#Hawks has been crisped | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doumadono · 4 months

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Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, viking themes, viking!Bakugo, viking!Kirishima, viking!Aizawa, viking!All Might, blood and injuries, gore, implied smut (non-con), Shoto is a massive jerk

Summary: impatience simmers within you as Touya's trip lingers. Upon the troops' return, the horrifying news unfolds — the prince has fallen in battle. Grieving, you brace for no further blows, only for Shoto to remind you to always expect the unexpected

Word count: circa 11.3k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU • MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT V - NEW BEGINNINGS

The biting cold pierced through Touya's sleep, and the distant echoes of an unfamiliar sound drew him out of the warmth of his furs. Shifting quietly, he glanced over to see his younger brother, Shoto, still deep in slumber. The tent flaps rustled lightly with the night breeze, and Touya reached for his dagger, his breath visible in the frosty air.

Carefully, he wrapped himself in a thick fur, its warmth a shield against the harsh northern chill. As he stepped outside, the moon cast an ethereal glow on the snow-covered landscape. The world seemed frozen, a silent expanse of white.

The muffled sounds persisted, guiding Touya through the darkness. He noticed the sleeping figures of their fellow warriors, their breath creating small clouds in the frigid night air. Only Hawks sat near the dwindling fire, his attention fixed on the rhythmic motions of polishing his axe.

"Prince Touya," Hawks greeted without looking up, his voice low yet carrying an air of confidence.

"Hawks," Touya acknowledged, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Did you hear that noise? Something's not right."

Hawks paused, setting the axe aside, and finally looked at Touya. The firelight flickered, casting shadows on his sharp features. "I heard nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps it's just the wind playing tricks on your mind, my lord.”

Touya tightened his grip on the dagger, his instincts telling him otherwise. "No, it was different. Like footsteps or the creaking of snow under pressure."

Hawks raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Your senses are sharp, Touya. But I assure you, all is calm."

As if on cue, the wind howled, carrying with it an eerie stillness. Touya remained unconvinced, his gaze fixated on the vast wilderness surrounding them. "I'll take a quick look around. Better safe than sorry."

Hawks nodded, resuming his task. "Do what you must, my lord. But don't let your imagination run wild. These lands can play tricks on the mind."

Touya acknowledged the advice, leaving Hawks by the fading fire. Each step through the snow amplified the hushed night. The cold bit at his exposed skin, but determination fueled his movement.

In the quiet expanse, Touya's senses heightened. The darkness revealed no secrets, and the mysterious sounds remained elusive. Yet, as he patrolled the perimeter, a lingering unease settled within him.

Touya's boots crunched softly on the snow-covered ground as he wandered back to the camp. The cold air stung his face, but it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been haunting him. The familiar sight of the camp brought a mix of comfort and yearning.

He found a large rock, partially buried under the pristine snow, and with a heavy sigh, he brushed off enough snow to make a seat. Settling down, he gazed at the camp bathed in moonlight. The tents stood stoically, and the dying embers of the fire flickered in the crisp night air.

Yet, despite the serene surroundings, Touya's mind betrayed him. It drifted away from the snow-covered landscape, back to you. Your laughter echoed in his ears, and the memory of the warmth of your body against his lingered like a sweet torment.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a deep breath escaping him. The image of you, the one he cherished above all else, filled his thoughts. The way your eyes sparkled, the sound of your voice, and the gentle touch of your hand were etched in his mind. In the midst of the harsh Viking world, you were his sanctuary. "I miss you," he whispered to the quiet night, as if the wind might carry his words to you. "These missions, the cold, the battles — they all feel so empty without you by my side, sweet Y/N."

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns in the snow as he lost himself in the memories. The way you teased him, the shared glances that spoke volumes, and the moments of quiet understanding between you two. The world outside may have been harsh, but in your company, Touya found a refuge — a haven of warmth and love he never knew before.

He longed for the day when he could return to you, to feel the comfort of your embrace and to hear your laughter once more. The countdown to being reunited seemed to stretch on endlessly, each day a reminder of the miles that separated them.

With a heavy heart, Touya opened his eyes, refocusing on the camp before him.

The moonlit night cast an eerie glow on the snow-covered ground as Touya's eyes narrowed, catching a hint of movement to the right of the camp. Dark, crooked silhouettes emerged from the shadows of nearby bushes, and instinctively, Touya tightened his grip on the dagger, rising from his snowy seat.

Silent as the wind, he moved towards the camp, his senses heightened. As he drew closer, the outlines became clear — a pack of wolves, their eyes gleaming with hunger, led by a massive, black alpha. Time was of the essence, and Touya knew he had to act swiftly. "Wolves!" he shouted, the urgency in his voice cutting through the night.

The camp stirred, warriors scrambling to their feet, roused by Touya's warning.

Hawks grabbed his axe and joined Touya at the forefront.

The alpha wolf, towering over its pack, snarled, signaling the onslaught about to unfold.

The first wolf lunged at Touya, its fangs bared, but he sidestepped with a dancer's grace, bringing down his dagger with deadly precision. The clash of steel against fur echoed in the cold night air as the skirmish erupted.

Hawks, his axe a lethal extension of his will, swung with calculated brutality. His strikes were a dance of death, each swing met with the desperate howls of wolves. His movements were fluid, a deadly display of skill honed through countless battles.

Touya, too, fought with a controlled ferocity, his dagger slicing through the air. Wolves leaped, jaws snapping, but he evaded and struck with lethal accuracy. The snow around them stained with crimson as the battle waged on.

Meanwhile, Hawks battled the remaining wolves, his axe a whirlwind of death. The warriors from the camp rallied beside them, forming a united front against the relentless onslaught. The air was filled with the clash of weapons, the snarls of wolves, and the shouts of warriors determined to defend their camp.

The aftermath of the vicious wolf attack left a somber scene, with fallen warriors scattered across the snow-covered ground. The hungry wolves, driven by primal instincts, had bitten through armor and flesh, leaving no room for mercy.

As Touya fought to defend the camp, the harsh reality of the night unfolded before him.

In the chaos, Touya's keen eyes caught the movement of one particularly aggressive wolf, its maw stained with the blood of fallen warriors. With a sinking feeling, he realized it was making its way towards his tent, where Shoto likely still slept, blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

Touya's conflicted emotions churned within him. The familial bond he shared with Shoto clashed with the tumultuous history of rivalry and strife. Yet, beneath the layers of resentment, a protective instinct emerged.

Ignoring the exhaustion and the wounds that marked his body, Touya lunged towards the black alpha, the very embodiment of the danger. With a swift, determined motion, he plunged his dagger into the left eye of the alpha, a howl of pain reverberating through the night.

The wounded alpha, blinded and enraged, howled in fury. Seizing the opportunity, Touya sprinted towards his tent, his heart pounding with urgency. The shadows danced around him as he raced against time, driven by a brotherly love that transcended the bitterness of their past. Touya's heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted towards the tents, a surge of panic coursing through his veins. The distant cries of victory were abruptly drowned out by the guttural growl emanating from within the camp. His steps quickened, the urgency of the situation etched across his face.

Upon reaching the tent, he was met with a chilling sight. One of the wolves had managed to get into the tent where Shoto lay peacefully asleep. The growl rumbled from deep within its throat, a menacing prelude to the imminent attack. The wolf's predatory gaze locked onto Shoto, who remained blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

The growls of the approaching wolves tore through the tranquility of the night, reaching Shoto's ears finally as he lay within the confines of the tent. The cold air seemed to carry a sinister undertone, and with a start, Shoto's eyes snapped open. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the danger that lurked just next to him.

Turning his head slowly, Shoto's eyes widened as he beheld the massive silhouette of the wolf. Its fur blended with the shadows, and the gleam in its eyes spoke of a hunger that sent a shiver down Shoto's spine. Young prince knew that a single misstep, a solitary muscle twitch, could trigger an attack.

Touya, sensing the imminent threat, moved with a predator's grace. Silently, he approached the wolf from behind, his dagger gleaming in the moonlight.

Shoto's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his elder brother with the corner of his eye, a mixture of fear and hope swirling within him.

As Touya lunged forward, time seemed to slow. The blade flashed in the cold night air, and with one swift and precise motion, he slit the wolf's throat. The wolf’s growls turned to gurgles, and its once fierce eyes now reflected the glint of death.

Shoto, still frozen in place, watched as Touya's decisive action saved him from the impending danger. The wolf collapsed, its lifeblood staining the furs of the tent beneath it. The camp, now bathed in an uneasy silence, bore witness to the aftermath of the fierce struggle.

Touya, standing over the fallen wolf, cast a quick glance back at Shoto. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Shoto exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath, and nodded in gratitude.

Touya nodded in response to Shoto, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond between them. As Shoto hastily donned his fur and reached for his axe, the brothers emerged from the tent, greeted by the cold reality of the aftermath. The once serene camp now bore the scars of the recent struggle, marked by the fallen bodies of both wolves and warriors.

Surveying the scene, Touya's gaze fell on the fallen warriors, a somber recognition of the price paid in the night's skirmish. The brothers shared a moment of silent mourning for their fallen comrades before turning their attention to the survivors.

Hawks, with his axe still in hand, approached the duo. His eyes, however, were fixed on Shoto, completely disregarding Touya and the fresh wounds that adorned his forearms and shoulders. There was an air of concern in Hawks' voice as he addressed Shoto, "You okay, my lord?"

Shoto, though visibly shaken by the recent events, nodded in response. "I'm fine," he replied tersely, his gaze flickering briefly toward Touya.

Touya, despite the wounds that adorned his frame, remained stoic. The chill of the night seemed to seep through the fabric of his torn furs.

Hawks, seemingly ignoring Touya's injuries, continued to address Shoto. "Good. We need everyone on their feet. The night is unforgiving, and we can't afford to let our guard down."

Touya stated, "We need to find and kill the alpha. It couldn't have gone far. Until we bring it down, we won't be able to rest. The alpha might return with other wolves, and we can't afford to let that happen."

Shoto exchanged a glance with Hawks.

Hawks, always decisive in his actions, nodded in agreement. "Touya's right. We can't let that beast roam free. It's a threat to the camp and to our people. Let's go after it, end this, and secure the safety of our kin."

“Hans,” Touya turned to one of the warriors. "Collect the fallen comrades and do your utmost to attend to the wounded before our return," the leader instructed.

The elder man acknowledged with a solemn nod, a silent commitment to carry out the directive in the face of adversity.

The trio, bound by a common purpose, set out into the frigid night once more. The snow beneath their boots muffled their footsteps as they followed the trail left by the retreating alpha. The air was thick with tension, the awareness of the lurking danger guiding their every move.

Touya, with his senses sharp and focused, led the way.

Shoto and Hawks followed, their axes at the ready, prepared for whatever awaited them in the dark expanse of the Viking wilderness.

The trio moved cautiously through the dense thicket, their senses attuned to every rustle and snap of twigs beneath their boots. In the distance, a quiet guttural growl reverberated through the still night air, signaling their proximity to the wounded alpha. The sound set an eerie tone, foreshadowing the impending confrontation.

As they pushed through the bushes, the landscape opened up into a small meadow blanketed with thick snow. Moonlight bathed the clearing, casting an ethereal glow upon the pristine white canvas. In the center, the massive, black alpha wolf limped away, leaving crimson trails in the snow.

The alpha, sensing the pursuit, paused and turned to face the approaching threat. Its fur, once sleek and powerful, now clung to its scarred and mangled frame. The air became charged with tension as the alpha bared its fangs, a silent declaration of defiance.

Touya, undeterred by the formidable presence before him, stepped forward. His dagger gleamed in the moonlight as he closed the distance between them. T

The alpha, fixated on the approaching menace, seemed to recognize the danger that loomed.

"Hawks, head left. Shoto, make your way to the right," Touya commanded, his movements deliberate as he advanced toward the wolf. He didn't allow his gaze to waver, maintaining unbroken eye contact with the creature. Breaking that connection would trigger the wolf's attack, and Touya couldn't afford a single blink in this dangerous dance between predator and prey.

Shoto and Hawks shared another glance before silently adhering to Touya's directive. They moved with utmost stealth, the only sound the hushed crunch of snow under their boots, as they navigated the shadows of the night.

Touya began a deliberate circle around the wounded animal, and in response, the wolf mirrored his movements, growling and revealing its still bloodied, menacing fangs to the scarred man. The tension hung heavy in the air as the primal dance unfolded.

The wolf, fueled by a mix of pain and aggression, was the first to make a move. In the blink of an eye, it lunged at Touya, meeting the assault with swift retaliation. A dagger found its mark in the animal's side, but rather than deter it, the attack seemed to stoke the flames of its fury.

Touya, thrown off balance, toppled to the ground. The wolf, undeterred, closed in, its snarling muzzle snapping dangerously close to the scarred man's face. In the struggle to fend off the relentless predator, Touya's desperate plea cut through the frigid air, "Help!"

For Shoto, the unfolding scene was a twisted opportunity. It seemed as though disposing of Touya could be easier than he had initially thought; all he had to do was wait and watch as his brother faced the relentless assault of the wolf.

Hawks, torn by a lingering human instinct to intervene, hesitated. However, his intention to step in was halted by Shoto's raised hand, a silent command to stay back.

As the wolf persisted in its attack, Touya fought back with determination. The dagger found its mark several more times, warm blood coating his hands as he struggled to free himself from the ferocious jaws. In the midst of the struggle, Touya's voice cut through the tension, a desperate plea for assistance. "What's wrong with you, Shoto?! Hawks, help me kill this thing!"

Shoto's eyes narrowed, a chilling resolve in his gaze. "Don't you dare to move," he warned Hawks, the threat laced with a cold determination that left no room for negotiation.

Touya's brow furrowed for a fleeting moment at the words of his younger brother, but determination fueled him. With a final effort, he managed to free himself from the relentless jaws of the wolf, crawling away to the edge of a high bluff that marked the meadow's eastern boundary. The wolf lay motionless a short distance away. Touya, on trembling limbs, slowly knelt, gasping for air, his body still trembling. He then directed a bewildered gaze at his younger brother. "What the hell!?"

Hawks observed the unfolding dynamics, crossing his arms over his chest, a silent witness to the family drama.

Shoto, undeterred, approached his older brother with a sneer. "Don't misunderstand me, dear brother. I appreciate your help back in the camp, but I'm not about to owe you anything. There's a chasm between us, and nothing will erase it. Life is cruel, always has been. Survival favors the strongest, and, sorry to say, you don't fit that description."

Touya's expression hardened as he slowly rose to his feet. "What the hell, Shoto? I made it clear some time ago — I don't want the power, and I sure as hell don't want that damned earl's crown. It's yours if you want it."

Shoto sighed, idly playing with his axe as he closed the distance between them. "Yeah, yeah. The problem is our illustrious father doesn't see it that way. Rumors are circulating that you've gained favor in his eyes, especially after that last successful raid. I can't let you snatch away what's rightfully mine. I'm sorry."

Touya turned to Hawks, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "Hawks?"

Keigo shrugged, his allegiance clear. "Sorry, my lord, but I've always been loyal to Shoto."

Touya let out a derisive snort. "I can't believe this. I never wanted any of this division between us. It's always been your paranoia about power. I never wanted to harm you, Shoto. I never wanted to take anything from you. All I ever wanted was to live my own life. That's it. You're our father's prized possession, not me."

Shoto tilted his head, a wide smirk playing on his lips. "Indeed. Unfortunately, our father perceives things differently. And now that you've acquired that damn thrall, freeing her and all, I can't wait until the day you get her pregnant. That would seal my fate entirely. You get it, don't you?"

Touya snorted, tightening his grip on a dagger. "I never intended to be at odds with you, Shoto."

Shoto retorted, "Yet it always seems to come down to a fight, doesn't it?"

Before the brothers clashed, Hawks yelled, "Shoto, step aside, the wolf!"

The younger Endeavorson swiftly turned his head for a brief moment, spotting a black wolf poised for an attack. In a swift maneuver, the two-toned haired man dodged, creating an open space between the fatally wounded alpha and his elder brother.

Touya found himself without enough time to evade the impending attack. Bracing for impact, as the wolf leaped toward him, he struggled to maintain balance on the slippery snow. For a fleeting moment, he believed he had regained control, but as he took a step back, the ground beneath his feet disappeared — he stepped into the void of the bluff.

Touya let out a scream, the sound mingling with the wolf's howl as Touya’s dagger once again found its mark on the animal's side. Together, they plummeted into the darkness of the night.

Soon, the night reclaimed its overwhelming silence.

Shoto rose to his feet, accepting the hand offered by Hawks to help him stand. The two exchanged a glance and slowly approached the edge of the bluff, peering down.

Several meters below, they observed Touya's lifeless form pinned beneath the massive wolf that had descended with him. Touya's left leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

Hawks, witnessing the gruesome scene, fought back a wave of nausea, gasping at the sight.

Shoto, however, maintained a stoic expression. "Seems like my problem has resolved itself. Fate decided to lend me a hand that night. I thought we might have to resort to poison, huh. Move, Hawks. We need to return to camp and share the unfortunate news with our fellow warriors." With those words, Shoto left, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips.

Hawks watched Shoto in silence, his gaze lingering for a moment. Then, he turned his attention back to the scene below. A quiet tear traced down his cheek, falling onto the snow stained crimson by the alpha's blood.

Meanwhile, you went about your daily tasks in your new, free life, the familiar sense of accomplishment warmed your spirit. The small hut, now a cozy haven, stood as a testament to your new position.

Helga and Natsuo, friends who had become like family, offered their unwavering support during the two days it took to set up your new home.

One evening, Helga entered the room, "How's everything coming along, dear Y/N? Need any more help with the arrangements?"

You smiled, grateful for her presence, "Thank you, Helga. I think we've covered everything. Your help has been invaluable."

Natsuo, sitting near a tiny fireplace, chimed in, "It's the least we could do. This is a fresh start for you, and we're glad to be a part of it."

As you arranged items on a shelf, Helga leaned against the doorframe, "I must say, this place looks cozy. It's a far cry from the constraints of the past, isn't it?"

You nodded, "Indeed. Freedom was a gift I never knew I needed. And having friends like you made it all the more special."

Natsuo grinned, "Well, now that your new home is all set, what's next on your agenda?"

You paused, looking around, "I think I'll just try to find myself something to do.”

Later in the evening, Natsuo brought pails of water to your hut. He greeted you warmly, "Evening! Thought you might need some water after your day."

You thanked him, taking the pails. As you both sat outside your hut, enjoying the cool breeze, Natsuo couldn't help but notice a hint of sadness in your expression. "Something on your mind?"

You sighed, "It's just... Touya has been gone for so long on their mission. I miss him, you know?"

Natsuo nodded empathetically, "I get it. He'll be back, though. The missions are tough, but he's resilient. And you've got us here to keep you company in the meantime."

You smiled, appreciating his comforting words.

As the evening unfolded, the sound of shared stories and laughter echoed under the night sky, creating a comforting ambiance. Natsuo, always a good companion, shared anecdotes from the day's activities, lightening the mood.

You couldn't help but be grateful for the supportive community you now found yourself in. The conversations provided a soothing balm to the longing for Touya's return. Natsuo's presence, in particular, brought a sense of camaraderie that eased the ache of missing your partner.

"Touya will be back. The missions are demanding, but he's resilient. In the meantime, you've got us here to keep you company, to share these moments. We're like family now,” Natsuo spoke reassuringly.

As Natsuo prepared to leave, he looked at you with a thoughtful expression. "You know, sometimes these expeditions take longer than expected. It's the nature of the missions we undertake. They can be unpredictable, but it doesn't mean something has gone wrong. Touya is skilled, and they have a strong team with them." He continued, "I understand it's tough waiting, especially when you miss him, but it's part of this life. We've all been through it. Just remember, when they return, it makes the reunions all the more special."

With a warm smile, he bid you goodnight, leaving you with a sense of gratitude for the new beginnings and the supportive companionship that now colored your days and nights.

That night, as the moon cast an eerie glow through the tiny window of your hut, sleep enveloped you in a suffocating darkness. Tossing and turning on your modest cot, you found yourself trapped in the clutches of a haunting nightmare.

The air in the room felt heavy, and the silence of the night was disrupted by your whimpers and soft cries. In the realm of your dreams, shadows morphed into menacing figures, their faces shrouded in darkness as they circled around you. Each step they took echoed like a sinister drumbeat, intensifying the dread that gripped your soul.

As you lay paralyzed in the dream, the figures closed in, whispering malevolent secrets that clawed at the edges of your consciousness. Their voices, a chilling chorus, spoke of death and despair, weaving a tapestry of nightmares that threatened to consume you whole.

“He’s dead… He’s dead…”

"Only despair and sorrow lie ahead for you."

The cold sweat on your brow mirrored the intensity of the nightmare. Your cot felt like a prison, the thin fabric of reality separating you from the abyss of your subconscious fears. The figures, now distorted specters, reached out with ghostly hands, fingers like icy tendrils threatening to grasp your very essence.

