. Startled, you and Jungkook pulled away from each other, as your first instinct was to cover yourself up with your linen. Guards came swarming into your space and surrounded the bed you shared with Jungkook. You couldn’t even process everything that was happening. The motion of the clustered bodies moving like a blur, until two distinct presence made themselves known. Your blood ran cold as you noticed the fire that ignited in your father’s eyes as he took in the scene before him - you and Jungkook in your bed together, naked and covered in love bites. He didn’t even give you time to explain yourself before he was marching over to Jungkook’s side and drawing the tip of his sword to your lover’s neck.

“Father wait--” you tried to reason with him, thinking he was about to drag the blade against Jungkook’s throat, but he proceeded with words rather than action, much to your surprise.

“You will be tried for high treason against the royal family. You will be stripped of your title as a member of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. And you will no longer be known as a knight of Reeva. Should you be found guilty of your crime, there is only one punishment fitting of such betrayal - death. Do you have any objections?”

You sucked in a deep breathe at the word “death” knowing well that the council (comprised of your father, mother, your father’s advisor Sir Lee and Commander Bang) would unanimously find Jungkook guilty. The hard stare your father sent Jungkook was meant to be intimidating, you could tell, but all you could see in his eyes was pity and despair. He was, after all, the one who took Jungkook under his wing and trained him to be the man he is today. Despite the tough front your father always portrayed, you always knew he had a soft spot for Jungkook. He was every inch of what the king wanted your brother to be, but could never achieve. But at that moment, he was casting all emotions aside and using his head to make every decision. The King couldn’t risk a scandal like this being exposed to the other kingdoms. They would seize it as an opportunity to cast doubt over his authority and possibly overthrow him. Jungkook was no longer a boy orphaned by war, he was a man who had to take responsibility for his actions.

“No, I have no objections.”

Wide eyed, you whipped your head to the man next to you and looked at him in disbelief. Was the post-orgasm high interfering with his brain? You sat up straighter, carrying an air of dignity that had been instilled into you since birth - you weren’t about to let these men make you feel ashamed for making love to the man you love -  and started to protest on his behalf, “On the contrary, he objects to every statement you just made!”

“You will hold your tongue until--” your mother began, but your father raised a hand to silence her.

You decided to use the opportunity to continue talking, “Father, I beg of you, hear me out. None of this was Jungkook’s fault. It was I who initiated this- this- this whole thing. He refused all of my advances, saying he knows his place, but I convinced him that his rightful place should be with me because I--” you paused, unsure if your words was making the situation better or worse for Jungkook, but you were desperate to cling onto anything that would resolve this mess, even if it meant revealing the truth, “Because I lo--”

“I’d hate to reveal my intentions in front of everyone like this, Princess, but I thought I should save you the embarrassment of your next words by speaking my truth.” All you could do was blink inquisitively at Jungkook, whose demeanor and attitude had suddenly transformed into one you had never seen before, “And that truth is… I used you. Well, used your body more specifically.” It was like choking on air as you listened to Jungkook’s confession. Nothing was holding your throat hostage, yet you were finding it difficult to breathe. Why are you doing this? You wanted to scream at him. Why are you lying so effortlessly in front of everyone? Why are you trying to take all the blame? “You made it so easy for me too. With the way you practically flung yourself at me every time we were alone. I almost felt bad stringing you along... Almost. Then again, sleeping with you did also pose some benefits seeing how I got to sleep in these luxurious chambers rather than my worn out closet space.”

Jungkook’s “confession” landed him a swift blow to his face, courtesy of your father who either believed his story or wanted to believe his story just so he could portray Jungkook to be the villain in this entire mess, “Father, stop!” Your first instinct was to jump in front of the dark haired boy and use your own body as a shield, but the guard closest to you captured your arm, preventing you from doing so. Your father took another swing at the knight and the momentum of his hit threw Jungkook to the floor with a loud thud. You watched in horror as the King pulled his leg back and swiftly landed a kick to what you presumed, judging from the suffocated groan, was Jungkook’s abdomen. “Enough!” you finally yell with a force so great, that even the guard gripping your arm was startled. With a ragged breath, and tears on the brink of escape, you yanked your arm from the guard and crawled to the other edge of the bed to where your father was standing, “Please, have mercy on him,” you begged, head hung low and hands clasped together as if you were praying to a saint. From the corner of your eye, you focused on Jungkook’s remorse expression and apologized mentally that you couldn’t do more for him. You couldn’t gauge your father’s reaction, but you knew he must have been furious seeing his heir to the throne on her knees, for a man who didn’t possess an ounce of royal blood. 