In the grip of this macabre dream, the fear of death loomed large. The shadows converged, swirling around you like a vortex of impending doom. The nightmarish scenes played out in vivid detail — the echoes of your own cries, the palpable scent of fear, and the taste of desperation lingering in the air.

As the nightmare reached its crescendo, you jolted awake, gasping for breath. The moonlight spilled into the room, offering a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of your dream. The reality of the small hut and the sound of your racing heart gradually replaced the nightmarish visions, but the residue of fear lingered, haunting the corners of your mind. The weight of the dream clung to you, a spectral reminder of the fragility of the human psyche in the face of the unknown.

Tears streamed down your face, and stifled sobs resonated in the stillness. Clutching your pillow as if it were a lifeline, you whispered Touya's name over and over, a desperate mantra that echoed the ache in your heart. “Touya, my love… Touya…”

Instinctively, an unsettling feeling gnawed at you, urging you to acknowledge that something was amiss. The weight of the night pressed upon you, and a haunting sense of foreboding hung in the air.

In the hushed hours before dawn, you made a decision. The nagging intuition that something was wrong compelled you to seek solace in Natsuo's understanding. As the first light of morning painted the sky, you resolved to confide in him, hoping that together, you could unravel the mystery that lingered in the shadows of your troubled dreams.

"Hey, Katsuki!? You think he's alive?" The tall, square-built man with red hair asked, casually skinning a massive, black wolf.

The ash-blond man, crouching next to a seemingly lifeless scarred figure, nonchalantly touched the man's shoulder with the haft of his axe. There was no immediate response. "It seems he's damn well dead, no doubt."

The red-haired man packed the wolf's skin into a sizable saddlebag secured to the side of his white mare. "We shouldn't leave him like that. We should bury him."

"Tsk! Oi, Kirishima, don't expect me to touch this rotting piece of shit. If you want that so much, bury him yourself. I can dig a damn hole. What the hell. We came to hunt, not deal with this crap."

"We apparently hunted down a dead man," Kirishima joked lightly, strolling closer. "Hmmm, he must've fallen from that bluff."

"He must've been a complete idiot then to get so close to the edge. Idiots always end up with the crap, don't they?"

Kirishima poked the other man's shoulder. "Quit with the disrespect. Odin's watching!" He snorted and crouched next to the man. "That's one nasty wound on his leg. Maybe it's a blessing he died, otherwise, he'd be crippled…"

"Enough chatter, start doing something!" Bakugo growled as he walked aside, scanning the ground for a spot less frozen to dig a grave.

In that moment, Touya's left hand twitched ever so slightly, and he let out a gasp filled with pain.

The sudden movement startled Kirishima, causing the red-haired man to fall back onto his butt. "Fuck! Bakugo! He's fucking alive!"

Bakugo returned to the two and once again pushed the man's shoulder with the hilt of his axe, eliciting a growl of pain. "Kill... Me..." the scarred man whispered.

Bakugo scoffed. "Oi, dumbass, shut the fuck up! Kirishima, guess we gotta take him with us. Even though I'd rather let him die here, it'd be merciful, given his injuries. He's one ugly fucking bastard. Odin himself would get fucking startled looking at this fucking extra."

"We need to bring him along. I'm certain our earl will be interested in this fellow."

"In a damn cripple? You're out of your damn mind, weird hair!" Bakugo growled, contemplating how to get the injured man onto his horse. "I think we gotta build some makeshift stretchers or something. Damn it! Let's move! I don't want to stay here at night. The wolves might have come back."

As Bakugo and Kirishima returned from their expedition, they made their way through the bustling settlement until they reached the earl's hall. With a determined stride, they entered the great hall where Earl Toshinorison held court.

Earl Toshinorison, known as All Might, commanded both respect and awe with his formidable presence. Standing tall and proud, he bore a robust and well-built frame that spoke of a lifetime of battles and victories. His golden hair, though now touched by strands of gray, retained an air of regality, cascading like a radiant mane around his shoulders.

His face, marked by the lines of wisdom and experience, harbored a strong jawline and a pair of piercing, blueish eyes that sparkled with a blend of authority and kindness. Despite the weight of leadership, there was a warm and approachable demeanor that endeared him to his people.

Earl Toshinorison adorned himself in attire that reflected both his status and prowess. A sturdy cloak, billowing with every movement, bore the symbols of his leadership. Beneath it, he wore armor crafted with care, a testament to the battles he had faced and the victories he had achieved.

In the midst of the settlement, he occupied a grand throne within the great hall, a symbol of his leadership and the heart of the community. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of authority tempered with a genuine concern for his people.

Earl Toshinorison was not just a leader; he embodied the spirit of a protector, a warrior whose strength and benevolence guided the community through the challenges of Viking life. The combination of his imposing stature, seasoned wisdom, and compassionate leadership made him a figure revered and admired by all who called the settlement their home.

"All Might, my lord," Bakugo greeted with a deep bow, acknowledging the leader of their community.

The earl, seated in his imposing throne, turned to them with a warm yet authoritative smile. "Bakugo, Kirishima, what news do you bring?"

Kirishima stepped forward, his demeanor respectful yet filled with a sense of urgency. "Earl, we found a man on the outskirts. He seemed injured, left for dead. But, surprisingly, he's alive."

All Might's expression shifted to a thoughtful concern. "Alive, you say? A life saved is a tale worth hearing."

Bakugo and Kirishima nodded and gestured to their companions to bring in the injured man. As they approached, Earl Toshinorison observed with keen eyes.

Aizawa, their most ruthless warrior among Toshinori’s settlement, accompanied them. His stoic presence added an air of seriousness to the situation.

The injured man, now resting on a makeshift stretcher, was laid before the earl. Yagi leaned forward, assessing the wounds with a discerning gaze. "A warrior left for dead. Curious."

Aizawa, standing at attention, spoke with his usual pragmatism, "He should've met his end. Perhaps fate has other plans."

All Might nodded in agreement, "Indeed, Shota. We shall tend to his wounds and learn his tale. A life spared under these circumstances may hold a purpose yet unknown."

The air in Skjaldvargr crackled with anticipation as the weary troop led by the Endeavorsons made its way back to the settlement. A murmur of excitement swept through the crowd, and the people gathered in the heart of the village began to cheer, their voices rising in a chorus of relief and hope.

As the warriors, dusted with the tales of their recent endeavors, entered the settlement, the cheers intensified. The crowd's eager eyes followed chests and sacks, laden with the spoils of their expedition. It was a moment of shared joy and anticipation as the warriors slowly unpacked their burdens, revealing treasures and goods from distant lands.

However, the elation in the air was tainted by a somber truth. The troop that returned was noticeably smaller than the one that had ventured out. An unspoken sorrow draped over those families who, instead of welcoming back their loved ones, found themselves gripped by the cold hand of grief. The absence of familiar faces, once vibrant with life, echoed louder than the cheers of triumph.

A hushed solemnity settled over those who faced the harsh reality of loss. Families, with eyes now clouded with tears, stood amidst the celebration, their joy eclipsed by the shadows of grief. The cheers of victory collided with the silent mourning of those who had given more than the spoils of war — a sacrifice written in blood.

The contrast between the jubilation and mourning created an unsettling symphony, a discordant melody that played out in the heart of Skjaldvargr. The warriors continued their unpacking, the clinking of treasures against the somber background of grieving families. It was a poignant reminder of the dual nature of their harsh existence, where triumph and sorrow coexisted like inseparable companions.

Unease nestled within you as you sat at the long table in the Great Hall, eyes fixed on Endeavor occupying the imposing throne. The air felt charged with tension, and the weight of the room bore down on you like an unwelcome burden.

Natsuo poked your side gently as he sat by your side, a playful gesture meant to break the intensity of the moment. "Hey, are you excited to see Touya again? It's been a while."

Your response was a hesitant smile. "Of course, I just... things are different now, aren’t they..."

Natsuo chuckled, "Well, different doesn't always mean bad, right? Touya is still Touya. I bet he's just as eager to see you."

The heavy door to the Great Hall swung open, breaking the tension that hung in the air.

Shoto, the youngest Endeavorson, stepped in with a measured grace, his gaze flickering across the room until it settled on you for a brief moment.

Hawks followed closely behind.

Shoto's eyes met yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes. The room hushed as the two newcomers approached the throne, their arrival signaling a significant shift in the atmosphere. The weight of anticipation settled on the shoulders of those present, each heartbeat echoing in the grand hall.

Natsuo, by your side, leaned in and whispered, "Here they are. Let's see how this unfolds. I’m curious where Touya is."

"My earl," Shoto bowed his head to greet his father, a gesture mirrored by Hawks.

Endeavor's stern gaze bore down on his son. "It's good to see you back, Shoto. Rumor has it you brought a lot of goods from the trip."

"I did, indeed," the young prince replied. "We also accumulated some losses, my lord."

A subtle tension gripped the air, and an unspoken dread settled upon your heart and soul.

"What do you mean? Where's your older brother?" the earl asked, his frown deepening.

"He died, my lord," Shoto replied, his expression a stoic mask.

"What!" You exclaimed, jolting up from your place. "Impossible!"

Even Endeavor rose from his throne, descending the two steps to be on his son's level. "What do you mean, Shoto? What happened?" The earl’s voice trembled a little.

Hot tears streamed down your face, and Natsuo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, rubbing them in an attempt to bring you some comfort. The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, and the Great Hall seemed to echo with the echoes of disbelief and sorrow.

Shoto's voice cut through the somber air of the Great Hall, recounting the harrowing tale of the wolf attack. He spoke of Touya's courage, how he stood against the onslaught to protect his fellow warriors, including Shoto himself. The youngest Endeavorson described how Touya, driven by the need to eliminate the alpha, faced the final confrontation at the edge of the bluff.

As the story unfolded, you felt an invisible weight pressing down on you. Your hands trembled, and a haunting whine escaped your lips, akin to a wounded animal. The anguish of Shoto's words resonated within you, each detail etching pain into your heart.

"He fought valiantly," Shoto continued, his voice steady. "But in the end, the wolf lunged, and they both fell."

Your knees gave way beneath you, and you sank to the ground, overwhelmed by the reality of Touya's fate. The ache in your chest was unbearable, as if your heart had cracked and broken, the searing pain akin to hot iron being poured over your soul.

Natsuo's eyes flared with a sudden intensity, and he snapped at Shoto, "I'm damn sure it wasn't an accident. He just happened to fall off the bluff?! That’s not what Touya would ever let happen! You little coward! I’m sure you put your hand to that!"

Shoto growled angrily in response, his demeanor darkening as he retorted, "Are you even aware of what you're talking about, Natsuo? Accusing me of…"

"He wouldn't just fall off like that!" Natsuo's voice rose, an undercurrent of anger coursing through his words. "Touya was too skilled for that.”

Shoto's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You dare to insinuate…"

"I'm not insinuating anything!" Natsuo interrupted, the tension in the air thickening. "I'm saying it outright. There's more to this, and you damn well know it."

"Tsk," Shoto shook his head, his voice dripping with disdain. "Better shut your mouth, dear brother. You're talking nonsense."

Your entire body trembled, barely registering the words exchanged between the two brothers.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Hawks said with a slight bow to Natsuo and then Endeavor. "Touya was..."

"Don't you dare to talk about my brother!" Natsuo erupted, hurling a cup at the warrior. "Don't you dare to use his name, you filthy, venal bastard."

"Enough!" Endeavor roared, a silent tear tracing a path down his scarred cheek.

"Oh, I couldn't agree more with you, dear father," Shoto sent Endeavor a sly grin, and then bellowed, "Guards!"

Warriors entered the Great Hall, awaiting the young prince's orders.

"Take my father out and put him in that unoccupied hut at the bay. Make sure to tie him up well, even though he's old, the bastard's still strong."

"What!" Natsuo growled.

Endeavor looked down at his son. "What are you trying to do, Shoto? You can't just..."

At that moment, Shoto aimed a hard slap at his father's cheek. "Say one more thing, father, and I'll cut your throat here and now. You're not an earl anymore. You're nothing. You always were nothing. Give me your axe."

Endeavor remained motionless, his gaze shifting briefly between Natsuo and you.

"Your damn axe and crown!" Shoto's voice rose, demanding compliance, his hands reaching toward his father.

Reluctantly, the old earl reached to his belt, extracting the axe from a leather scabbard. He passed the item to Shoto, removing the crown from his head with a heavy sigh.

The young prince took the axe and the crown from his father, wielding the symbol of authority with contempt. With a sudden, violent motion, he smashed the crown against the nearest wall, watching it shatter into irreparable pieces.

"You're making a grave mistake, Shoto," Endeavor warned.

Shoto grinned back at his father, a sinister edge to his smile. "Oh, old man, there's no Touya to stand by your side anymore. Your beloved firstborn, the one you happily discarded and tried to kill when he was an infant, is truly gone now. You have no one to protect you. Your guards are listening to me, they've been for a while already. And Natsuo," Shoto looked at the white-haired man standing near you, "He's nothing, he doesn't even know how to wield a shield."

Hawks chuckled darkly, nodding at his people. A few warriors approached the earl, tying his hands behind his back. One of them delivered a strong blow to the earl's face.

"No!" Natsuo screamed.

You sobbed loudly, watching the horrifying scene unfold. The question lingered in your mind: why didn't Endeavor react at all?

The crisp air carried the call of Hawks and a group of warriors as they traversed through the settlement. The sound of their voices resonated, commanding the attention of all citizens, beckoning them to gather by the bay.

Meanwhile, in the desolate confines of an abandoned hut, Endeavor was bound to a wooden balk, his mind enveloped in bitter reflection. The flickering light filtering through the cracks in the worn walls revealed a man scarred, not only physically but also by the torment delivered upon him by Hawks and his people.

As he strained against his restraints, Endeavor couldn't escape the echoing regrets that reverberated within his thoughts. He cursed himself for the blindness that had shrouded his vision, the inability to see the rot that festered within Shoto. The weight of realization pressed heavily upon him, and he was left to grapple with the consequences of his own choices.

Silently, you sneaked into the dimly lit hut, the chalice of water and a soft rug clutched in your hands. The feeble light revealed the cruel aftermath of the torment inflicted upon Endeavor, and a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of his battered form.

Approaching cautiously, you set the chalice down and carefully unfolded the rug. Kneeling beside him, you dipped a corner of the cloth into the water, your movements gentle as you began to clean the wounds on his face. The atmosphere hung heavy with tension, punctuated only by the distant calls from the bay.

His eyes, filled with a mix of pain and resignation, met yours as you worked.

"What are we supposed to do now?" you asked with a shaking tone, your voice barely above a whisper.

Endeavor's gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, the weight of uncertainty hung in the air. "Shoto won't stop until he has complete control,” he replied, his voice strained. “I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "I can't believe Touya..." Your hand trembled, and the pain in your voice echoed through the dimly lit hut.

A solitary tear rolled down Endeavor's scarred cheek as he uttered words heavy with resignation. "You should flee from here before I'm executed, Y/N."

Dread seized your body, and you protested, "Don't say that, my lord. I'm sure Shoto is not that crazy to get you killed… And I have nowhere to go.”

Endeavor's gaze met yours, and in that moment, he decided to reveal the truth about what he had noticed in his youngest son's eyes. "I saw it, in Shoto's eyes. The thirst for power, the willingness to do whatever it takes. He's not the boy I raised. He's become something darker, something I failed to see until it was too late."

Your heart sank at Endeavor's revelation, the truth piercing through the air like a chilling wind. The realization that Shoto had transformed into something unrecognizable, something darker, gripped you with a sense of helplessness.

"I should have seen it sooner," Endeavor muttered, his voice filled with regret. "But blinded by my own desires for power, I failed to grasp the truth until it was too late. I won’t forgive myself… I should’ve listened to Touya."

The gravity of the situation pressed upon you, and you wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks. "We can't let him continue down this path," you whispered, your voice laced with determination.

Endeavor nodded solemnly. "You must go. Flee from this place before it's too late. I will face the consequences of my actions, but you have a chance for a different fate."

The distant sound of footsteps approached the hut, signaling the arrival of Shoto's guards.

In that moment, you wrapped your arms around Endeavor's neck, giving him a tight hug, a silent gesture of reassurance and determination. "I promise, my lord, that I'll avenge Touya. I don't believe Shoto didn't have a hand in it anymore," you whispered, the words laden with both sorrow.

"I'm afraid you're right," Endeavor admitted, his own acceptance of the harsh reality permeating the air. “Go now, girl.”

With a heavy heart, you took the chalice and the rug, casting one last glance at Endeavor, who remained bound and alone in the desolate hut. The weight of the situation pressed upon you as you stepped out into the cold air, leaving the confines of the dimly lit space.

The evening air hung heavy with tension as the citizens of the settlement gathered at the bay.

Hawks, with a certain casual indifference, lazily cleaned his dagger, his guards vigilant in ensuring that no one was left behind.

You and Natsuo stood among the gathered crowd, your eyes nervously flitting between the citizens and Natsuo.

The atmosphere thickened as two guards brought the bound form of Endeavor to the jetty, his presence eliciting hushed whispers among the onlookers.

And then, like a harbinger of darkness, Shoto emerged. A grotesque crown made of bird skulls adorned his head, and an opulent fur of a snow leopard draped over his shoulders, a trophy from one of Endeavor's raids. The blood and white paint smeared across his face formed viking symbols, marking him as the harbinger of a new era.

A profound silence fell over the assembly as Shoto made his way to the forefront. The people, recognizing the symbolic weight of his appearance, knew that there was no room left for argument or dissent. The young prince had become an embodiment of authority, clad in the spoils of his conquests, and the settlement braced itself for the changes that his rule would bring.

Shoto made his way to the jetty with deliberate steps, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd. They found yours in the sea of faces, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on your tear-stained visage. The weight of his stare bore into your soul before he redirected his focus to the bound figure of his father, kneeling on the jetty.

The hushed whispers of the crowd ceased as Shoto raised his hand, a signal for silence. His voice cut through the still air, carrying a mix of authority and cold detachment. "Citizens of Skjaldvargr," he began, his tone echoing over the water, "The time of reckoning has come. For too long, we have been shackled by the failures of our past. The time for a new era, a stronger era, has dawned."

His eyes scanned the faces of the assembly, pausing on his father for a moment before addressing the crowd once more. Shoto moved deliberately towards the jetty, each step echoing with a proclamation of his newfound authority. As his gaze scanned the gathered crowd, it found yours among the sea of faces. His eyes locked onto your tear-stained visage, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, a cold acknowledgment of the impact his actions had on you, before he shifted his focus to his father, who knelt there, bound and vulnerable.

The silence that enveloped the bay was broken by Shoto's commanding voice, carrying the weight of his judgment. "Citizens of Skjaldvargr," he began, his tone unwavering. "The time of reckoning has come. For too long, we have been shackled by the failures of our past. The time for a new era, a stronger era, has dawned."

He gestured towards Endeavor, his father, with an air of finality. "Endeavor, once known as the earl, has failed to lead us into greatness. He allowed weakness and sentiment to cloud his judgment. It is time for a new leader, one who will guide us to prosperity."

Shoto's eyes flickered back to yours for a brief moment, a chilling gaze that hinted at the personal nature of his vendetta. "The former earl will face justice for his shortcomings. The verdict is the death penalty. Let this serve as a reminder that only strength will prevail in the harsh realities of our world."

The pronouncement echoed over the bay, sealing the fate of Endeavor and setting in motion the irreversible changes that Shoto, now adorned with the symbols of his triumph, would bring to the settlement.

The verdict hung in the air, heavy and final, as Shoto turned away, leaving the jetty and the kneeling figure of his father behind to take a seat on a throne that was prepared for him nearby.

The weight of Shoto's harsh verdict hung in the air like a shroud, and as the crowd absorbed the reality of the situation, hot tears streamed down your face. Instinctively, you grasped Natsuo's palm, seeking solace and support in the face of the unfolding tragedy.

The bay was cloaked in a heavy silence as the guards began the degrading process of undressing Endeavor's upper body. His once proud and scarred form was exposed to the harsh scrutiny of the onlookers, the symbols of his past glories now overshadowed by the weight of his transgressions.

The guards, expressionless and cold, tied Endeavor's hands spread to two sturdy stanchions positioned in the center of the jetty. The former earl knelt there, vulnerable and exposed, his fate hanging in the balance.

As the unsettling tableau unfolded, Hawks stepped forward, a grim determination etched on his face. Clutching his axe and dagger, he circled Endeavor with predatory precision. The rhythmic sound of his boots on the wooden planks echoed through the bay, creating an eerie cadence that intensified the chilling atmosphere.

Positioning himself behind Endeavor, Hawks loomed like a shadow, a silent harbinger of the impending judgment. The air crackled with tension, and the onlookers, unable to tear their eyes away, awaited the next grim chapter in the unfolding saga of Skjaldvargr.

Hawks nodded at his people, and they made Endeavor lean forward by pulling on the ropes tied to the earl’s wrists.

Hawks, grinning widely like a madman, started by making a deep, vertical incision along the earl's spine. This incision severed the skin, muscle, and connective tissues, exposing the underlying bones and organs.

Endeavor, bound and exposed to the merciless fate of the Blood Eagle, fought vehemently against the primal urge to scream. His muscles tensed, and every fiber of his being rebelled against the excruciating pain inflicted upon him. The raspy growls emanating from his throat served as a testament to his struggle, a warrior's battle cry against the agony that threatened to consume him.

In the midst of this macabre spectacle, Endeavor clung to the ancient belief that only by maintaining composure during such a brutal punishment could a warrior secure passage to Valhalla. His jaw clenched, and his eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and defiance, bore witness to the unfathomable ordeal, as tears rolled down his cheeks.

As the executioner continued the harrowing process, Endeavor's resolve was tested in the crucible of suffering. The groans that escaped him carried not only the weight of agony but also a silent determination to prove his mettle in the face of an unimaginable horror.

Your tears flowed unabated, soaking into the fabric of Natsuo's shirt as you sobbed, the weight of grief and horror pressing heavily on your heart.

Natsuo, too, couldn't contain the surge of emotions that gripped him, and tears welled up in his eyes, silently streaming down his cheeks.

The two of you, connected by shared sorrow, clung to one another in a world suddenly bereft of hope.

Despite the absence of a genuine father-son bond with his own father, Natsuo understood the pain of loss, and his tears mirrored your own. "Father," the man whispered, barely moving his lips. "May Odin guide your spirit to the hallowed halls of Valhalla..."

With the earl's spine exposed, Takami proceeded to cut through the ribs, detaching them from the spine. This macabre act created the framework for what resembled "wings." Hawks then reached into Endeavor's chest cavity, pulling out the man's lungs through the opening created by the removal of the ribs. This grotesque act gave the victim the appearance of wings, completing the horrifying visual metaphor.

Hawks stood amidst the aftermath, his once-vibrant attire now drenched in the deep crimson hue of blood. From his tousled hair down to his boots, every inch of him was painted in the somber shades of scarlet, a testament to the brutal task he had undertaken.

The metallic scent of iron lingered in the air around him, an olfactory testament to the visceral reality of the harrowing act.

Hawks, his visage marred by the grotesque tableau before him, grinned like a man possessed, a maniacal glint in his eyes. His gaze, like a predator reveling in the aftermath of a successful hunt, fixated on Shoto, the new earl, who observed the scene with an unsettling amusement.

In his final moments, Endeavor, the once-mighty earl, summoned the strength to lift his head, a haunting defiance in his gaze. As the life ebbed away from him, he whispered words of reunion to a love lost in the annals of time. "Rei... Love.... I'm coming to you..." With those parting breaths, his head succumbed to the inevitable, lolling to the side.

Amidst the horror, you struggled to contain the surge of emotions, your tears choking your throat as you witnessed the cruel end meted out to the man who was once a father figure.

Shoto, now the legal earl, approached the lifeless form, a twisted rite of passage in the unforgiving realm. Sizing up the head of his father, he coldly declared, "The earl is dead!"

As Hawks chanted, "Long live the earl!" with an eerie enthusiasm, the guards compelled the onlookers to repeat the grim proclamation, the echoes of submission punctuating the air heavy with the scent of iron and death.

The settlement, now under the shadow of a new ruler, braced itself for the changes that were bound to come.

Shoto's subtle gesture summoned Hawks closer, their exchange shrouded in whispered words.

As the blonde-haired man stepped back, he bellowed your name, a chilling summons that cut through the heavy air, freezing the blood in your veins. “Y/N!”

Natsuo, understanding the impending darkness, tightened his grip on your hand, silently pleading for you to resist the ominous call. His subtle head shake conveyed the urgency to stay away, to avoid the perilous path that beckoned. But the relentless echo of your name persisted, a haunting melody drawing you towards an inevitable confrontation.

With tear-streaked cheeks, you met Natsuo's gaze once more, finding solace in his silent plea. Gathering what remained of your resolve, you wiped away the evidence of your anguish and, with a determined stride, pushed through the crowd. The last thing you needed was the cold, unyielding grasp of guards dragging you to Shoto against your will.

As you approached Shoto, the air became charged with an eerie tension. His eyes, adorned with a sinister gleam, followed your every step.

The crowd, still subdued by the recent events, parted to make way for your reluctant journey.

Hawks, positioned next to Shoto, continued to observe with a sinister grin, aware that the unfolding scene held a profound significance in the new earl's machinations.

Shoto, crowned with skulls and adorned in the spoils of victory, waited for you with a calculated calmness.

You stood before Shoto, a pawn caught in the web of a power play.

With a wicked smile, Shoto leaned in, whispering words that clawed at the edges of your sanity. "Y/N, it seems your fate is entwined with ours now. You will play a crucial role in the future of Skjaldvargr."

Your frown deepened as you couldn't comprehend the unsettling thoughts swirling in Shoto's mind. With a hint of trepidation, you dared to voice the question that lingered on your lips, "What do you have in mind?"

Shoto, feigning sweetness, leaned in with a twisted smile. "Now that Touya is no more, it falls upon me to decide your fate, Y/N. A bereft girl, left in the aftermath of such a tragedy. But fear not, for I have plans for you."

Terror gripped your heart as Shoto unveiled his intentions. "From this moment forth, you'll no longer revel in the freedom bestowed upon you by my deceased brother. Instead, you shall become my concubine, and I expect you to bear me an heir."

A quiet but resolute "No" escaped your lips as you resisted the notion, unwilling to surrender your autonomy.

Shoto, undeterred, grasped your chin, pulling you closer. "Don't resist, dollface. Make a scene, and I'll orchestrate another blood eagle tonight. If you refuse, Hawks will have the honor of ending Natsuo's life, the last person standing by your side."

His words echoed with a cruel certainty, leaving you with a chilling realization that your fate was no longer your own. A solitary tear traced a path down your cheek, a silent testament to the anguish that gripped your soul.

Shoto, reveling in the display of vulnerability, leaned forward, capturing the tear with the tip of his tongue. He licked it off, savoring the taste of your despair before whispering into your ear. "If I were you, I'd be obedient. There's no one left to protect you, and you're going to be mine, whether you want it or not."

"Why me?" you dared to question, your voice carrying a defiant edge.

Shoto's grin widened. "I've had my share of Viking women. A Christian girl, even a prudish one, is said to be particularly naughty in the alcove." The lecherous implications of his words hung heavily in the air, accentuating the grim reality that now lay before you.

Your stomach twisted in knots as Shoto's words reverberated in the air.

"Y/N, from now on, is considered my concubine," Shoto declared with a tone that brooked no argument. "Anyone going against me or her will face the doom immediately. And one last thing, all the warriors who supported my father shall be executed by dawn. Consider this night your last with your families. Satisfy yourselves with your women and put your kids to sleep for the final time. Don't even think about running away, as my envoys will find you wherever you hide."

He took your palm in his, a cruel possession that marked the beginning of your tragic fate. Before you left, Shoto's gaze shifted to Hawks. "Make sure Natsuo is locked in his room in the Great Hall. Tomorrow, I'll decide his fate."

"Of course, my lord," Hawks nodded obediently, the cold determination in his eyes betraying the allegiance he now held to Shoto.

As the thralls followed Shoto's orders, you found yourself in a bath, the warm water doing little to comfort your tormented soul. You let your tears fall freely, their silent streams mingling with the water around you. The echoes of your life's upheavals played in your mind like a haunting melody, each note a reminder of the tragedy that seemed to follow you relentlessly. How swiftly your life had changed, once under the control of Touya's unpredictable whims, and now, bound by Shoto's ruthless will.

You longed to scream, to cry out against the unfairness of it all. Shoto, a young man scarcely older than you, had become the architect of your misery. You despised him, and yet, the thought of begging for mercy from this vicious ruler crossed your mind. The temptation to ask him to end your misery with the swift swing of his axe haunted your thoughts.

However, a greater fear gripped your heart — the threat to Natsuo. Shoto's warning echoed in your mind, and you couldn't bear the thought of allowing harm to befall the one person who had consistently shown you kindness and support. You resolved to endure, to strategize, to find a way to protect Natsuo from the impending darkness that Shoto had cast upon your life.

After the bath, you were presented with the finest nightgown, a garment crafted from snow-white silk that draped elegantly around you. The thralls, with delicate hands, brushed and arranged your hair as you sat in front of a mirror, contemplating your reflection. The mirror seemed to reflect not just your physical appearance but also the weight of the burden now resting on your shoulders.

Assisted by the thralls and guided by the guards, you were led to the chamber that once belonged to earl Endeavor. As the thick doors swung open, the opulence of the room overwhelmed your senses. The chamber was vast, with a massive fireplace positioned on the opposite wall, providing warmth and a flickering dance of flames.

To the left of the entrance stood a colossal bed, adorned with a thick mattress and furs, supported by two sturdy columns at its head. The bed itself was a work of art, crafted from field maple. On the opposite side of the room, a table with two chairs and a closet adorned with a mirror completed the ensemble of wealth and luxury. It was a stark contrast to the grim fate that had befallen the former occupant of this room.

As you took in the grandeur, a mix of emotions churned within you. The softness of the silk against your skin felt incongruent with the turmoil within your heart. The room, once a sanctuary for a now-fallen ruler, now served as a gilded cage for you, ensnared by circumstances beyond your control.

It took a moment before you realized that the door had closed behind you, leaving you alone in the opulent chamber — or so you thought.

A smooth voice, belonging to the new earl, reached your ears as Shoto gracefully rose from a chair situated in the dimly lit corner of the room. He appeared to be occupied with polishing his axe. "Finally, I was growing impatient," he remarked, his voice devoid of any warmth or sympathy.

"Forgive me, my lord," the title felt foreign on your tongue as you addressed the man who now held power over your fate. The room, once a symbol of authority and now tainted by the dark events that had transpired, became the stage for a twisted power play that you found yourself unwillingly participating in.

Shoto placed the axe on the table and leisurely approached you, gently lifting your chin to meet his dual-colored eyes. "Don't be afraid, dollface. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You already did," you replied with defiance. "I know it was not an accident."

"You mean Touya? Oh, my little raven," he cooed, "of course it was an accident. Do you really think I'd let my beloved brother die?"

You snorted, and a tear rolled down your cheek.

"Shush, shush, no crying in here. You're too beautiful for sadness," he said, wiping your tear away with his thumb. "You'll have the life you deserved and which my poor older brother couldn't provide you with."

"He wouldn't lock me in a cage," you told him, and Shoto chuckled.

"A cage? Oh no, sweetheart, I'm not going to lock you in a cage. You're my concubine now, and a lot of privileges come with this title." His words dripped with a perverse sense of entitlement, sending a shiver down your spine as you realized the dark reality that awaited you in the clutches of the new earl.

Shoto gently traces his fingertips against your lips and neck, slowly moving them down your décolletage. Shoto circled you slowly, his movements reminiscent of a predator closing in on its prey. "I just expect you to be faithful to me, that's all I'm asking for. I want you to be a representative figure, shining like a gem by my side. And I want you to bear me a child, an outright heir of pure blood," he declared.

"But my blood isn't pure. I'm not a pagan like you. Won't it make your child unworthy?" you growled, attempting to sway his unsettling conviction. However, your efforts seemed in vain as his long, thin fingers slipped under the fabric of your nightgown on your shoulders, slowly sliding the attire off.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. Before you give birth, you're going to be a Viking woman. I'll make sure of that," he said, licking his lips as he watched the thin material falling slowly to the floor.

In your initial instinct, you attempted to cover yourself with your hands. However, Shoto effortlessly seized both your wrists in one hand, securing them behind your back. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he used his spare hand to move a lock of your Y/H/C hair off your shoulder. "Don't. I want to see all of you. You were more willing to undress for my older brother. I still don't know why. Did he force you into his bed? No normal woman ever would, so he was fortunate to experience the mellowness of a woman's body before he died. His life was nothing but a failure."

That was enough. Provoked by Shoto's words laced with sarcasm, you swiftly turned and slapped his scarred cheek with all your might, pulling your hands free from his grasp. "Don't you dare," you warned. "For what you did, you will never reach your beloved Valhalla. Even your gods don't accept vile men into their chambers."

Seemingly anticipating this move, the man firmly grasped you by the throat and effortlessly threw you onto the bed. Before you could react, his weight pinned you down on the mattress. "You're so brisk and valorous; I like that," he grunted, pushing his knee between your legs, parting your thighs enough for him to settle between them. "Haven't you learned yet? You're with me or against me. And trust me, I couldn't care less about your pathetic life. So, it's better to act like a good, obedient girl for your lord."

That night unfolded in a torrent of pain, tears, and degradation. Despite your attempts to resist, to twist and turn, they proved futile. Shoto pursued his desires, stripping away your innocence. His touch, both cruel and frigid, felt akin to a scalding iron on your skin - a stark contrast from what Touya had once offered.

As Shoto slumbered peacefully at your side, content and spent from the unrelenting hours of asserting his dominance over your body, you lay by him, curled into a small, trembling ball. Silent tears traced pathways across your face, and with every slightest movement, you would gag yourself, feeling the haunting presence of his seed seeping out of you. A genuine desire for death welled within your soul.

"Forgive me, Touya... Forgive me," you whispered, your plea hanging in the heavy air before exhaustion enveloped you, guiding you into an uneasy slumber.

heathen wolves: @queenkhepri @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot @dagger-dragger @smartspot @alientobe @zero-sugar-null @peter-sommer @thedancingparrot @dearsunaa @greaterheart

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hisaacswrites · 10 months

Text

See, Soap is a bartender. Well, he’s actually whatever his boss says he is while he gets used to civvie life again, but right now he’s a bartender. And before that, he was SAS. In both professions, being able to read people is invaluable. And even before that, Soap had always been good at getting a feel for people, at reading a room and seeing what’s underneath it all.

Which is why he’s been keeping an eye on the bar’s back booth. There’s a couple there. A bombshell of a woman and a hulking mountain of a man. For all intents and purposes, they look like the stereotypical lovesick couple who’ve had a bit too much to drink to understand the boundaries of acceptable PDA- The woman is draped across the man’s lap, her hands are wandering across and under, her lips working furiously over his skin every chance she gets in between sips of her drink and eyeing the crowd.

But something sets Soap’s senses on edge. Something is wrong.

Maybe it’s how stiff and awkward and downright uncomfortable the man looks.

Maybe it’s how the woman keeps shoving drinks into his hands despite his clear reluctance, watching him like a hawk until he finishes the glass.

Maybe it’s how the man subtly flinches every time the woman touches his bare skin with her oxblood nails. Or how he tries to hunch in on himself when she’s not focused on him, how he seems to be pressing back into the seat as if he could disappear into the upholstery.

Maybe it’s the panic in his eyes, the resignation on his face, the ignored “no’s” that Soap can read on his lips even across the dark room.

Something is wrong.

So even though the man is built like a brick shithouse and looks like he could bench Soap without breaking a sweat, and even though he has scars across his face and knuckles that prove he can take care of himself, and even though Soap can feel the aura of “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” radiating from him-

Soap still approaches the man when the woman stumbles her way to the bathroom. Because something is wrong and he’ll be damned if he ignores his intuition.

So Soap goes over under the guise of picking up the empty glasses, undeterred by the man who’s unfocused gaze is boring holes into the sticky table. He picks up the glasses and plays it cool, rapping his knuckles to get the man’s attention, as if taking his order for a refill.

Asks the stranger if he needs an angel shot.

It takes a moment for the man to respond, for him to understand what Soap is asking. But when the man’s shoulders slump in relief and gratitude shines in his dark eyes as he nods up at Soap, looking like a lost child staring up at their salvation, Soap knows he made the right decision.

The woman returns, sliding into the booth and spreading possessively over the man’s lap when Soap asks him how he wants his drink.

The “On ice, please,” spoken in a rough and tired baritone has Soap nodding and heading back to the bar with a grim but determined expression.

In a few minutes, he’ll head back to the table and tell the man that something is wrong with his credit card and he should come with him to settle the tab. He’ll take the man to the back office, safe and secure, and get the woman an Uber of her own. He’ll learn that the man’s name is Simon and that he’s been in an abusive relationship with the woman for two and a half years. Soap’ll learn that she physically, mentally, emotionally, financially abused Simon, that she controls his every move, that she cost him his job, she wrecked his car, she killed his cat-

But right now he’s grabbing a refrigerated bottle of water and a bag of crisps, dropping them off in the back before putting his best apologetic-server face on and heading back towards the booth with the “bad news” about the man’s card.

First, he has an angel shot to deliver.

A brainworm drabble that’s near and dear to my heart. Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes and doesn’t discriminate against gender. Please keep your eyes peeled, your ears sharp, and your hearts open to those who may need help, including yourselves. A part of me wants to make this a full fic, but I’m not sure. For now it’ll live with the other brain worms.

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fanfic #fanfiction #ghostsoap #soapghost #writing #drabble #brainworm #angst #tw abuse #angel shot #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

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inkykeiji · 2 years

Text

i can taste your skin in my teeth

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaah finally!!! after working on this piece for nearly two years, it is finally finished!! this piece is the second part of my tag you’re it series and it deals with some pretty dark and heavy subject matter, so please heed the warnings carefully! also, there is a LOT of smut in this, all clumped together relatively close to the beginning so beware of that i guess! | part one | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, power play, blood, physical fighting, verbal fighting, manipulation, toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, rough sex, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, degradation as a form of emotional release/therapy, thigh riding, dacryphilia, cum feeding/snowballing, minimal prep, the faintest hint of mindbreak, marking, implied car crash/accident, physical abuse + mentions of physical abuse, graphic depictions of drug use and addiction, drugs in general, needles (heroin)

words: 25.6k

synopsis:

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

Dabi has lost all semblance of time.

He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since you called, going through his transactions blinded with rage, nostrils flared and teeth clenched, your quivering words, stuffed full of tears and terror, ricocheting off the walls of his skull and reverberating against the bone, more and more and more until his ears are ringing and his heart is charred with scalding anger and it’s all he can fucking think about.

He doesn’t remember how the deal went, doesn’t remember if it went well or if he blew it—not that any of it even matters anymore. There will always be another slimy boss looking to recruit a decent and loyal dealer; they’re a dime a dozen.

You are not.

He doesn’t remember driving to the house you and your brother share, either, but now, somehow, he’s made it here, standing on the small slab of concrete outside that white front door. Trembling hands rifle through his pockets in search of your house key—the one he had persuaded you into giving him a few weeks ago, for emergencies such as these, for fear of the absolute worst.

It’s all been a hazy, fuzzy blur, like his mind is a camera that’s been knocked out of focus, everything feeling slightly surreal, body running on pure instinct until the click of the lock sliding out of place snaps him back into kilter, everything suddenly sharp, crisp, clear.

Something slams—the muted yet colossal bang! of a brass doorknob making it’s mark in cream drywall, sending gentle tremors through the whole structure—and bounces a few times against the small crater it’s created, mingling with heavy echoes of rubber soles colliding with pristine hardwood.

Keigo crowds his vision in an instant, wildly swinging curled fists in Dabi’s vague direction, so messy and uncoordinated Dabi can’t help but laugh.

It’s a callous little sound, nothing more than a few notes playing at the back of his throat, grim and cruel as broad shoulders roll once.

Bone knocks against cartilage half a second later, sharp knuckles striking soft, pliable tissue hard enough that Keigo stumbles backwards, tripping over his own ankles and landing on his ass, blood cascading over his bitten-raw lips, collecting in his cupid’s bow and trickling down his chin.

A large hand, strong and calloused and unlike his own, tangles nimble fingers adorned with flashes of precious metals and stains of gleaming crimson—gold, not silver, yet much like his own—in his hair and yanks, forcing him to his feet through sheer will and power, impelling him to confront, to be condemned with and cornered by, glowing, glaring sapphire.

“Where is she?”

And despite his heaving chest, rising and falling harshly under his sharp, deep breaths, Dabi’s voice is calm, cold, almost serene.

“Y-You’re not taking her,” Keigo manages to spit through the sticky blood flowing into his mouth, staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums.

A rumble behind a cage of ribs, another punch, square in the jaw this time and hard enough to dislocate it, Dabi’s fingers still threaded securely through tousled gold keeping Keigo standing and steady.

“Like fucking hell I’m not,” Dabi snarls, nostrils flaring, that serene mask already beginning to crack as hot lava boils underneath.

“I wo—” he coughs around the word, sentence drowning in blood. “Won’t let you.”

“Yeah?” Another blow, another breath. “You gonna stop me?”