Your father cleared his throat, a sign for you to raise your head. His eyes lacked emotion so you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, “Guards, dress him and lock him up in the dungeons. I don’t want him in my sights for another second,” he finally commanded. Two men quickly found Jungkook’s discarded articles of clothing and dressed him before dragging him out of your room. Your eyes followed his body’s movement, even when he was out of sight, all you could do was stare helplessly at the door, “Leave us,” your father commanded the remaining guards, who quickly scurried away from his tone.

“How did you know?” you finally decided to ask after a moment of silence. Your eyes were still transfixed on the empty doorway, waiting for his answer, until a new figure came into view. She hung her head low in shame and her shoulders slouched forward to make herself seem as small as she felt at that moment.

“I have eyes all over the castle, my dear. As loyal as they are to you, they will always prioritize their loyalty to me, their King.” You couldn’t even process his words as an overwhelming sense of denial rushed through your system. Not her. Of all the people to betray you, please not her.

“Mrs. Kim?” you called out weakly, afraid that speaking her name out loud would confirm your fears. However, as soon as her name was called, she took the remaining steps to enter your room and make her presence known, “How- How could you?”

She bit her lip back in guilt, seemingly a loss for words to justify her actions. However, what came out next only made your hatred for the woman grow, “I’m so sorry. I have nothing else to say except that I’m so terribly sorry and that I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

A harsh tug on your shoulder brought you back to reality as you realized that Mrs. Kim pulled you back to your feet and began shaking you frantically.

“I know you can never trust me again after what I did to you, but all I ask is that you listen to my reason for doing so.”

“I refuse! No explanation can take back the consequences of your actions. You have betrayed not just me or Jungkook, but Namjoon and the rest of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. Do you not see the pain in their eyes during war tactic conferences as they stare at the empty seat that once belonged to Jungkook? Or how Namjoon still expects Jungkook to pull one of his antics right before training? Maybe you’ve seen how Seokjin still sharpens and polishes Jungkook’s sword every morning? Or noticed how Yoongi still eats half his meal because he thinks Jungkook would ask for the rest of it? Can you tell Hoseok is still the first to take off his gear because he expects Jungkook to jump on his back? Do you see Jimin linger at Jungkook’s door? Longing for a friend to confide his struggles to? Have you watched Taehyung visit Jungkook’s grave with flowers and just cry uncontrollably? Because I’ve seen it Mrs. Kim. I’ve seen it all. And seeing them go through that reopens every wound Jungkook’s death has caused and refreshes every ounce of hatred I have towards you.” Mrs. Kim can’t even think of a response to your confession. Her grip on her shoulder fell as she stood motionless in the middle of the hall. A quick observation of your surroundings helped you determined that you were in the middle of the West hall, the hall that leads to the battle arena. 

Your blood ran cold as the gates of the arena stared you down, taunting you with the knowledge of what that place represented.  As you expected, Jungkook was found guilty of treason sentenced to death. How you wish your father showed mercy by making it a quick execution. Rather, he chose to spark a flame of hope within you by sentencing him to a duel - a battle to save his life. Jungkook was a talented knight, that was an undeniable fact that the entire kingdom knew, but his opponent, Sir Hyun, was exemplary. As the Head Knight, nations quaked in fear when they crossed his path and would rather be met with a death by a blade than at the hands of Sir Hyun. He was relentless when given a task and always made sure to leave no victim behind. A madman is what most would call him, and they would be completely justified in their beliefs. The bottom of your lip began to quiver as flashes of that day played out.

Jungkook dragging his practically lifeless body to the center of the arena.