Short nails sink into the flesh of the hand knotted in Keigo’s hair, a pathetic attempt to claw himself free from its grip. But it’s no use, Dabi’s fingers rooted firmly in shimmering curls, keeping him captive as his knuckles collide with Keigo’s mouth, bottom lip catching on top incisors and splitting the skin.

“Please, you—you can’t,” Keigo nearly whines, a rush of tears flooding his eyes, diluting the steadily pouring blood to a watery pink. “You can’t take her from me, Dabi. I need her.”

“Need,” Dabi snorts out the word, eyes rolling in pitiful disbelief. “You wanna talk about needing something? Huh? Which one do you need more: your baby sister, or heroin?”

“What?”

“Either she comes with me, or you don’t get your fix this week. Your choice.”

“I—You can’t—” Keigo sputters, head shaking in jerky little movements, still trapped in Dabi’s grasp, vying fingers coming to scrape at the other man’s wrist again.

“Oh, but I can, can’t I?” Dabi tilts his head in mock question, eyes twinkling as he stares down at his newest masterpiece, a twisted little smirk crawling onto his face. “Make a decision, Keigo.”

Shame sludges through Keigo’s veins, thick and acidic as his chin trembles and his eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching with a thick swallow.

But he doesn’t need to say anything; Dabi already knows his answer.

Meanwhile, the sounds of their scuffle seeps through the thick white wood of your bedroom door, muted and muffled, words dulled to caustic, rancid lilts that bear little semblance to what they’re supposed to be, your ears only able to discern their voices, their tones—Dabi’s furious, Keigo’s terrified.

You hasten to pack the last of your belongings, fearing that your boyfriend might truly murder your brother if you don’t appear soon.

And it’s hard. It’s harder than you expected it to be.

It’s hard to leave him, bloodied and bruised and broken, gilded curls matted with sweat and scarlet, stray strands sticking to his salty cheeks.

It’s hard to take your Daddy’s outstretched hand, soiled with the blood of your brother much like your brother’s hands are still stained with that of your own, dried streaks of russet painted across smooth skin, tarnishing the once bright silver of his rings.

It’s hard to walk away without a single glance back, to walk out of that little white house with its white door and white windowsills and white panelled walls while Keigo lays in a crumpled heap on the floor, his hoarse pleads of don’t go, sweetheart, please, don’t go, you’re all I have, and cracked whimpers of your name following you on your way out, words clinging to your skin like a sticky film in permanence, soaking through your flesh to poison your blood and permeate your brain as they fuse to the walls of your skull.

✰ ✰ ✰

They’re uncontainable, those half-stifled sobs that keep shattering to pieces in your chest as you try to hold them back, to push them down, to keep them restrained just until you get to the safety and solitude of the Eldorado.

Dabi’s got both arms wrapped around you as he walks you hastily towards his car, grip tightening with each shredded cry that wracks your body, lips murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as they press endless kisses to the crown of your head.

Any attempt to deposit you on the passenger seat is immediately abandoned as you cling to him with a sharp whine of protest, dainty fingers twisting almost violently in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Okay, okay,” he’s pacifying, nodding to himself before he tucks you beneath his chin, holding you tightly to his chest as he maneuvers the two of you to the drivers side, fluidly sliding into the vehicle with you still tangled up in his limbs and shuffling you into a straddling position on his thighs.

The steering wheel digs into your spine, grinding against each notch of vertebrae as you wiggle on your Daddy’s lap, attempting to smush yourself closer to him. A large hand is roaming your back at once, pressing you against him in an attempt to protect your backbone while his other hand hastily fiddles with the seat adjustment, thighs tensing beneath you as he uses his feet to push the seat back.

For a moment, everything is nearly silent, the full weight of the situation settling into place, dense and suffocating and padded by Dabi’s jagged breaths and your poorly suppressed sniffles.

And then, it breaks.

And, oh, how you cry, chest stammering sobs that send ripples through your flesh, that shudder your bones and stutter your breath, until your eyes sting and your head pounds and your throat aches and your lips crack.

You cry until you can’t anymore, until the tears turn torrid, leaving behind sticky trails of salt to stain your cheeks.

And throughout it all, Dabi holds you, safe and secure against his vibrating chest, palms pressed to your heaving back and nose buried in your damp hair, softly humming, his strong arms keeping your bones from splintering under the weight of your agony.

“Hey,” he whispers after your weeping has calmed to hiccups, leaning back a little and shrugging a shoulder to nudge your face from his chest. “Look at me, precious.”

His features twist into a wince as you obey, peeking up at him from your sanctuary, eyes swollen and lips licked raw.

Calloused palms cup your jaw, more tender than anyone’s ever touched you before, as if you’re physically delicate—one careless action and you might smash to pieces—and tip your head further upward, rough skin contradicting the gentleness of his actions.

Tilting your face to the right, Dabi reveals your injured cheek, a sharp hiss sucked through his teeth at the full, unadulterated sight of it, his grimace deepening.

You can feel it below you, the way tremors of fury course through his veins, can see it in the air around him, the way it pops and crackles with potent energy, ebbing and flowing with the blazing sapphire of his eyes.

“That fucking bastard,” he chokes out, voice fading to a snarl.

It’s obvious he has more to say, the methodical flexing of his jaw and violent bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly shoves the words back down his throat serving as a testament to this fact.

And although he doesn’t vocalize them, you can hear them, rattling around rancorously in your head, ghosts of sentiments he’s expressed before—I told you I’d fucking kill him if he put his goddamn hands on you again, baby, and I fucking meant it. I’m gonna fucking slaughter him, gut him from groin to sternum and watch all his insides spill out; a slow, tortuous death for what he’s done to you…

But you’re thankful he refrains from speaking such notions anyway, sparing you the gory, grotesque details of everything he wishes to do to your older brother; now is hardly the appropriate time for such vile things.

Instead, he clears his throat, scrambles the letters around and exhales a singular, shaky breath from his nose.

“Look, I…” he begins, then falters, eyes intently searching your face before they dart away, his front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of his bottom lip. “I wish I could take you hundreds of thousands of miles away from here, so far that this all becomes nothing more than a distant, hazy nightmare. I—I can’t do that right now, because I just don’t—I just don’t have the money yet, but…”

He halts again, sounding truly regretful, gazing at you through his lashes almost as if he’s embarrassed, as if he’s worried it won’t be enough, or it’ll be too silly. A hand, small and gentle, finds its dutiful place on his cheek, cupping his strong jaw; a silent plea to continue. His chest rises with an inhale, and he nods once before continuing, powering through the words.

“But I can offer you an escape, even if it’s just for a little while.” A thumb skims across your unmarred cheekbone, then over your bottom lip, azure eyes tracing his actions before finding your gaze. “Will you let me do that for you, baby girl?”

Yes, your nodding your head in his loose grasp, a fresh wave of tears lacquering your eyes. Yes, of course you will, you always will.

✰ ✰ ✰

The sun has retreated below the horizon by the time Dabi pulls into the nearly empty parking lot, a healthy slice of moon bathing the indigo sky in flares of silver, beams distorted by a veil of clouds.

The Mint Motel stands crumbling and cracked on the other side of the city—far away from that small white house with it’s little white fixtures, far away from Dabi’s dingy little bachelor apartment three floors above the convenience store.

Fog diffuses the flickering neon sign, casting a haloed glow around the bright blue VACANCY, soft and surreal as you both walk back from the front office, the Honeymoon Suite key pressed tightly to Dabi’s palm. The wet, warped asphalt beneath your feet shimmers in the dim light, pitch black catching the waning fluorescent rays.

The suite’s bathroom—all gleaming black ceramic and shining red acrylic—has you gasping in surprised delight, eyes glittering as they catch on the heart-shaped jacuzzi tub sitting lonely and empty in the corner, encased in a rectangle of black tile and surrounded by mirror-panelled walls.

Your soft noise garners Dabi’s attention, hands halting their rummaging through the cabinets and throwing a glance over his shoulder, a smirk spreading across his lips as he realizes what has you so enamoured.

“We’ll use that later, baby,” he promises as he turns back to his task, pulling a small first-aid kit from the bowels of the cupboard and tossing it on the counter. “But right now,” he begins, grunting a little as he pushes on his knees and stands. “Daddy needs to get you all cleaned up.”

Strong hands snake under your armpits, hefting you up and placing you on the edge of the countertop, sharp hipbones nudging your thighs open wider as he stands between them. A damp, soapy wad of gauze presses gently against your swollen cheek, sending little thorns of pain searing through your flesh, and a low whine catches in your throat, face jerking away instinctually.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Dabi murmurs as his free hand comes to cup the back of your head, holding you in place as he dabs at the wounds again. “It hurts, baby, Daddy knows. But it has to be done.”

The impact of Keigo’s rings has left two large, deep gashes across your right cheekbone, blood crusting around the wounds in ugly, uneven mounds. The bleeding has mostly stopped by this point, dried strokes of rust and crimson smeared across your cheeks and jaw, Dabi being mindful not to displace the scabs as his hands work.

Dark sapphire eyes, turbulent with a storm of fury and contempt raging in their irises, stay diligently trained on his task, angular jaw clenching as molars gnash together behind his lips, grinding all of the hateful words he wishes to speak to dust and exhaling them in sharp breaths out his nose.

But despite the terrifying malice blazing in his gaze, the thumb on the back of your head is tender, loving, rhythmically petting your hair as the other cleans, a small but appreciated comfort.

The pungent stench of alcohol stings your nose a few moments later, after Dabi has completed his initial cleansing, features contorted into a wince as you cower away from the smell.

Such a reaction has Dabi laughing a little—nothing more than a short chuckle, yet still enough to break through the hard emotion coating his face.

“This is going to burn,” he tells you honestly, though there are still glimmers of mirth playing in his eyes, voice morphing into that tooth-rotting condescension you’ve come to know so well. “But I want you to be a big girl and sit still for me, yeah?”

“No promises,” you grumble through a pout, eliciting a snort from your boyfriend.

“Dramatic little brat,” he huffs out through a grin.

Taking your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, Dabi holds you firmly in place, inhibiting you from squirming away as he begins his second round of cleansing.

He’s careful to only apply it to the cuts themselves, avoiding the surrounding sensitive skin while explaining that this isn’t technically necessary—the water and soap should’ve been enough to adequately clean the wounds—but he wants to be safe, he wants to be sure an infection won’t occur.

Responding coos fall from his lips while he continues with his duty, each an acknowledgement of the small pained whimpers vibrating in your chest, procured by the waves of pinpricks that sprout through the wound with each blot of alcohol.

“Almost done, almost done,” he placates, throwing the soiled gauze on the counter next to your thigh. “Just a little bit longer, princess. You’re doing so well.”

Rough fingertips, pads stained pink with your diluted blood, slather glops of Polysporin over your cheek, glazing the lesions with the substance before taping thick bandages over them.

“There,” he says softly, eyes scanning over his handiwork, that storm dulled to a drizzle as he soaks it all in. Knuckles brush back strands of hair from your temples before skimming the curve of your cheek, gaze following their slow trajectory, their touch featherlight. He swallows thickly, voice coarse when he speaks again. “Good as new.”

This is the gentlest he’s ever been with you—this is the gentlest anyone has ever been with you—and something buried deep and dark inside of you breaks, fractures into sharp shards that pierce your organs, a dense ache radiating throughout your chest.

For the first time in your life, you are the one having your wounds tended to, taken care of, instead of the other way around.

You try to tell him this, but the words materialize into splintered sobs before they reach your lips, nothing more than an incomprehensible jumble of letters on your tongue.

But you don’t need to vocalize it—he knows.

He knows, because he can see it: in the way appreciation gleams behind a thick shield of tears, in the way your fingers are tangling in his t-shirt, twisting in the fabric and tugging him closer, needing him closer, in the way your ankles are hooking around the backs of his thighs, clinging to him in every sense of the word.

Calloused palms cradle your jaw, heedful of your injured cheek as they drag your lips towards his own, mouths slotting together.

Despite his tender actions, his kisses are anything but, saliva-soaked lips bruising in their fervour, mouths messily slotting together as they slip and slide, drool oozing from the corners to lacquer your chins and cheeks with shimmering spit. Nimble fingers dig into the back of your scalp, tugging you closer, closer, closer, noses mashed against one another as your tongues grind, hickory and Marlboros staining your flesh.

You kiss him back just as voraciously, suddenly insatiable for his touch and his tongue, an urgent yearning to submerge yourself in him completely igniting at the core of your body, desperate to feel him surrounding you, intoxicating you, numbing you.

One set of fingers tangles in the tufts at the base of his neck as the other set, already knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt, give a harsh yank. Your teeth suck his bottom lip between their edges and sink into the plush flesh, savouring the groan that rumbles from his mouth into yours, a shiver creeping up the notches of his spine as he drags his lips free of its sharp captors, the ridges of your teeth scraping against it in the process.

The thighs cushioning his hips flex as you attempt to pull him closer, the ankles clasped around his legs tightening, heels digging into firm muscle.

He’s just as desperate to give you everything you’re craving, just as desperate to take away the anguish that has been instilled in you; to suck it from your mouth and soul in the form of precious little gasps and broken little whines, to store it safely in the depths of his lungs and the pit of his stomach and take the strain of its immense weight off your body, to share the burden of carrying it.

“I want this off,” he murmurs against your lips, hands pulling at the hoodie your body is currently drowning in—his hoodie, used to hide your marred face from the motel clerk at the front desk, since you had refused to wait for Dabi in the car, refused to be away from him for even a moment.

You obey immediately, retreating and lifting your arms, allowing Dabi to rid you of the garment, cautious of your injuries.

Taking your face between his palms again, sapphire eyes sweep across your face, gaze trailing after the crystalline tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, watching as they collect in small puddles along the edge of your jaw.

And, for once, Dabi does not find them agonizingly beautiful.

Not when they aren’t solely conjured up by him.

His tongue laves across your jaw in wide, sticky strokes, the muscle pressed flat to the bone as it mops up the salty little dewdrops, swallowing down ounces of your pain.

The repetitive rubbing of denim chafes the smooth skin of your inner thigh as Dabi ruts against it, action almost involuntary while he paints your neck in glistening saliva and blooms of violet, hard cock straining, hot and throbbing, against its confines.

A dainty hand snakes between your bodies to pick at his thick belt buckle, whining softly as nails scrabble against silver.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, a hint of teasing tinging his tone, though his voice holds none of its usual derision, the question soft and sincere. “You want something?”

“Daddy,” you cough around the word, stuttered breath slicing it to pieces. It’s all your able to manage: one word, two syllables, pitched high and full of cracks.

But that’s okay, because Dabi knows, just like he always does.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he whispers, nosing along your jaw. “Daddy’s gonna make the pain go away, okay?”

“Please,” you whimper, and your voice sounds so small, so raw with uncut emotion that it has Dabi nodding in an almost frantic manner, eager to rid you of such distress.

Calloused hands slip beneath your dress, kneading your supple flesh as they travel up, up, up, until fingertips brush silk and lace, delicately clinging to your skin. They trace the trim, following it around the curves of your thighs and along your hips until they locate the waistband, toying with the cute satin bow before hooked thumbs dip into the material and tug.

But you refuse to unlock your legs from his own, unwilling to part with his warmth or his touch for a single second, and Dabi laughs, huffing out something about how fucking greedy you are, the words doused in adoration.

Looks like you leave him no choice, he’s saying as his fingers tear through the lace as effortless as fire licking through a spiderweb, yanking the ruined garment from your skin in one swift motion.

It flutters to the floor in a dainty heap of white—Agent Provocateur, two hundred and forty dollars, destroyed in mere moments—but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care at all, too preoccupied with shoving Dabi’s jeans down his thighs, the balls of your feet aiding his hands, then locking him in place again, ankles hooked together behind his back, heels digging into those sweet little dimples that frame the base of his spine.

His cock bumps against your inner thigh, drooling sticky pre-cum across your skin, another whine, impatient and needy, hiccuped in your throat.

Dabi’s muttering something, low and pacifying as he lines his cock up with your unprepared hole, allowing an impressive dollop of spit to drip from his lips, haphazardly slathering it around his shaft. His eyes stay fixed on the apex of your thighs as he pushes into you slowly, steadily, watching his movements with a sort of fascinated awe as your body stretches and struggles, sensitive skin splitting open for him, welcoming him home.

The pain is immaculate, a sharp hiss slithering from between your clenched teeth, throbbing little spikes searing through your thighs, flesh trembling in their wake.

But it feels so right, being stuffed full of him. It feels so safe, bodies encased in a protective bubble of affection, where nothing can get to you.

“Please, Daddy,”

One final plead, quiet and broken, thick tears dazzling your eyes, continuously escaping the corners like clockwork—two at a time, twin diamonds streaking your flesh, others embellishing your lashes, tiny jewels sewn into fluttering lace.

One final plead is all it takes to have his hips drawing back, charged with dutiful intent, then snapping forward, hard and rough and fast as he builds up a rhythm, one hand braced on the counter, the other pressed against the mirror, fingertips leaving smudges with each thrust.

The consistent bang! of his heavy belt buckle against the edge of the counter acts as a crude metronome, keeping time for the breathtaking symphony of your moans—airy little mewls and pretty little whines, garnished with his own guttural groans and growls.

Every tear that falls, every sob he fucks out of you, every slam of his cockhead against your cervix melding delirious pleasure with delicious pain all diminish the suffocating ache in your chest bit by bit, relieving a deep sorrow knotted at the core of your body.

Together you create something beautiful, something safe, something yours, an ephemeral masterpiece that ebbs and flows and grows and crests before it explodes in tandem with you both, clutching and clinging to one another, bodies shuddering and hips stuttering with the clench and pulse of gushing juices and thick cum, drenching him and filling you.

And, God, you love him. You love him so much, love him more than anything on this planet or any others, love him so tremendously it physically hurts, organs expanding with the sheer density of it, bones straining beneath the immensity, whole body seeming to swell with it, threaded through your blood and brain and barreling up your throat until it’s spilling out your mouth in a single continuous, seemingly uncontrollable stream.

Dabi isn’t even sure if you’re fully conscious of what you’re saying, fucked so good your brain has melted, body pliant and sagging, but he knows it’s true nonetheless, struck by the sincerity in your voice, the urgency in your grappling fingers, pawing at him senselessly.

Because he loves you, too.

✰ ✰ ✰

You wake somewhere between Friday and Saturday, the sky still dark and void, the dim motel room blinking in time with the screen of the small television, the only other source of light pooling around a bedside lamp.

Dabi sits next to the puddled yellow glow with his back propped against the wooden headboard, a book held open with one hand and a steadily burning cigarette wreathed between the fingers of the other.

“What are you reading?” you croak, wincing at how raw your voice sounds.

He turns the book towards you, showing you the cover—Brave New World—eyes flicking up to meet yours, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Found it in my car,” he says with a single shoulder shrug.

“You’ve read it before,” you say, not an accusation but merely an observation, gaze scanning the worn, veiny back cover, noting the laminated library sticker plastered around the bottom of the spine.

He nods. “I have, but I don’t mind reading it again.”

Accepting his answer, you flop onto your back, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling. It’s hard, in the muted silence, to keep those recent memories at bay, the most gruesome events of the past twenty-four hours flickering through your mind—the flash of silver, the sting of the slap, gold matted with crimson and salt, sticking to flushed skin that begs you not to leave—a crudely stitched together montage playing torturously on loop, screened on the walls of your skull.

And the harder you try to force them away, the more vivid they become, binding themselves to the tissues of your brain and ensuring they’ll never be forgotten.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Dabi’s placing his book face down on the nightstand and drawing you into his arms, murmuring out comforts into your hair as he squeezes you tightly, a smothered sob scrabbling at your sternum.

Anger flares in his chest again, bright burning flames of carmine licking up his throat, but he swallows them back down, douses them in his love for you—in your love for him—extinguishing the blaze to a dull smoulder.

Now is not the time for such things, for such hatred and fury. But he will save this fire, keep it kindling deep within the core of his body until he can finally release it to ravage that fucker.

The most important thing at this moment is eradicating all of that pain, all of that suffering and sadness from your soul and replacing it with love, with warmth, with him.

“Oh baby, oh baby,” he’s saying as he cradles you to his chest, bodies rocking back and forth slightly, legs entwined. “Let Daddy make it better, yeah? Do you want Daddy to make it better?”

You’re nodding against his shoulder, a little hiccup stammering the breath in your throat, sweet jumbled pleads spilling from your lips.

“Okay,” Dabi says softly, rolling your tangled bodies so you’re trapped between the mattress and his chest, those jutting hipbones snuggling between your thighs. “I’m gonna take the pain away, princess.”

You’re mewling out little affirmatives beneath him, legs folding on either side of his torso as your feet find his hips, pushing his briefs down his legs as far as you can.

A soft chuckle wafts across your face and he kicks the garment off the rest of the way, ending up in a small heap of fabric near the foot of the bed.

Leaning back on his haunches, he hooks one of your legs over each of his thighs, spreading you wide and bare, vulnerable beneath his stare. Sapphire eyes watch in an almost trance-like state as nimble fingers skim across your skin, outlining all of your curves and all of your contours: the hills of your breasts, the peaks of your nipples, the bends and ridges and slopes of your stomach, down, down, down until they hit the apex of your thighs, thumb brushing against your clit.

It’s beautiful, he’s telling you, still enchanted by your body, how easily you react to him, how readily you react to him, two pads of his fingers pressing down hard on the little nub to accentuate his point, observing with an almost morbid fascination the way it sends jolts zipping through your body, flesh rippling with the force.

His cock is already hard, pink and perfect and leaking against his pelvis, and your hole constricts around nothing, hungry and raring for something to stuff it full.

A gentle laugh, embellished with just a hint of patronization, falls from his lips, index finger tracing the outlines of your pussy—hood, lips, circling your hole—before finally pushing inside, breath exhaled in short pants as you greedily suck him in.

He teases you a little, pumping that singular finger in and out, crooking it at just the right time and pressing a knuckle into that plush spot until the digit is slippery with slick, until your hips are wiggling and whines keep crumbling in your throat, back arching a little in impatience.

It’s not enough, the ache of your cheek beginning to permeate the haze of lust Dabi had veiled over your mind, and you need something else, you need something stronger, you need more.

“Need you, Daddy,” you drool out, words lazy and full of spit. “Need you right now.”

A sharp slap to your cunt with the back of his hand has all of your pain radiating to the core of your body, the sound sticky and wet as it rings out among the room, Dabi speaking over your pitchy cry, strong thighs keeping your legs from instinctively snapping shut.

“There’s never any excuse to be rude to Daddy,” he says, another slap sending pinpricks tingling throughout your inner thighs. “Where are your manners?”

“Please,” you gasp out, lashes fluttering against a torrent of tears, desperate to keep them locked behind your lash line. “Please, please, Daddy,”

“Please what?” His knuckles collide with your cunt a third time, a faint glint of malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell Daddy what you want, sweetheart.”

“Please, your cock!” The words rush from your mouth in a singular huff of breath, tongue nearly tripping over itself in your haste to clarify. “Want you to fuck me with your cock, Daddy, please, want it so bad!”

A coo vibrates at the back of his throat, fingers turned gentle again as they caress your slit.

“That’s better,” he murmurs over the stream of pleads still oozing from your lips. “Okay, baby, okay, hush now, Daddy will give you what you need.”

The stretch is incredible—not that you’ve come to expect any less—delicate skin ripping itself wide to take him, the little sutures created in the bathroom opening again, gleefully, willfully, needing him.

But the pain is welcomed, the pain is familiar, the pain is good, because it numbs your mind, takes your focus off the emotional wound festering in your chest and the intermittent stinging burrowing through your cheek and renders you incapable of concentrating on anything else except for him, him, him.

His hips gyrate for a moment, cockhead grinding little circles into your bruised cervix, inducing a dull ache to take root at the very core of your body. A palm flattens between your hipbones, pressed tightly against your body, softly moaning Dabi’s name as you feel his motions nudging through your flesh.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can feel, all you can think about is my cock,” Dabi vows, hips drawing back, unhurried yet purposeful. “I’m gonna fuck you until you go stupid from my cum, baby.”

“Want it, w-wan’it,” you babble out, sentence fragmented by his cock as it slams back into you. “Want it, D-Daddy, please.”

And, fuck, he can’t deny you a single goddamn thing, not when you’re like this, staring up at him with those glazed, starry eyes, glistening chock full with your love for him; not when his name and his title are tangling on your tongue, his cock fucking the most beautiful rhapsody out of you, shards of words infused with sounds of pleasure, sentiments routinely smashed to bits with each pound into you.

So he gives you what you want, thighs straining as he balances on his knees, creasing your legs and crushing them to your chest, using your shins to keep him steady as his hips snap relentlessly.

Tears are seeping through your clamped shut lids, streaking your face with gleaming paths of salt as they roll down the sides of your face. Thick lashes trap a few, shimmering dewdrops that cling to dainty feathers, sparkling in the weak golden lamplight.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “That’s it, baby, cry for me. Cry for me, let it all out, c’mon.”

It’s all so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure and Dabi, Dabi, Dabi—sweet hickory and spicy nicotine enveloping you, his aura like a thick haze of smoke, candied and intoxicating, burning as it rushes down your throat to ferment in your lungs.

Every stuttered inhale is a shot of novocain to your brain, numbing those memories, numbing your consciousness, every harsh thrust forcing thorns of pleasure searing through your gut, little spikes that melt together in the pit of your stomach, forming a heavy, fluttering ball of blue fire.

It’s all so overwhelming, yet it’s all so fucking good, simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Da-Daddy,” you’re sobbing, little fingers groping at his biceps, trying to grip him, to bring him closer, to find comfort. “Daddy, it’s so much, it—it’s too much!”

You’re really wailing now, whole body juddering with the force of it, nose puffy and twitching with harsh sniffles, a vain attempt to keep it from leaking, spit collecting in the vacuities of your mouth, so much that your words drown in it, coming out mangled and soaking.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, leaning down so his chest is pressed flush to your folded legs, cupping your face between his palms as his hips slow to uneven rutting, dimming the sphere of fire roiling in your tummy.

“Hey, look at me.”

Your damp lids lift, dislodging some of the teardrops that had been caught by your lashes as sapphire searches your salt-stained face, a glimmer of condescending concern in his irises.

“You can take it for Daddy, though, can’t you?” A rough thumb caresses your uninjured cheekbone, calloused skin contradicting such a tender action. “I know how good you are, princess, I know you can take Daddy’s cock for him, right?”

Your head is nodding before you’ve given it permission to, pathetic little mewls of yes, Daddy and of course, Daddy tumbling mindlessly from your lips, desperately vying for his praise, desperately vying for the mind-numbing high that comes packaged with it.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts fucking into you again, rapidly gaining speed with each jackhammer of his hips and surpassing his previous pace.

The prettiest whimpers are spilling from your throat, gentle little things that break and fade into wispy little whines, each one pushed from your lips in time with his brutal thrusts.

“How’s that, baby?” he breathes, eyes voracious as they sweep across your face, desperate to devour every little change in expression. “Go on, don’t be shy, tell Daddy how his cock’s making you feel.”

Good, good, so fucking good, every drag of his cock against that plush spot buried deep within you sending another flare of scalding sapphire flames licking through your veins, adding to the blaze coiling at your core.

So good, in fact, that you can’t seem to stitch the simple words together, letters turning to ash in your throat, wheezed out as bastardized versions of what they were originally supposed to be.

And Dabi can’t help but huff out a little laugh, strained with pleasure, murmuring something about how fucking cute you are when you get like this, all dumb and fucked out with hedonistic bliss.

“Yeah, yeah, just think about Daddy’s cock, princess, s’all that matters right now,” he rasps, stringy strands of ink, clumped together with sweat, hanging in his eyes. “God, look at you,” he nearly keens, gaze flitting to where you’re conjoined. “Such a perfect little whore I’ve got, taking my whole cock like that, such a—f-fuck—such a good, good girl for me,”

That sphere of fire is curling in on itself, tighter and tighter and tighter with each pump of his hips until finally it explodes in a shower of sapphire sparks, singeing into your flesh and steeped in your blood, lighting your entire body ablaze as your cunt spasms, floods of heat gushing at the apex of your thighs.

“Yeah, baby, c’mon, cream all over my cock,” Dabi says, voice hoarse with passion.

You’re still cumming when he does, only a few pistons later, muscles pulled taut as his cock pulses, spurt after spurt of hot cum stuffing you to the brim, your name cracking in his throat.

He collapses on you a moment later, a heavy heaving mess of sticky skin, cock still buried inside you, twitching with the corollary of his orgasm. You can feel his cum oozing out of you, thick and cooling as it trickles down your skin, thighs tensing as you attempt to keep it inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a warped mess on your tongue, weighted with spit. “Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles into your shoulder, noncommittal, breath still coming in short puffs.

“Daddy, your cum,” your hips squirm beneath him, shoving upwards, trying to use his cock as a plug.

“What about it?”

“S’leaking outta me.”

Dabi pulls back to look at you, eyebrows slightly wrinkled. “So?”

“I don’t want it to,” you whine. “Want it to stay in me forever.”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “That’s cute, princess,” he says. “But there’s nothing Daddy can do to make sure it stays in you forever.”

Another whine, pitchy and petulant, vibrates in your throat, hips rocking again. “My mouth,” you say. “Feed it to me. Put it in my belly where it’ll stay forever.”

A piece of him, seeping into the floor of your stomach, mouth watering with the thought.

Crystal eyes search your face for a moment, darkening with the sincerity of your expression. You look as though you may cry if he denies you, staring up at him with lust-blown lidded pupils and a spit-shined mouth, high mewls spilling from your throat.

He doesn’t say anything as he disentangles his limbs from your own, body sliding down the mattress to hook your legs over his shoulders, arms crooked around your thighs, big hands splayed on your hips, pushing them down and keeping them still.

Unblinking, his eyes hold yours as his head dips, tongue unfolding from its cavern, tip hooked as it licks into you, gathering glops of his cum. He laps as much of it as he can from your abused cunt, slow and methodical with each lave, each delve into your soaking hole, filling his mouth with his own essence until you’ve been sucked clean.

Only then does he release the grip he has on your flesh, crawling back over you and using a hand to squeeze the hinges of your jaw, popping it open. His tongue sprawls from his mouth, drenched in thick cream, and hangs enticingly above your own, threads of cum diluted with saliva dripping in slow, large dollops directly into your throat.

You swallow them readily, greedily, both hands clawed around his wrist as your back arches, starved for more. He laughs at you again, after he’s emptied all the viscous substance from his mouth, telling you in sugary condescension that there’s no more, that you’ve eaten it all up, like the good, greedy little girl you are.

The thought makes you giggle, sends a rush of tingling spikes through your veins, whole body buzzing as you nod along to his sentiment, his cum a warm comfort in your tummy.

Placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, Dabi pushes himself up from the mattress, sauntering into the bathroom. You watch as he goes, stretching your sore limbs out across the sheets, catlike, before you roll over, floundering a little until your toes sink into plush carpet.

Standing in front of the gilded mirror, your eyes skim over your own body. There are traces of Dabi all over your skin, your flesh a map of the past twenty-four hours, of where he’s been and what he’s done, impermanent little artworks that’ll fade by next week—sketches of his teeth, all thirty-two of them, tinctures of their thin red edges etched into your flesh; dark swirling blotches of deep violet and navy-grey, scattered along your neck and collarbone; tiny starbursts of fingerprints pressed into your thighs, hips, ass, periwinkle speckled with scarlet—and it is all so magnificent, physical declarations of your love.

Eyes drifting back up, your gaze lands on the ugly patch of gauze, the hints of a bruise—lilac, tinged pink around the blotchy, uneven edges—encasing the pads of white bandages plastered across your face.

Dabi joins you then, strong arms wrapping around you from behind, lips pressing sweet kisses to your neck as sapphire eyes catch your own through the reflection.

“You look so beautiful covered in me, baby,” he murmurs into your shoulder, eyes fanned by black lashes. “I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.”

You smile a little in response, stare breaking from his to find your injured cheek again, grin deflating. Dabi follows your trajectory, the light dimming from his eyes, replaced by something hard, something hateful.

“The bruise will take a few days to show up,” Dabi says pragmatically, as if he speaks from experience. “The deeper the trauma, the longer it takes to show.”

You nod your understanding, hesitant fingertips prodding at the swollen flesh—marks of Keigo, evidence of your big brother and his hands on you, patched up, hidden away behind thick ivory bandages and paper tape.

“Don’t touch it,” Dabi chides halfheartedly, stepping back and latching onto your elbow with a gentle tug. “Here, come. Let Daddy redress the wounds for you.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The sun is hanging high in the sky by the time you rouse on Saturday afternoon, filtering in through the moth eaten chiffon curtains and painting strips of gold across the room, sparkling motes playing between the shadows.

Dabi’s sitting in one of two leather armchairs positioned near the small wooden table, eyes fixed on the flickering tube television murmuring out a staticky version of True Romance to itself.

He looks ethereal, ivory of his bare torso almost glowing in the afternoon rays, the colourful ink sketched into his skin stark and striking, coming alive with each of his gentle breaths, rippling with the rise and fall of his chest.

The sunlight haloes him, encompassing his body in its glowing embrace and outlining all of his sharp edges and contours—the slope of his nose and curve of his cheekbones, the ridges of smooth muscle blanketing his upper body and the prominent hill of his Adam’s apple.

The rustling of sheets alerts him to your wakefulness, gaze snapping to your form immediately, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“G’morning, princess,” he teases, but his eyes are soft, scared, worry etched into the lines of his forehead and the downward curve of his mouth as he observes your form, the skin of your cheeks taut and glazed with dry salt, strands of hair crusted to your face, lids sticky and puffy. Large hands pat his thighs enticingly, his head quirking to the left in indication. “C’mere.”

You’re scampering across the mattress before the word has fully left his lips, already yearning for his embrace and all the comfort and protection that comes along with it, a quiet chuckle vibrating in his throat as you straddle his lap, one of his thighs slotted comfortably between your own.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck as a form of explanation.

He snorts, a palm coming to pet your back. “Did you now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, eyes slipping shut again as you snuggle against his collarbone, haze of drowsiness still dousing your brain. “Were gone for too long.”

“I’ve only been awake for about an hour, princess.”

“Too long,” you assert with a pout.

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, laughing a little around the words. “Are you hungry?”

Shaking your head, you hum in dissent.

“Okay, but you’re gonna eat something a little later for Daddy, yeah?”

His voice is kept light, pleasant in tone as his fingers continue to stroke your spine, a sugared demand folded into his words.

“Of course, Daddy,” you breathe out dreamily.

“That’s my good girl.”

The next hour passes in a fragmented daze as you flit between states of consciousness, Christian Slater’s fuzzy voice twirling through the recesses of your mind, twined with the occasional rumble of your Daddy’s laughter.

But it isn’t long before you begin to grow restless, tormented by sharp splinters of memories once again—sticky scarlet smeared across metal, shimmering topaz lacquered with tears, the tangle of deep, angry, terrified voices growling out muddled words—slashing through any semblance of peace your semi-sentient state had brought you, suddenly desperate for your twisted guardian angel to dissipate the pain, to distract, to push those harsh, hard, hurtful realities back outside that sky-blue motel door and locked away for just a little bit longer.

You squirm a little in Dabi’s lap, clit catching on the ragged denim of his jeans, weak shocks cackling along your spine. A sharp intake of breath stings your throat, teeth sucking your bottom lip between their edges and biting as your pelvis involuntarily wiggles again, pressing down harder this time, grinding the swelling bud into clothed flesh.

“Having trouble getting comfy, baby?” Dabi questions after the third time you shift your hips, bare cunt pressed flush to his thigh. “Or,” his muscles flex, firm and strong between your legs. “Is there something else on your mind?”

The drop in his voice, the way it fades to a rough whisper as his lips caress your ear, has scalding heat unfurling in the pit of your tummy, thick and sticky as it seeps through the floor of the organ, leaking into your gut.

A low whine slips from your lips, embarrassment scorching your cheeks and eyes shutting tightly as you mash your face against his collarbone, answering with a single rock of your hips.

Dark laughter vibrates against your cheek, a large palm connecting with your bare thigh half a moment later, the shock and the sting of the impact forcing your head from its hiding place as Dabi speaks clearly over your resounding yelp.

“When Daddy asks you a question,” he begins, lithe fingers digging into sore flesh and squeezing, gathering a healthy handful in his palm. “He expects an answer, sweetheart.”

His eyes practically glow as they search your face, slow and purposeful, as if they’re trying to singe the sentiment into your flesh.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper, nails scraping against his biceps as you cling to him, resisting the urge to bury your face again, wide eyes holding his. “I—I was just—M’horny, Daddy,”

He knows there’s more to it than that, knows you’re using him as a distraction, an escape, from whatever thoughts and memories are currently poisoning your mind, but he accepts your response as satisfactory anyway. Because he’s honoured to be your preferred escape, your favourite escape, ready and willing to do his duty to his baby, to help and protect and take it all away, even if it’s just for a short while.

“Yeah?” he breathes, calloused hands slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt and curling around your hips. “You wanna use Daddy’s thigh to help get you off?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you squeak, head moving in slow, lethargic little motions against his shoulder as it falls forward again, limp and pliant in his arms. “Want it s’bad,”

“Okay, baby,” his fingers twitch against your skin in anticipation. “Go on, then, hump my leg.”

Pricks of humiliation erupt across your skin at his candidness, but your hips begin moving immediately, snapped into action by a direct order.

It’s slow at first, the rock of your pelvis granting featherlight touches to your already swollen clit, a sudden shyness cascading over you, evoked by his pure, undivided attention.

It isn’t sufficient, of course, these shallow motions only working to frustrate you more, dull flares of the heat in your tummy not nearly enough to ignite the inferno you crave, your thighs clenching around the one wedged between them as annoyed little sounds spill from your mouth, huffed out against his neck.

But Daddy knows.

And Daddy knows just what to say, too.

“Aw come on, princess, you can do better than that, can’t you?” Dabi’s tongue tuts, as if he’s disappointed in you. “Or are you embarrassed, hmm? Acting like such a shameful little slut, so needy for her Daddy that she’s willing to take whatever he’ll give her, even if that’s just a thigh to hump?”

Usually, such a scathing remark would have lit a fierce fire in your chest, fuelled solely by your stubborn desire to prove that you can do it!, determined to demonstrate that you’re capable and worthy of his praise. But today, those insulting words are exactly what you need.

Because they open up a space where you can be vulnerable, granting you permission to be a fucking baby, to cry and whine and cling and want, to be pathetic.

You’re nodding again, forehead pressed tightly to his collarbone as eyes squeeze shut against the familiar nip of tears, half-coherent affirmations bubbling past your lips. Yes, Daddy, can’t do it on my own, Daddy, need you, Daddy.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, syrupy words dripping off a razor, the normally sharp blade dulled by true emotion, fondness. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here, Daddy will help you make it feel good, since you’re too stupid to do it by yourself.”

Although the words are harsh, his voice isn’t, insults cracked open and oozing melted sugar, soaked in a sort of playful admiration.

Lithe fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he forces the rolling of your hips to accelerate, blunt nails branding violet crescents into your skin, a low whimper tickling the back of your tongue.

The denim of his jeans is coarse against your sensitive cunt, fucked open and raw from the night before, each grind against the tough material sending little spikes of agony tingling through your gut, promptly devoured by sparks of pleasure.

The pain fades quickly, though, the rutting of your hips morphing into a more sensual grinding expertly guided by Dabi’s hands, sweet little cunt steadily gushing slick all over his leg, fabric rendered sleek and slippery, aiding each glide of your pussy over the strong muscle.

“You’re soaking me, baby,” he nearly whines out, the words airy and infused with awe. “All the way through my fucking jeans; I can feel how wet you are.”

His grasp has gone lax around you now, fingertips merely resting on your skin as he encourages you to keep rubbing and riding, motivating praise panted out in hot breaths, curling around the shell of your ear.

That’s it, baby, that’s it, and There you go, you’re doing perfect, and Look at you, baby, being so good for me; each set of praise that falls from his lips merely inspiring you to go faster, grind harder, do better.

“Keep going, princess, keep going,” his cock strains against his jeans, eager and impatient as it throbs against your waist, each rut of your hips brushing up against it teasingly. “Yeah, yeah, just like that, use Daddy’s thigh to get yourself off.”

You mewl into his chest, hips beginning to gyrate in purposeful circles, chasing his validation, a high just as potent as an orgasm itself. Flame-charred fingers tweak a nipple through the thin material of his t-shirt, forcing a yelp from your throat, a patronizing chuckle syrupy on his tongue.

Beneath you, his knee begins to bounce, hard, fast little motions that reverberate against your clit, a loud moan escaping your lips. Each vibration sends another flurry of cinders to collect in your gut, torching a flame that burns bright and beautiful, a fire that cleanses, that blazes those memories to ash and whisks them away, replaced with addictive adoration.

“C’mon, baby, stop hiding,” a shoulder nudges your head. “Daddy wants to see that pretty face of yours.”

Your face lifts, forehead knocking against his, exhaling little cries into his waiting mouth—precious sounds that melt like maple sugar on his tongue, sweet and saturating. Azure glitters in the late afternoon sun as half-lidded eyes watch your expressions, ravenous for every little crinkle of pain that flattens to unadulterated pleasure, his breath wafting across your skin as he speaks.

Laughing, a palm cups your cheek, locking you in place. “That feel good?”

An indiscernible noise of pleasure tumbles from your lips in response, head bobbing clumsily, nose bumping against his own.

“Use your words,” he chastises.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,”

“You gonna cum soon for me, huh? Gonna show me how fucking gorgeous you look, creaming all over my thigh?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you nod vigorously against him.