His opponent’s merciless attacks on his weakened body.

Jungkook’s poor attempts at defending himself.

The battle ending with a fatal blow to your lover’s chest.

“Princess?” Mrs. Kim tried capturing your attention when she noticed your rigid state, but it was no use, you couldn’t escape the image painted inside your head. The only man you ever loved lying in a crimson pool, choking on his own blood. The way you ran to him and held his head in your lap as your tears decorated his pale face. The quiet hush that fell over the crowd as they watched you cradle your lover back and forth. The heartbroken wails that escaped your lips as you desperately yelled for anyone to help him. The audience only offered silent murmurs of what they speculated was going on. Your parents, the King and Queen of the kingdom, astonished by the events unfolding in front of him.

“Mother! Father! Please, I love him!” Their silent judgment only brought fresh tears to your face as you realized they would offer no aid to the dying man. His voice called out what sounded like your name, so you focused your attention back to him, leaning closer so he wouldn’t strain himself trying to speak up.

“D- Dont be afraid of go-goodbye.”

You frantically shook your head, refusing to believe this is where it ends for the both of you, “No, no, no. This isn’t goodbye, it can’t be. I refuse to accept it.”

His weak smile caused you to grimace, knowing how much effort it must take for the small action, “It’s okay…” he muttered, his voice notably getting fainter, “Because I promise you… I’ll find you again.” Your brows knitted together in confusion at his words.

“Wha-What do you mean you’ll find me again?”

He broke into a smile at your inquisitive stare. How is it that even as death lay waiting at his door he could still see every detail etched into your face. From the small crease in your brow, to the small crinkles around your glassy eyes as you tried to decipher his words. Knowing that it would be Jungkook’s last time seeing your face he made sure to take in every detail and appreciate the beauty that you are, “One day…” he began, the throbbing pain in his chest was slowly subsiding. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he welcomed the peace, “We’ll be together again.”

Still confused by his words, thinking his wound was making him confused, you shook your head once again, “I don’t want to wait until one day. I want to be with you right now. Now. I wanted to live the rest of our lives together. Have children together along the way and start a family. To grow old and watch our generations prosper. Doesn’t that sound nice, Jungkook?”

His smile turned into a painful one. Not because of his injury, but because he could perfectly see the future you described. Two children, one boy and one girl, running around a small cottage as you sat in his lap with eyes full of love at the children you two had created. At night when the children were in bed, you and him would be awake, confessing your heart’s desires through touches and kisses. He could see it so vividly in front of him that he almost convinced himself that he wasn’t currently dying, but Jungkook knew. He knew it was unattainable.

“It sounds wonderful.” he confessed, voice growing weaker,  “And we don’t have to say goodbye to that dream, just… until next time.”

At the mention of ‘until next time’, you understood what he meant. Reeva had a tradition when seeing their knights off to battle in foregin territory. From a young age, every inhabitant of the kingdom was required to memorize a stanza entitled an Ode to Safe Travels. You always found it ridiculous because you thought it was nothing but a poetic way of saying goodbye. As you grew older and wiser, you realized it was not a poetic goodbye, but a promise to be reunited once again, whether it be in this life or the next one. And so with a tear stained face, you inched your face closer to Jungkook and whispered your farewells.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom,” your voice was broken from tears as you recite the lines you have spoken countless times to Jungkook before he was sent off to battle, but this time it was different because you knew he would not return from the place he going to, “In glory, you find victory in the next.” He raised a hand to brush away a few of your tears and hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. You welcomed his touch by leaning into it and holding it firm against your face, “Safe travels wherever the wind carries you.” You watched as tranquility took over his features and his eyes began to flutter close. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight and you squeezed his hand that was resting against your cheek in hopes of transferring some of your life force into him. However, dragging on the seconds into minutes would not extend Jungkook’s life so you forced yourself to finish the rest of the poem, “And may the stars guide you back to me,” He used his remaining strength to force a smile, sealing his promise to be reunited with you once again, whenever that may be.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom. In glory, you find victory in the next. Safe travels wherever the wind carries you. And may the stars guide you back home.”

-Reeva’s parting ode to their knights