“Yeah? Then make a mess, baby. Make a mess all over Daddy.”

So you do, staining charcoal denim with your cream, a groaned curse falling from his lips, pitched high and cracked with love as he feels your gushing cunt clench and flutter around nothing, his thigh pressed hard into your core, and that’s so hot, that’s so fucking hot, baby.

You’re still in the throes of a post-orgasmic haze, body shivering with sweat and bolts of overstimulation quivering through your veins as he carries you towards the bed, laying you gently on the edge before shoving his jeans down, cock gorgeous and glistening with desire and pre-cum.

The excess of slick and cum, now smeared all over your inner thighs and still steadily leaking from your cute cunt, enables him to slam into you in one swift thrust, cock buried deep inside of you, balls pressed to your ass.

It still stings despite the aid of your wetness, sweet little hole barely stretched out at all now gorging on his thick cock, flesh quavering as it tears into little fissures to accommodate him, an instinctual wail drowning in your throat.

“What?” he pants out, the question embedded in a laugh. “You think you can—can just ride Daddy’s thigh without him needing to fuck you after?”

No, of course not.

He finishes quick, though, pumping your womb full of burning, sticky cum, a vicious tremor coursing through his whole body as he crumples next to you, cradling your body with his, and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Later that night, as you lay awake in bed, tummies stuffed full of blueberry pancakes and cinnamon buns, you ask him to tell you a secret.

He wavers for a moment, body turned to ice and then thawed in the blaze of your love, voice low and throaty as he speaks.

He tells you about his mother, a woman with snow for hair and slate for eyes, a woman he hasn’t seen for several years now, a woman he misses deeply. He tells you about his siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto—their likes and dislikes, hobbies and interests, fears and flaws, laughing wetly to himself about how much he still remembers, wondering aloud if any of those things have stayed the same, or if they’ve changed since he left, and how much so.

He tells you about Touya, the boy he killed when he was only a teenager, the boy who was spirited and ambitious and longed for nothing more than his father’s approval, the boy who only exists in memories now, hazy and desolate, nothing more than a ghost of smoke and ash.

He tells you about his father, about his father’s penchant for hitting women and smacking children—his most cowardly habit, according to Dabi—about his father’s precarious favouritism that changed with the wind.

And he tells you about the accident—his father’s fault, as always—tells you about the melting metal and burning leather and scorched skin, the feeling of the flames licking at his body, the heat of the crash, the cries of his baby brother, the firemen who pulled him from the jaws of the car and saved his life, the father who did nothing but stand and watch.

And by the time the sun begins to rise, his throat is raw from the past, his nose blotchy and his eyes swollen, and you hold him tight to your bosom, dainty little fingers cradling the shards of his old life, placing them piece by painstaking piece back in their proper places.

✰ ✰ ✰

The inevitability of Monday casts a deep shadow over Sunday night, the inescapable threat of reality looming in the near future, but Dabi holds it at bay for a little bit longer, the bubble of your own private utopia kept intact with clementine suds and whirling jets, calloused hands and soft kisses and an old heart-shaped tub.

His hands are tender, unhurried as they lather soap across your skin, almost lazy in how they clean you, appreciating the way every dip and curve, edge and contour converge to create the masterpiece that is your body.

It’s as if he’s in some state of wonder, sapphire glittering in the low light as it follows after his movements, outlining their trajectory and branding it into his consciousness, admiring the way your flesh yields to him as he pinches and kneads and rolls it between his palms.

“I love you,” he says finally, stare drifting back to yours. “I’m in love with you.”

You giggle a little, suddenly feeling bashful, body curling towards his. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“I’m so lucky you are.”

“I’m the lucky one here.”

“Don’t fight me on this, baby,” he warns. “You know you’ll lose.”

“Alright, alright,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “But it’s my turn to wash you, now, Daddy,” you murmur through a smirk, crawling towards him to straddle his thighs.

He mutters out a few weak protests about how you don’t need to, princess and he can do it himself, but you insist, already pouring out a syrupy dollop of body wash into your palm.

Breaths of chuckles escape his parted lips, eyes gone soft as they watch your delicate fingers trace out trails of suds across the koi fish swimming up his forearms, tiny white bubbles crudely illustrating the art inked into his skin.

You speak as you work, musing softly about which of his tattoos are your favourites.

“Why did you decide on koi fish?” you ask as your fingers wander up his arms.

“Because they persevere. They swim against the current and prosper, no matter how strong the waves are,” he shrugs a little, eyes sweeping across his body. Your gaze follows suit, noticing for the first time that all of the fish swimming up his arms are swimming against tumultuous waves, chaotic and dangerous as they crash into white caps.

“They’re like you.”

He nods, keeping his gaze averted. “And they’re—Well, they’re supposed to symbolize good fortune or whatever, so I figured…” he trails off, and you wait, allowing him a moment to sift through his thoughts, thumbs idly stroking his biceps. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, to carry them everywhere with me.” He looks up suddenly, blue eyes so clear you swear you can see into the depths of his soul, shimmering with bright love for you. “Maybe one day I can get one that reminds me of you, so I can carry you everywhere with me, too.”

“I—I’d be honoured, Daddy,” a rush of admiration, of appreciation, surges through your chest, leaving behind a swell of warmth, fingertips reaching up to draw out his features—his strong brow, the bow of his lips, the jut of his jaw.

He’s so fucking gorgeous it kicks the breath from you, onyx hair slicked back from his face in streamlined rows separated by the grooves left behind by his fingers, a few stray strands falling forward and curling to frame his eyes.

“I’d love to have you—a constant reminder of you—permanently stained into my skin,” he whispers, arms encircling your hips, pressing you flush against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” you whimper, tapering off into a gasp as his hard cock nudges your hole.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, why not? Make sure everyone knows I belong to you.”

He groans in response, nodding as you sink down on him, eyes dark with the thought of branding you as his, forever.

It’s sweet, slow and sensual, each roll of his hips, each rock of your own, dainty hands clasped behind his neck, fingers twining in the wet tufts of hair at the base of his skull, foreheads pressed tightly together.

Lips suck sweltering breaths from each other’s mouths while tongues suck on the sounds that spill from one throat into another, greedily swallowing them down to add to the collections each of you carries within your hearts; slivers of your lover, your soulmate, buried safely in pulsating flesh, never to be removed.

Your movements increase in force, Dabi’s cock pounding against your sore cervix with each pump of his hips, but the pace remains deliberately unhurried, every moment savoured, every moment sacred, almost as if you’re both terrified one vigorous motion—something too brutal, too harsh—will shatter your manufactured peace a little too early.

Blue flames lave over your organs, blazing stronger and stronger, growing larger and larger, until it engulfs you both in its inferno, bright and burning, licks of sapphire rushing through your veins as your cunt clenches around his cock, as his cock stuffs you full of cum, bodies stilling and nails gorging on flesh, clinging to one another like lifelines.

And as you come down from your conjoined high, unclamping your fingers and dislodging your nails, you feel something shift, change, the air suddenly denser, heavier, more substantial than it’s ever been before.

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” you whimper, words loose and languid, the unapproved confession dribbling from your lips.

“Neither do I, baby,” Dabi whispers, hand emerging from the water—fluffy bubbles dissipated to a flat froth that lines the rippling surface—his thumb brushing baby hairs back from your forehead. His eyes glint in the feeble light. “Neither do I.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Finally, Monday comes, bringing with it a slew of texts from your brother, anxious and eager to know when you’ll be returning home.

Dabi laughs, harsh and rancorous, when you timidly ask if he’ll be bringing you back to that little white house with its little white fixtures, shaking his head with audacity, sharp twinkle in his eyes reflected in his gleaming teeth.

“I’m not allowing you to go back to that junkie psychopath!” he says, words infused with an incredulous chuckle, as if he can’t believe you’re even asking at all. “He’s dangerous, and I’d be an utter fool to let you live with him again.”

“But—But then, where will I—”

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, though the humour has faded from his features, replaced with a heavy set brow and slightly narrowed eyes. “I thought I made this clear already.”

He hadn’t—not explicitly, anyway—though you had had a feeling this may be the case.

“Dabi,” you begin slowly. “I don’t think—I mean, do you think me just abandoning Keigo like this is really the right choice?”

“Princess,” he says, the pet name full of condescension. “He hurt you. What man in their right mind would allow their baby to go back to such a monster?”

“It was only one time, though—”

“For now,” Dabi spits. “But it won’t be only once if you go back to him, I can promise you that.”

“But he—He can’t—I’m not sure how he’ll survive without me…”

“Look,” he sighs, large hands wrapping around your shoulders and forcing you to stare up at him. “You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t see how this will help—”

“Keigo needs to lose everything—most importantly, you—because of his addiction before he’ll even start thinking about kicking the habit.”

You shrink into Dabi’s palms, voice small. “He can’t do it alone, though.”

“Actually,” Dabi says. “He can only do it alone.” At your confused look, he continues. “It has to be his choice and his choice only, if he is to seek help and get better.” You begin to protest, but he speaks over you, voice clear and certain. “No one can do it for him, no matter how badly they wish to. This will only ever work if he wants it to.”

“Shouldn’t I at least go home to check on him?”

“He’s texting you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he is very clearly fine. He’s an adult, he should have the basic capabilities to take care of himself when left to his own devices.” he pauses, eyes scanning your face thoroughly. “Despite what he’d have you believe, it is not your job to take care of him.”

“We’re family, of course it’s my job to—”

“There is a fine line between helping out family and being taken advantage of by an addict.” Dabi says sharply. “Never forget that.”

His tone, firm and resolute and chock with experience, startles you, and you look down at your feet, fingers twisted into an unsure knot in front of you.

“I know it might be difficult for you to understand, sweetheart,” Dabi murmurs, casting your gaze back to him. “But I need you to trust me on this. You know I’d never lead you astray, right?”

Yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy.

✰ ✰ ✰

Your days with Dabi are vastly different than your days with Keigo were, and you fall into a routine quickly, easily, effortlessly.

Gentle forehead kisses and lips caressing your ear rouse you from sleep each morning, flame-hardened fingertips tracing your facial features and brushing back strands of stray hair as your Daddy murmurs that it’s time to wake up.

While you dress and pack your things for your day at university, Dabi prepares you some sort of standard breakfast: cereal and milk, fried eggs and toast, steamed rice and egg yolks, or an omelette. He rarely eats breakfast himself, opting for a single cup of black coffee, but he’s always sure to keep you fed, even if the meals are basic and cheap—it’s all he can afford, at the moment.

You appreciate the gesture anyway, despite the fact that you often go against his wishes, sneaking out to the nearest grocery market during the rare moments when Dabi leaves you alone, armed with one of those pretty platinum credit cards your foster father gave you and arriving home with armloads of expensive meats, fruits, and cheeses. It’s important that he eats, too, you say to him.

Soon you won’t have to do that, he tells you one night, voice soft. He’s moving up the ranks, he says, climbing the corrupt corporate ladder within the underworld. Soon he’ll have his own group of lackeys, he promises. Soon he’ll be able to buy you all of the food and items your heart desires, with his own hard earned cash.

It’s hard to understand why Dabi has such an aversion to you lavishing him with your father’s wealth, even if it’s only in the form of good, fresh food, but you can imagine it has to do with some deep-seated need to care for, to provide for, to protect and nourish and own.

As you munch on whatever breakfast he’s made for you that morning, Dabi busies himself with constructing sweet little lunch boxes for you every day you have class; little snacks to bring along to your lectures, to keep you sated throughout your day, claiming your mind will absorb more knowledge if you aren’t hungry, if you are properly fuelled.

It sounds like something a father would tell their picky child in an effort to entice them to eat their school lunches, but you humour him anyway, being sure to consume every piece of food he packs you, never allowing any of it to go to waste.

He attempts to make the boxes cute and aesthetic, like the bentos you had showed him on Pinterest before, but his hands are too large, his fingers too clumsy, rendering the finished product a grotesque edition of the picturesque meals, grumbling to himself that it doesn’t matter, it’s all going to be chewed up anyway.

But it’s the thought that counts, and you love it all the same.

Some things stay unchanged. You still go to that stupid little run-down drive-in theatre you love so much, still go on your weekly breakfast diner dates every Saturday, still go on those joyrides with him, his little partner in crime.

He takes you with him everywhere he can, actually; everywhere he deems safe. Just like the joyrides, it’s nice to be a part of his life, to be included in some way.

You meet his closest friends—people he never spoke of before, but people he is evidently quite close with nonetheless: people he shares Zippo flames with, two hands cupping the precious little fire with cigarettes secured between sharp teeth, foreheads nearly bumping as they lean forward to light the entwined ends; people whom he can hold entire conversations with through side-eyed glances and quirked heads and private smirks; people that seem to know him—his wants and desires, his fears and traumas, his extended personal history—a hell of a lot better than you do.

There is a special type of intimacy that permeates the air around them when they’re together; something electric, something that snaps and crackles with their loud laughs and sharp quips, yet something that is cozy, homey, almost, akin to the warmth of affection that drapes itself over your heart like a protective blanket, the kind that fills your lungs and seeps through your ribs and into your bloodstream, setting your whole body pleasantly ablaze.

It’s a cherished type of intimacy, a rare and exceptional type of intimacy, forged through the lifelong building of friendships and the bonds of trauma.

Out of the three who are, undoubtedly, the most important to him, Tomura was the one who caught your eye first, who catches your eye often, still.

They were a pair to be seen—sapphire and ruby, a combined force to be reckoned with: Dabi with his vintage Cadillac, all electric blue and shimmering chrome; Tomura with his Mercedes Maybach, all glossy crimson and white leather—parked perpendicular to each other in the diner parking lot, owners perched on their respective hoods with glowing cigarettes wrapped up in their lips, huffing out clouds of smoke towards one another as they conversed.

Tomura is handsome in an unconventional sense, with striking, stark features—a sharp, angular jaw, pronounced cheekbones, glowing scarlet eyes—that often knock the breath from anyone he speaks to.

The air around him seems to be infused with a peculiar type of superiority, despite the fact that he is astonishingly apathetic, almost bored looking, toward practically every aspect of his life. When he talks, his voice nearly leaks from his lips, a smooth and unhurried drawl, the words occasionally huffed out in a dismissive drone, or drooled out from his mouth like thick, spoiled syrup.

Nonetheless, you like him, bonding over your shared love of ostentatious banana splits, doused in too much caramel and chocolate and encrusted with stale sprinkles.

“That looks like vomit,” Dabi had once sneered, face screwed up in disgust as he glowered at the colourful concoction shared between the two of you, his comment prompting both you and Tomura to spitefully shovel absurd spoonfuls of mountainous ice cream into your mouths in retaliation.

Yet, irregardless of his clever tongue and his lethargic indifference, he seems, in some way, delicate, with slim wrists and bony fingers and a protruding collarbone, expensive trousers hanging off his jutting, sharp hipbones.

A deep melancholy sometimes shimmers in his eyes, a small sparkle of it glimmering beneath waves of carmine, only revealing itself when Dabi’s voice drops to that low, guttural muttering, so quiet it’s difficult to understand, a raw, vulnerable edge tinging his tone; or when Himiko’s chipper chattering cuts off, sharp and sudden, gasp murdering the sentence in her throat, chopped to pieces so the words that do make it to her tongue and past her lips are stuttered and scrambled and scared; or when Jin makes a remark, then shuts his eyes tightly, face screwed up in psychological pain, a contradictory retort tumbling from his mouth in a seemingly uncontrollable, almost automatic manner, followed by his own paradoxical rebuttal, rushed and breathless as if attempting to suck his previous statement back in past his lips and down his throat and into his stomach.

Himiko—whom you had already been acquainted with at the diner—is lovely, if not a little eccentric, and you admire her dedication, her determination, to hold true to herself. The strength and commitment to wholeheartedly embrace and defend her beliefs and values, regardless of how morally dubious the rest of society considers them to be, is almost inspiring in a way, and you secretly long to covet her carefree confidence and courageous nature.

The saccharine scent of toffee and tiger lilies clings softly to her skin, mouthwateringly sweet and surprisingly dainty, and she leaves a residual trail of it anywhere she goes, a hazy mist of it hanging dreamily in the air long after she’s gone, ready to daze and entice any who may wander through it.

The owner of the small, shabby convenience store on the ground floor of Dabi’s apartment complex, Jin is the one you see most frequently.

Kind-natured yet brutally honest, with a large, gouged scar splitting the center of his forehead, Jin spends his days packaging the drugs and frying up fresh homemade donuts, encrusted with sparkling cinnamon sugar.

Best coffee in the Goddamn world, your Daddy had told you one day while depositing you by the front counter, as he often did when he deemed a job too serious, scary, important or dangerous for you to tag along. No one brews it better than Bubaigawara.

You don’t mind spending time with Jin—quite the opposite, actually, with the man frequently frying up your very own batch of mini donuts to snack on as you await Daddy’s return, pages of your homework stained with cinnamon and oil—but you hate watching Dabi go, features coated with a forlorn despondency as he pauses in the doorway, balancing a large paper bag on his hip and patting his pockets in search of that pretty silver gun, the one he had allowed you to adorn with glittery pink hearts, so every time he took it out he’d be reminded of you, reminded of why he does what he does, and who he does it for.

Still, Jin does a fairly good job at keeping you occupied while Dabi works, permitting you to sit crosslegged on the front counter with a knee pressed flush to the old chrome register, a textbook cradled in your lap and a pink, fluffy pen dangling daintily from your fingers, some sort of sweet—donuts or chocolate or lollipops—beside your hip.

As it turns out, he has a very difficult time saying no to you, an issue which often lands him in hot water with your Daddy, sheepishly accepting Dabi’s ruthless scoldings about your sugar consumption yet never making any slight effort to change his ways.

“You spoil her,” you had caught Dabi muttering once, a begrudged grin fighting its way onto his lips.

“I enjoy doing so,” Jin had responded simply, as if he didn’t see any sort of problem, as if the answer was clear as day and he didn’t understand why Dabi couldn’t grasp it.

Himiko visits the shop often, strolling in well past midnight in her impeccable waitressing dress, all pristine white lace and red piping, a cute little cap pinned haphazardly to her blonde curls, with Tomura occasionally in tow.

He doesn’t seem to like the place much, it appears, glowering pretentiously at the shelves surrounding him as two lithe fingers tug at the folded turtleneck of his black cashmere sweater.

This never seems to deter him from stealing bits of whatever sweet Jin has gifted you with that day, though, bony hands plucking a half-sucked lollipop gleaming with your spit from the crinkled wrapper it lay on, or cradling a few of those cute tiny donuts in a large palm and dusting his flesh with warm cinnamon, or snapping off a couple squares of stale chocolate from the bar half-eaten and discarded beside your thigh, always delighting in your sweet squeals of protest with a smug quirk up of scarred lips.

“I like your friends,” you had told Dabi one night, soft and sweet, as you handed him a dish for drying.

“Yeah?” he had smirked, casting you a glance from the corner of his eye, his mouth curving into a lopsided crescent. “We’re a bit of a motley crew,”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the endearment of it all. You still fit like perfect puzzle pieces, even if you’re all from difference boxes. It’s…nice.”

“Who’s you’re favourite?”

“Trick question. You’re my favourite.”

Dabi had laughed, deep and fond, tossing the dishtowel on the counter and turning towards you, damp palms wrapping around your hips, tugging you to his chest, sapphire glittering with adoration as he gazed down at you.

“That’s my girl.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The group had an almost ritualistic schedule, routinely and rigidly adhered to, and Thursdays, you found out, are incredibly sacred.

Every Thursday, they gather—you included, Dabi’s protective paranoia already too strong to handle leaving you on your own for a few measly hours—at The League, crammed together in a singular red booth or huddled around the bar, legs swinging off the glittering, cracked stools as they speak in hushed voices and shuffle around crumpled papers, with fraying edges and folded veins.

It’s difficult for you to keep up with their conversations, something you assume they do purposefully, and you find yourself constantly drowning in a sea of numbers—weights and dollars—and foreign language; keys and eightballs, freebasing and black tar.

You’re rarely allowed in the cellar—the lab—but you don’t really mind, much happier to ignorantly munch away on a cookie or lick at a melting sundae, far from the harsh chemical smell and the chalky bricks and the soft mountains of powder.

These meetings span several hours, and often consist of Jin or Himiko periodically checking up on you, delivering a Daddy-approved meal—some sort of soup or salad or satayed meat with steamed rice and seasonal veggies—about halfway through the night.

It is during these moments, when you are finally, truly and completely alone, that you find yourself most frequently texting your brother.

Dabi knows, of course, because Dabi knows everything, has caught you more than once, not only at the diner, but at home too, snuggled up in his bed with your phone pressed to your face, or in his car, with your knees pressed to your chest and the device cradled in your palms.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even tried to hide it from him. In your mind, there really wasn’t a reason to.

Sure, Keigo had lost control and hit you, and yes, Keigo’s addiction has been spiralling into unrestrained depths, but he’s still your brother—still all you have, all each other has—and you thought Dabi would understand that, at least in some capacity.

You’re not sure how you could’ve ever been so stupid.

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time he brings it up is after one of your frequent moviegoing excursions at the drive-in—a double feature of Sunset Boulevard + A Fistful of Dollars this time, the pungent scent of buttersalt popcorn still steeped in the fabric of your dress, mouths smudged with a purple tint—an amalgamation of interspersed saliva infused with candied blue and pink dyes, respectively—your phone screen flooded with messages from Keigo; questions about your opinion on the stupid western you had barely paid any attention to, and suggestions that you come see a movie with him, too, sometime soon.

“I just—I don’t get it,” you’re mumbling through a pout as Dabi guides you through the apartment door, a stifled sigh heavy in his lungs.

You’ve been going in circles the entire car ride home, and you can tell he’s beginning to get irritated, shoulders tight and pinched, voice wavering under the strain of keeping calm.

“It isn’t a difficult concept to grasp, princess.”

“But—I—I’m not living there anymore, anyway,” you attempt to reason, the fact coming out as more of a whiny protest. “Why can’t I at least meet up with him?”

“You seriously don’t get it?” Dabi’s asking, though his voice is soft, large hands finding your shoulders and squeezing, thumbs rubbing lopsided circles into your skin.

Shaking your head, your pout deepens, puckering your chin and crinkling your brow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice turned sickly sweet, drenched in condescension and encrusted with sugar. “It’s for his own good, and yours.”

“How?” you cry, frantic eyes darting across his face, searching for the answers in his glinting eyes and twitching grin. “How is me just—just ignoring him and forcing him to fend for himself good for either of us?”

With a short chuckle, Dabi shakes his head, pressing down on your shoulders and perching you on the edge of his—your—bed.

“You answered your own question, baby.”

“I’m serious, Dabi.”

“So am I,” he responds curtly, smile melting from his face as his eyes narrow slightly. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for your pretty little head to comprehend. I told you already; Keigo needs to hit rock bottom before he can begin getting better. You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe out instantly, head nodding in short quick motions.

Of course you do; you want Keigo to be healthy, you want Keigo to be ridded of this demon hollowing out his organs and filling his veins with poison, you want to go home, to the only home you’ve ever known, the only home you’ve ever had, warm and golden and bright like the sun.

“Then you have to let him do this on his own. By giving into his demands—any of his demands, even the seemingly innocuous ones, like seeing you for an hour or two to watch a film or have dinner—you are continuing to enable him; you are continuing to give him what he wants,” pausing, sapphire sweeps across your face slowly, allowing your brain to absorb his words. “You are continuing to tell him that it’s okay, that you’ll still be here even after all he’s done to you, even if he doesn’t change or make amends. But, baby,” a rough palm cups your cheek, thumb hooked firmly behind your jaw, inhibiting your gaze from straying from his. “He will never hit true rock bottom if you continue to give him access to you.”

“But—But he—” A hiccup cuts you off, sharp and vicious and startling your body as it hitches in your chest. “He probably isn’t eating, you know. He probably isn’t—isn’t cleaning his track marks, or drinking enough water, either.”

“He probably isn’t,” Dabi agrees simply. “Because you used to do all of those things for him.”

Salt stings your eyes, vision going blurry with thick tears. Sticky guilt, dense and suffocating, unfurls in your chest, engulfing your heart in its tarry embrace and squeezing.

Is that true? Have you been enabling him this entire time by simply taking care of him? Allowing him to live in relative comfort as you cooked and cleaned, nagged and negotiated?

“En—Enabling him?” your face twists, features screwed up and sour, despite the rapidly sinking barbed panic in your stomach. “But—No! I was just trying to help!”

Dabi barks out a short laugh, loud and absurd.

“No, sweetheart,” he begins, his voice turned caustic. “No. Helping would’ve been telling your parents about his rapidly raging addition. Helping would’ve been bringing this to the University’s attention and stripping him of all his false achievements and awards. Helping would’ve been working in tandem with all these authorities to enrol him in a program. Helping would’ve been leaving him, the moment he began to take advantage of you.”

A beat of silence grows, stretches, wavers, hanging heavy in the air between you, Dabi’s eyes following a tear streaming down your cheek with a sort of pitiful apathy, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance as your head shakes to indicate that you don’t understand, or don’t agree, face puckered in defiant confusion.

“Cooking his meals, fucking spoon-feeding him, cleaning his track marks, doing his laundry, keeping the house spotless—including the paraphernalia I’m sure he left lying around—and covering for him by verifying his lies to your parents about where those massive sums of money keep disappearing off to…None of that was helping. At least, not in the way you thought it was.”

Bitter remorse churns in your stomach, crawls up your throat and claws at the back of your tongue, confusion melting into horror as you realize that he’s right.

Because that’s not all; Dabi doesn’t even know the half of it. Dabi doesn’t know about the papers and assignments you completed for him when he was too high to finish them himself, out of fear of him losing that precious scholarship, or tarnishing his sterling reputation with late work.

Dabi doesn’t know about the money you used to give him, taken from your own monthly allowance when his own ran out a little too early—Just this once, princess, promise I’ll pay you back; though it was never ‘just this once’, and he never did pay you back—when he hadn’t budgeted his habit properly and you were too terrified of the inevitable withdrawal looming in the murky distance, sick with dread at the mere thought of him having to go through that.

Dabi doesn’t know about the times you skipped class to sit in his bed with his head in your lap, feeding him teaspoons of water in an attempt to keep him hydrated on those rare occasions where he did slip into that hellish withdrawal.

“He needs me,” you argue weakly, voice small and shattered, sentiment slathered with spit.

“Clearly, he needs heroin more.”

And that hurts, because it’s true. Because no matter what you say or what you do, no matter how much you shout and scream and cry and threaten, Keigo seems to prefer heroin, every time.

“He has chosen heroin over you many times,” Dabi continues, words echoing your thoughts, calloused palm smoothing your hair back from your forehead, voice snapped back to the Perfect Boyfriend edition, soft and soothing. “Because you continued to stay anyway; because he knew he could get away with it. But now, now it’s different; now you’re gone, and he’s all alone with his prized addiction.”

“I’m so scared, Daddy, I’m so, so scared. What if he—”

“If you truly love him, you’ll let him do this on his own,” Dabi whispers, both palms pressed to your cheeks now, forcing your trembling head still, holding your stare captive.

Something flashes in his eyes, a melancholic glimmer of knowledge that catches in the dim yellow light, vanishing a mere moment later, drowned in a sea of tumultuous sapphire.

Really, you suppose Dabi’s right, suppose what he’s saying makes sense, but it’s still difficult to accept, lodged like a hard, stubborn lump of lead in your throat.

Even if what Dabi says is true, you can’t seem to eradicate the terror that bubbles deep in your tummy at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself and survive on his own, fragments of the most grotesque scenarios slashing through your mind; Keigo bloated and blue with a needle stuck in his arm, Keigo face down in a pool of his own vomit, Keigo pale and cold and hard to the touch, dressed in his best suit and encased in varnished rosewood, surrounded by wreaths of flowers with those topaz eyes closed, never to be bright again.

Nausea swells, boiling up your esophagus, but you shove it back down, coughing around a wrecked little sob that rips itself to pieces in your throat. Dabi clicks his tongue in a sort of patronizing sympathy, strong arms encompassing your form and pulling you onto his lap, cradling you to his chest.

“This is his punishment,” Dabi speaks clearly over your crying, chest vibrating against your ear. “He needs to hit an all-time-low and seek help on his own; you can’t do this for him, no matter how badly you wish you could.”

“Why can’t you just stop giving it to him,” you weep into his neck, fingers tangling in the cotton of his t-shirt, his feigned gasp startling you slightly.

“That would be worse,” he pulls back to look at you, azure eyes serious. “Baby, that would be worse.”

“How?” you whisper, the question wobbling with your bottom lip, the teardrops clinging to your clumped lashes glittering as you blink them away.

“Because my shit’s pure, you know? My shit’s the best. Think about it: if I stop supplying to him, he’s just going to go look for it somewhere else, isn’t he? Would you rather he turn to some unknown dealer? Someone who probably cuts their shit with massive unregulated amounts of fentanyl?”

No, you suppose you wouldn’t.

“That could be so dangerous,” he continues in that same placating lilt, fingers rhythmically climbing the notches of your spine as your face snuggles back against his collarbone. “And besides, I gotta eat too, don’t I?”

You’re pretty sure losing a single client wouldn’t be detrimental to his business, but you don’t know just how much Keigo spends on drugs, so you keep quiet, nodding again.

“At any rate, it’d probably be best to limit your contact with him as much as possible. It does more harm than good, making this whole nightmare more messy and harder on everyone than it has to be, yeah?”

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, that thick guilt devouring your insides, swallowing down your lungs and heart in its glutinous voracity, acrid as it sludges up your throat.

Is that true, too? Are you inconsiderate for wanting to talk to him, to be in contact with him, to check up on him? Is it wrong to do these things? To continue to allow him access and attention? Does it really just make it all worse for everyone, Keigo especially? Does it inhibit his potential to get better?

“This is what’s best for both of you, princess,” Dabi murmurs, tender voice pulling you from your sea of thoughts, his familiar voice eliciting an automatic, mindless nod from you. “I promise.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Sitting on that small slab of concrete porch wedged in front of that tiny white house, dismal topaz eyes watch as small rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado, the large car grumbling to a stop with a shudder. Silence. Then: the slam of a car door, the jingling of boot buckles, footsteps stalking, almost catlike, up the paved driveway, coming to a stop a few meters away.

Finally, Keigo stands, gazing at Dabi from beneath grease-matted curls, thumbs hooked in the edges of his denim pockets, waiting.

“Christ,” Dabi snorts around a cigarette, lips curled into a smirk as he scans Kegio’s form. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Keigo says with a half shrug, a hand floundering aimlessly.

He knows he looks terrible; sunken pools of patchy violet encasing his eyes, hair so dirty it hurts at the roots, grime framing his fingernails in a grotesque grey-green.

His coaches comment on it all, at least once a week or so, and can always manage to coax him into showering at the gym while delivering lecture after lecture about why he can’t let himself slip like this, and how he has to stop being so Goddamn obvious now, but Keigo is finding it increasingly more difficult to care. What’s the point, if you’re not here? Why keep up any semblance of normalcy, why put any effort into the facade at all, if you’re not here to see it?

Dabi’s still talking, he realizes dully, jabbering on in that infuriatingly apathetic drawl, though there’s something else there, something razored and sharp glinting just beneath the surface, the unmistakable blade of personal offence.

“—Though I suppose it’s what you deserve,” Dabi’s saying, Keigo’s ears finally tuning into his frequency. “Y’know, being a fucking abusive asshole and all that.”

“I’m not—” Keigo begins, then he exhales, eyes closing briefly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Oh? But you meant to slap her, yes?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean to do any of it at all.”

Dabi laughs, a booming echo that bounces off the cars and the house and reverberates in Keigo’s bones, harsh and brutal and unforgiving. The sapphire flames flickering in his eyes flare, glimmering with hatred.

“What are you talking about, you didn’t mean to do any of it? How the fuck do you manage to accidentally backhand someone so hard you leave scars?”

Scars? Keigo’s forehead crinkles. Had he really hit you with that much force? Were his rings, in that moment of rage and self loathing ringing tinny in his ears, sharp enough to have cut you that deeply? With a frown, Keigo shakes his head a little, swallowing weakly against the thick, slimy saliva that has pooled at the back of his tongue.

“Listen. I—I messed up, alright? I messed up,” a large hand cards roughly through golden curls, glinting dimly under the overcast sky. “I messed up,” he repeats, quieter. It’s silent for a moment, then his head snaps up, topaz eyes blazing. “It was only one time, goddamn it. You—You can’t tell me you haven’t fucked up before, too, Dabi,”

“One time? One time?” Dabi throws his half-finished cigarette to the ground. “Oh yeah? And those finger-shaped marks encircling her wrist, were those only one time too? The Keigo-sized handprint on her back, was that only one time as well? What about the bruises on her hips, or the blotches on her thighs? The fingerprints on her arms? Were they all just one time? How many one times have you had, exactly, Keigo?”

Keigo’s mouth drops open, closed, then open again, a pathetic, hurt little sound strangling itself in his throat, aggression melting into guilt-soaked shame, humbling the ugly crease between his brows.

Thunder roils in the distance, faint yet menacing, a warning growl of what’s to come.

“And I would never hit her, you bastard,” Dabi continues, his voice sharp and sure, calm and confident. “I would never lay my fucking hands on her precious skin.”

“No, no of course not,” he sneers bitterly. “No, you’re fine with simple emotional manipulation.”

“Better than physical abuse.”

”Is it?” Keigo questions, amber eyes suddenly bright, burning. “Will she still love you as much when she finds out what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been treating me? Treating her? Ping-ponging us around like this, using each other as bait for your sick little game? Because she will find out, Dabi.”

“I mean, she still loves you, doesn’t she?” Dabi retorts, the sentiment soiling his mouth, face screwed up in abhorrence.

A sharp exhale escapes flared nostrils and Keigo looks away, jaw clenching hard as he tries in vain to swallow his words, to suppress his vulnerability, to not hand Dabi yet another weapon to shred and stab and brand him with.

Except, irregardless of his desperate attempt, he can’t seem to keep that ambition locked safe and secure behind a cage of bone, the words prying their way past clenched teeth and pressed lips as if they need to be spoken, as if they need to be heard.

“I hope,” he mutters, so quietly Dabi nearly misses it.

He scoffs with a humorless laugh, appraising eyes raking over Keigo’s hunched form in a way that makes Keigo feel exposed, Dabi’s razor glare tearing him open, slicing through flesh and bone and bearing his soul to the man in front of him.

“She does,” he finally spits in an almost begrudging manner, like he’s upset about it, like the words have bitten his tongue and forced their way out licked-raw lips. “Trust me,”

A reprehensible little spark ignites in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, and he does his best not to douse it in hopeful gasoline.

Carefully, as if navigating a field of land mines, Keigo speaks, aiming to keep his voice placid, that despicable little tremor sewn into his tone imbuing his words with a certain type of pleading.

“Listen, I—I need her back, Dabi,”

“Oh, need, huh? It’s a need now, is it?”

“It’s always been a need.”

“No,” Dabi shakes his head with a tut of his tongue, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, it hasn’t. It’s always been a want; heroin has always been the need here, Keigo. Don’t kid yourself.”

“I—” his voice splinters, and he clears his throat, hacking up the words. “I need her, too,”

“Not badly enough to quit, you don’t.”

An eyebrow raises in mocking question, daring Keigo to refute his statement, but his azure eyes look bored, as if they’ve been through this a million times already, as if Keigo’s some stupid child who just can’t seem to grasp a simple concept.

Maybe he is.

“It’s more complicated than that and you fucking know it.”

It’s supposed to come out strong, firm in it’s conviction, but the sentence wavers, a mirage in the desert, translucent and unstable.

“There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it,” Dabi snorts, and although there’s mirth playing in his eyes, sapphire shimmering with amusement, his features are anything but, his brows lifted ever-so-slightly and his mouth set in a slant as he digs through his coat pocket. “You love her, right?”

“Of course,”

“More than heroin?”

“More than anything,” Keigo says instantly.

“Prove it.”

Tugging his hand free from the depths of his jacket, Dabi’s fist unfurls, long fingers stretching out to reveal a bulging baggie stuffed with white powder, sitting prim and perfect in his palm.

China white.

Keigo hasn’t used China white in a long time—it’s purer, as pure as it comes, really, as pure as you can get it on the street, and a hell of a lot more expensive because of it. It’s the fucking best, the warmest, safest paradise he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing, but Keigo’s had to resort to the sugary brown smack when his father had noticed the large sums disappearing from Keigo’s bank account a little too frequently, his suspicion growing when he discovered Keigo didn’t actually own any of the expensive sports equipment he had claimed to spend it on.

The blood in his veins itches, having sprouted tiny little thorns at the sight of his beloved, eager to scratch their way through the capillaries, to puncture tiny little holes and welcome an old friend home.

“What—” he begins, swallowing stickily, his throat dry. “What are you—”

“Prove it,” Dabi repeats, irritation bleeding into his tone, fingers wiggling a little in enticement. “I’ll give you this entire bag, free of charge, if you want it.” A pause, a moment for Keigo to digest the offer. “Or,” he continues in an amicable nonchalance. “You can choose to have your sister return home.”

Blinking several times, Keigo shakes his head as if he doesn’t understand, a frown toying with the corners of his lips. “You’re—You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Dabi assures him, shuffling his palm a little, the baggie jiggling happily.

The head shaking has become more vigorous now, his dirty golden tufts bouncing with the motion. “Bullshit,” he says, but his voice is weak, wobbling with the quiver snuggling into his chin. “There’s no way you’re giving that up for free. That’s—”

“I am,” Dabi cuts him off, impatient. “Make a decision. Dope, or your baby sister. You can’t have both, Keigo.”

Unblinking honeyed eyes stare at the bag, his nose twitching twice, large hands curled into tight, trembling fists. The fragment of a memory slashes through his mind—this same situation, this same offer, this same mistake, the afternoon Dabi took you, cautious sun hiding behind misty clouds.

But it’s beautiful, white as powdered sugar and infinitely sweeter, its plastic housing glinting in the grey light, comforting and familiar. Its allure envelopes him, soft caresses like a precious old friend, whispering enchanting promises of the most potent bliss, phantom as it twines itself through his blood, rushes through his body and sets it all at ease, makes it all alright, devouring all of his problems like the most delicious corrosive, melting his brain to a euphoric mush.

Finally, his glassy gaze meets Dabi’s, eyes shielded thickly with salt water, balancing precariously on his lash line.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s only when Keigo’s walking away, hand cupped protectively around the large bag in his pocket, shoulders caving in as they shudder with half-swallowed sobs, that Dabi calls out to him.

“Hey, Keigo, don’t shoot your regular amount, yeah? That shit’s more potent than what your body is accustomed to.”

His steps falter at the sound of Dabi’s voice, the soft mud molding to the soles of his sneakers, the smooth muscles of his back tensing as he listens. It’s difficult to tell whether Dabi’s concern is genuine or mocking, his tone seeming to fall somewhere between the two, wavering on the line of distinction and blurring it significantly.

After a moment of hesitation, he nods, just once, wordlessly and without a glance back.

Keigo knows how to fucking use it.

A jaded flush of revulsion courses through his body, hands trembling with the enticement of a fix: beautiful, breathtaking, jumping daintily just out of his reach, calling to him with a soft smile and pretty eyes, come catch me, come catch me, I’m here, I’m yours.

He feels fucking disgusting.

He feels disgusting as he shuts the door on Dabi, disgusting as he collapses on the couch with his little wooden box of paraphernalia, disgusting as he holds a warped, blackened spoon over a tiny flame, substance bubbling delicately.

He feels disgusting, but it’s okay, his true love vowing to make it go away, to take the pain and turn it into pleasure tenfold, to wipe his mind free of anything other than a sick paradise.

He can hear his own breath, shaky and urgent, echoing around him, eyes intent on his methodical actions. Anticipation rises in his chest as he draws the liquid into the syringe. Rubber cuts into his flesh, tied tight, tighter, veins popped and prominent, inner elbow embellished with pinpricks of red. The welcomed sting of the needle puncturing skin—press, push, pull—a gush of warmth surging through his veins a mere moment later.

And everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine.

✰ ✰ ✰

Irregardless of your Daddy’s stern warning, and how you, for the most part, agree with it, you struggle to find the strength, the conviction, to fully cut ties with your brother. It’s too much, too scary to lose contact with the only person who shares your blood, to purposefully allow him to aimlessly flounder on his own without an anchor. You’ve drawn back drastically, of course, taking care to text him only every few days, just to check in on him, to make sure he’s still breathing, and to reassure him that you are safe.

But you hadn’t truly realized the severity of your actions, and how much it genuinely upset Dabi, until one dreary night in October, with the constant drizzle of rain from an impossibly cloudless sky, deep navy and glowing with the silver light of a nearly full moon.

The steady drool of raindrops paint the whole atmosphere in a sort of dreamy haze, softening edges and blurring lines until its all kind of melted into one another, the void sky dripping into the neon city line dripping into the muralled concrete.

It’s wistful in a way, and it makes you ache for home, for your brother and his stupid buddy-cop films and 1950s westerns, and the roar of your antique fireplace, harmonizing with the splash of rain against stone.

Swallowing past the dazed memory that has lodged itself in your throat, you pull your phone from your bag, thumb hovering over Keigo’s name.

You know it’s wrong, you know you shouldn’t, you know Dabi would be absolutely furious if you did, but you can’t quell the deep, dull pulsating twinge burrowing in your chest, a specific type of gnawing that isn’t sharp or quick but prolonged and painful, a tender pang that seems to grow with each passing second until it engulfs you entirely, until your whole body hurts, and you want nothing more than to be back in the haven of that small white house, back in the safety of your brothers arms.

As it turns out, though, he saves you from having to make that difficult decision, just as he always does, just as big brothers are supposed to, the gentle vibrations of your phone jolting through your palm.

You fumble in your haste to answer, his name flashing in large white letters across the screen procuring a rush of thick tears to flood your eyes, his honorific a jumbled mess of letters on your tongue.

He breathes your name into the receiver, and it’s so heavy you swear you can feel his breath caressing your ear.

How long has it been since you’ve heard him say your name? Since you’ve heard him say anything at all?

That ache digging through your chest finally hits your core and cracks it wide open, clean in two, releasing a sob so ferocious it rattles your ribs and shreds your throat, your free hand slapping over your mouth in a pitiful attempt to muffle it.

The torrent of tears is so dense now you can barely see at all, the watery shield rendering your vision nothing more than an incoherent blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it, crystalline drops streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Keigo is saying, his voice cracking on the other line, full of static and emotion. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I—”

“I miss you so much,” you inadvertently finish his sentence, the words weeped out. “I miss you so, so much, Kei,”

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you can almost see him with his eyes squeezed shut, with his phone clutched tightly to his head. “The rain made me think of you.”

The sentiment conjures up a wet laugh, and you brush more tears from your eyes, little droplets clinging to your lashes and clumping them together in large spikes.

“It made me think of you, too,” you admit. “And your dumb cowboy movies,”

“They aren’t dumb,” he shoots back, semi-defensively. “I know you secretly love them,”

“In your dreams! They bore me to death,”

“And yet, you still watch them with me,” he hums in mock contemplation.

“Yeah, because I love you, stupid,”

Your laughter twines together, sharp thorns of longing stabbing at your lungs. For a moment, you can almost trick yourself into thinking everything is okay, everything is back to normal—that you’re just out on a date with Dabi and will be home to your peppermint pink room and loving nii-san before the night is over—the effortless banter the two of you settle into lulling you into a second of complacency before reality tears through it, with sharp claws and gnashing teeth.

“How are you?” You ask, your tone suddenly more urgent, the words flying from your mouth at a rapid pace. “Have you been eating? Have you been—Have you been cleaning them?”

The heaviness of the situation seems to weigh on Keigo, too, and he clears his throat roughly.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he coughs around the words. “‘Course I am,”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Keigo. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying?”

The line goes silent, embellished with the occasional pop or hiss of static, and your tongue withers in your mouth, saliva gone pungent and sour.

“I’m trying,” he finally responds, his voice tiny and tired. “I’m doing the best I can. It’s hard when…” his voice fades into nothing, but you know what he was going to say.

It’s hard when you aren’t here.

“Hey,” he begins after several prolonged minutes of silence, in that soft, sweet, coaxing voice you know so well. “Why don’t you come back home, yeah? I promise I’ll—” his voice cuts off abruptly.

He promises he’ll what? He’ll stop? He’ll get help? He’ll get better? Get clean?

If there’s one thing you know for certain about your brother, it’s that he never makes a promise he can’t keep.

The thought inspires a flash of sharp, scalding anger to slice through your chest, but you stuff it down, contain it in the recesses of your belly, to smoulder and simmer, teeth grinding together as you exhale a slow breath and try to keep your voice from trembling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

The question is whiny and petulant, and that fury blazes in your stomach, another deep, controlled breath shoving it down again.

“I can’t, Keigo,” you repeat, this time stronger, this time firmer, the words searing your tongue, red hot from that bubbling rage blistering your insides. “I-I won’t. I won’t sit there and watch you kill yourself,”

“No,” he spits bitterly, so harshly the word bites your ear. “No, you’ll just leave me to die, and let your boyfriend do it,”

The accusation, and the fierce brutality of it, stuffed full of venomous hatred, causes you to sputter for a moment, an indignant noise catching on the back of your tongue.

He isn’t pushing that needle in your vein! You want to scream, the words turning to vaporized ghosts in your throat, murdered on sight by Dabi’s sudden emergence from the cellar.

“Who are you talking to?” Dabi asks, his voice calm and cold, the blood roaring in your ears simulating alarm bells.

You don’t even need to say it.

Frost coats your veins, extinguishing your anger and freezing your blood, rendering your body immobile save for the gentle quivering of your puckered chin, the sweet trembling of your jutted bottom lip, the infinitesimal shake of your head.

With a heavy sigh, one that heaves his chest and rolls his eyes, Dabi stalks towards you, rubber soles of his boots colliding with the tiled floors echoing the throbbing in your head, and pries your phone from your fingers.

Keigo’s talking, you think, just an unintelligible mumble of his voice flowing through your speakers, but you can’t make out what he’s trying to say, his stream of words cut off bluntly as Dabi’s thumb jabs the red END button.

He places the device on the table in front of you, eyes cold as concrete, actions slow and deliberate, before turning, almost mechanically, to continue his discussion with his friends.

You aren’t sure how much longer you stay at The League, brain nearly comatose with the situation that just occurred, limbs feeling numb and stiff as your watery eyes stare at the speckled table top, not daring to touch the incessantly vibrating device until it’s time to leave.

Finally Dabi’s hoisting you up, one large hand wrapped tightly around your elbow, and dragging you out towards his car, your feet stumbling as your toes trip over the shining asphalt.

The rain feels refreshing on your skin, the sensation restoring some calm to you, but it is a short-lived relief, strong calloused hands shoving you into the passengers seat only a moment later before slamming the door so hard the entire car shakes.

The drive home is terse with silence, sharp and suffocating, your breathing laboured yet soft, as if you’re afraid that too large, too loud a breath may shatter the thin veil of serenity cast across his face.

You steal glances at him as he navigates the city streets, unblinking eyes glaring at the road, jaw methodically flexing and unflexing, undoubtedly flowing with his thoughts.

He doesn’t speak as he hauls you from the car, doesn’t speak as he drags you up four flights of stairs, doesn’t speak as he pushes you into the apartment, exhaling a slow, controlled breath as the door bangs shut behind him.

And then, he begins.

The air around him has changed, dense with anger. You can feel it radiating off him in thick, cresting waves, fumes of fury that lave over your body with pinpricks of terror.

“Alright.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” you breathe, clutching the device to your chest.

“You heard me,” Voice icy with a stony resolute, Dabi holds out his palm expectantly, fingers crooking in enticement when you don’t immediately obey. “Give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats in disbelief, eyes widening, as if it’s astonishing that you are this stupid. “Because you are still giving him fucking access to you!”

“Dabi!” you cry, phone cradled tightly in both palms, the screen digging into your collarbone. “I can’t just—I can’t just give up on him! I can’t just cut him off entirely! What if he needs me? What if it’s an emergency!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that?” Huffing out an incredulous laugh through a sharp smile, he shakes his head, as if he cannot believe your audacity right now. “No wonder he chose heroin again. It’s because you won’t fucking leave him—it’s because he knows you won’t fucking leave him; he’ll never actually lose you, so why bother giving up his true love, right?”

His voice is so mean, so vicious and dripping with venom, acidic words that burn holes through the atmosphere before they sink into your skin and erode.

“You just—You don’t get it,”

“I don’t get it?” Calloused fingers press to his chest, accentuating himself. “I don’t get it? Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t! You—You could never understand what this feels like, what it’s like to have—”

“My mother was an addict,” he cuts you off calmly, and you choke on your own words, slathered in spit and tears. “Yeah, didn’t know that one, did you,” he snaps. “My father drove her to do it—merciless brute of a man—looking for any sort of escape she could grasp. Except that didn’t work so well, because then she got reliant, needed higher and higher doses to function, to feel okay, and then the psychosis kicked in, and she poured a kettle-worth of boiling water on her youngest child.”

“I—” blinking in quick succession, your head shakes in short little motions, apologies evaporating in your throat. “Dabi, I—”

“The day she left—the day they took her—was the day I ran,” he tells you, voice strong. “The moment she was gone, there was nothing left to tether me to that family.”

His voice holds its conviction, but something flickers in the sapphire of his eyes, a dash of quicksilver, a puff of white.

It’s gone before you can inquire, blinked away with a willful forgetfulness, and then he’s continuing.

“The only one who doesn’t get it is you, sweetheart,” he seethes. “But, I mean, hey, you wanna continue to enable him? Be my fucking guest. You’re only accelerating his date with the reaper,”

“I—I just—” the words hiccup in your throat, thick with emotion. “I just don’t understand why it’s necessary to cease all communication with him!” Your head throbs, eyes shut tight against overwhelming confusion. “I get why I can’t see him, but—but can’t I leave just a thread of communication open? The thinnest, slimmest little line? Just so we can check up on each other every once in a while; just so I can make sure he’s still alive!”

“But that’s exactly the problem! He hasn’t truly lost you if you’re still bothering with him, if you’re still showing him you care!” He shakes his head, irritated. “Look. I’m not going to explain it to you again. I really don’t know how much clearer I can make it; I can’t fucking understand it for you. You are the only thing he has to—”

His voice stops suddenly, a clean cut, the type that occurs when a new thought, a better thought, slices through the previous one. Annoyance melts from his features, revealing something cold, something calculating beneath.

“Actually, that’s not exactly true, is it? You may be the most important thing he stands to lose, but you aren’t the only thing he has to lose, are you?”

Keigo’s scholarship.

Your head begins to shake—a small, automatic motion—as you blink furiously, watching as Dabi paces.

“They hide it pretty well for him, don’t they? My father, all those coaches and trainers and doctors.” He says this casually enough, but you can hear it, that sharp malicious edge of a threat buried beneath his amicable tone. “He must be making them a helluva lot of money, huh. Only a matter of time until someone slips up, though. Only a matter of time until the truth comes out.”

Sapphire glints with the implied threat, blood turned frigid in your veins.

“You wouldn’t.” You say, and although the words are supposed to be strong, assured, but they come out brittle and quivering.

“Oh, but wouldn’t I? He has to lose everything, remember? Don’t you think that includes his cherished sports scholarship?” Blinking, his head tilts, as if he’s expecting an actual answer. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even perform in such a condition.”

“Well—He only shoots just enough to keep from being sick on race days,” you mumble, eyes fleeing his blazing stare, nails ruthlessly picking at your cuticles. To be honest, you had wondered the same thing, several times in the past. “And I think…The coaches, they give him something. Something else; little tablets. Uh, orange.”

A look of recognition glazes Dabi’s features, smirk curling in on itself.

“Interesting. So he’s got a whole system set up and figured out, does he?” Dabi shrugs. “Well, it’s just a matter of time anyway. No addict can keep up the facade of normalcy forever. I mean, wouldn’t I be doing him a favour? Ripping that bandaid off hard and fast, forcing him to—”

“No, Dabi, please,” you breathe, head snapping up. “Not—Anything but the scholarship. Anything. I—Racing is so important to him.”

“All the more reason to—”

“Please,” you hiccup, glassy eyes pleading with him. “Don’t take this from him.”

Racing is the last—albeit light—anchor that’s keeping Keigo from floating away entirely. The thought of Dabi ripping it out from under him all because you were too selfish, all because you refused to give up the luxury of being able to contact him, hurts more than you can bear.

Dabi’s smirk turns sinister, creeping out from edges of his expertly crafted mask of concern. “Give me your fucking phone, then.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Over the next few weeks, you only see your phone once—despite knowing Dabi keeps it on his person at all times—in the subdued twilight of the autumn nights, fuchsia haze painted across Dabi’s walls diluted by the pollution of the city, Dabi’s shadowy figure crossing through it as he fishes the tirelessly vibrating device from his pocket.

“Hello?” he had answered, calm, composed. “No, she can’t come to the phone right now…No, she won’t be able to come to the phone for a long while; I think it’d be best if you’d stop calling.”

Tap, click, silence.

And, just like that, the vibrating ceases.

✰ ✰ ✰

“You’re a fucking bastard, y’know that?” Keigo’s growling the moment Dabi’s Cadillac pulls into the empty high school parking lot, soles of his sneakers stomping across the cracked concrete, the slaps echoing among the vast, empty space, pinched face illuminated by Dabi’s headlights. “A deranged fucking psycho,”

“Oh yeah?” Dabi questions, voice calm and flat as he climbs out of his car. “And why’s that?”

“Taking her fucking phone away, as if you have any authority at all to do such a thing,” he spits, features twisted in abhorrence, acid dripping off his tongue. “That’s her only line of communication—”

“To you. I know.” He taps out a cigarette from a veiny Marlboro box. “That’s why I had to confiscate it; she’s made it very clear to me that she cannot handle having access to it.”

“Cannot handle having access to it—what the fuck?”

Dabi fixes him with an unimpressed glare, face blank. “She doesn’t know how to obey simple rules. Seems like the two of you have that in common.”

“You better give it back.”

Finally, Dabi cracks a smile, half-stifled snort scrunching his nose. “Oh? Or else, what?”

“I’ll get my father involved.”

A scornful laugh twines around the cigarette perched between his teeth, Dabi nodding as he cups the flame of his zippo, words slightly muddled. “You’re a comedian tonight, aren’t you,”

“I’m serious,” Keigo snarls, but his voice tremors ever-so-slightly, and Keigo can practically see Dabi’s ears perk up, eyebrows raised a trifle in falsified surprise.

“Oh?” he asks, question exhaled with a puff of smoke, Dabi squinting at the blonde through the cloud. “Are you? And then, what? You think you’ll get off scot-free just because you’re the Chief’s son?” With a tsk, Dabi shakes his head in mock sympathy. “Nah, nah, nah, pretty boy. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just as guilty as I am, and I’m sure your sterling father would be devastated to discover he has such a pathetic junkie for a son.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sacrificing myself, too, if it puts you behind bars,” Keigo growls, eyes flashing with topaz sparks.

“Don’t be stupid, Keigo. You do something like that and I might just do something equally as idiotic: I might just replace those pretty pink pills she takes every day—you know the ones, taken at the same time each day—with a pack of sugar pills, because Christ, wouldn’t she look so beautiful with a cute round tummy stuffed full of my spawn?”

“You wouldn’t,” Keigo says, though he doesn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounds.

“Why not? Our baby would be gorgeous, don’t you think?” Dabi muses, almost wistfully, sapphire eyes turned to mist. “My eyes, her hair; my nose, her lips…Perfection.”

“You’d ruin the rest of your life with a kid,” he hisses, words sharp but raspy with desperation.

“Ruin?” Dabi questions, and he sounds genuinely surprised, blinking twice. “How would having a child with the love of my life—and binding her to me for at least the next eighteen years—ruin anything at all?”

Keigo’s breath is coming quicker now, harsh and uneven as it rushes down his raw throat, vision beginning to blur with stinging salt. Dabi’s calm is infuriating, head quirked to the side as if he had asked Keigo a sincere question that demands a sincere answer, eyes glinting smugly, something like arrogant satisfaction tugging at a corner of his lips.

A half-baked response sputters on the back of his tongue, lead sinking toxic and heavy in his stomach as he realizes that he cannot win this game against Dabi, whole resolve crumbling to ash.

“I just—Please, Dabi, for God’s sake, I just want to talk to my sister,” the words are whiny and cracked, not a request but a plead.

“You can,” Dabi responds with a shrug of indifference, juxtaposed by the rapidly growing grin on his face. “It’s simple, really. All you have to do is stop being a fucking addict. But you can’t even do that, huh? Not even for your precious princess of a baby sister. Pathetic, that’s what you are.”

A forceful exhale, sharp and strong, halts the twitching of Keigo’s nose, his chin puckered with the trembling of his bottom lip, jaw flexing as he swallows down the excess saliva collecting on his tongue.

The world has turned into a quivering, blurry haze, objects turned to abstract, avant-grade versions of their former selves, with wiggling lines and blurred edges, lights diffused to massless, shapeless entities.

He refuses to blink, determined to keep the tears obstructing his vision safely behind his lashes, though every word that falls from Dabi’s lips drives that stake of disgust further into his soul.

Because regardless of whatever personal qualms Keigo has with Dabi and Dabi has with Keigo, he’s right. It’s true, it’s all true, and why can’t Keigo quit already? Why is he having so much trouble with this? Everything has always come so easy for Keigo, why isn’t this the same? Why can’t he quit?

“You clearly love heroin a hell of a lot more than you love her,” Dabi continues in that same insouciant lilt, though sadistic amusement sparkles in his eyes. “If you didn’t you would’ve already quit by now, right?”

Keigo shakes his head, choking on his own tears. “I’m trying.”

“Are you? Then why’d you meet me tonight? Why’d you call me two days ago, asking for another two fucking grams?”

Why? Why is Keigo in love with such poison? Why can’t Keigo kick the habit? Get help? Be better? Why can’t Keigo find the strength, the motivation, the willpower to go through with it for good? Why does the thought of never shooting up again fucking terrify him, crack his heart in two and devour the pieces in a bottomless black hole?

“Do you know how much she cries over you?” Dabi spits, eyes narrowed, throwing his cigarette at Keigo’s feet. “Do you know how much fucking pain you put my baby through? Why do you want to see her, when all you do is upset her?”

“I need to see her,” Keigo croaks, the words mechanical at this point, tears streaming down his face.

“Why would I ever allow you access to her again? Why would I subject her to that? She doesn’t deserve that, does she?”

So many whys, all echoing through his head, all in your voice. Why did he do it? Why did he start? Why didn’t he quit when it was early, when he was ahead? Why can’t he quit now? Why can’t he switch to something else, something less lethal, something more controlled (as if such a thing has ever existed for a drug addict)? Why does he still want to do this, when it’s destroying his body, destroying his life?

“Does she?” Dabi presses, sharp.

“No,” he weeps. “No, she deserves a good, sober big brother,”

“Exactly,” Dabi seethes. “But her big brother only cares about this.”

He pulls from his car a large ziplock bag, full of small white squares.

Forty little baggies, prim and pretty and perfect, the headlights of Dabi’s car casting a sick, haloed glow around them.

“I took the liberty of separating it into dime bags for you,” Dabi says, though his sounds revolted, face screwed up in bitter disdain, as if his own kindness has left a horrid flavour on his tongue. “So you don’t shoot too much at once and fucking kill yourself.”

Voice evaporating to smoke in his throat, Keigo blanches, gaze glued to the plastic clutched in Dabi’s fist.

It’s hard to believe Dabi’s done such a thing, hard to believe Dabi’s capable of thinking about anyone but himself at all. Keigo’s always thought all of this—this whole act he charades, about caring for you, about caring for Keigo, in some backwards sense—as something for Dabi’s own selfish benefit, some sort of twisted game he’s been playing with some sort of goal or gain in mind. He never thought Dabi actually meant anything he said—the man known to be a stellar actor when he wants to be, not unlike Keigo himself—never thought there was any sort of true emotion or feeling behind those sentiments.

But this—this is something else, this is something different. This is action, effort, separate from mere words.

He coughs on his shock, stuttering out sticky words of thanks, but Dabi merely rolls his eyes, shoving the bag into Keigo’s chest so hard he nearly falls over.

“Don’t fucking thank me,” Dabi snaps, not bothering to look back as he walks towards his car, keys jingling in his palm, fidgety, nervous. “You’re dancing on glass, Keigo, and it’s starting to crack. This shit will kill you one day; there’s no way around it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Christmas comes and goes, your foster parents’ impromptu trip to the Bahamas saving you from having to explain why your boyfriend will not allow you to attend the family Christmas Dinner this year. We’ll have a celebration and exchange gifts in the new year, they promise, but you know it will never come, expensive presents wrapped in luxurious golds and reds doomed to lay in wait for a whole extra twelve months, collecting a fine film of dust in your parents’ basement.

New Years comes and goes, too, the eve of the next year spent surrounded by Dabi’s friends, with the lifeline to your kin held safe and secure in your boyfriend’s pockets.

Idly, you wonder what Keigo might be doing for New Years—he had always taken you and your friends out with him to one of those extravagant parties he always seems to be invited to; will he be going this year, alone for the first time in how many years?

Probably not.

Don’t kid yourself, Tomura had told you, in his special blunt nature, the words somehow simultaneously soothing and stinging. He’s getting high like every other year. Only this time, he’s doing it without you.

He’s probably right.

The thought makes your chest ache, wavering images of your big brother blissfully fucked up on opium, head thrown back against the couch as lidded eyes flit and flutter delicately, a needle still stuck in his arm slithering through your mind. Is he feeling as miserable as you are, right now? Is he feeling as alone, as lonely, as hopeless as you do? Does he miss you nearly as much as you miss him?

These questions grow louder and heavier with each passing day, weighing on your conscious until, finally, something breaks.

It was inevitable. You had both known it was. It was only ever just a matter of time; a matter of when, of how, but never of why.

Everyone knew why.

It’s been building for a while now, chipped bricks stacking atop one another in some sort of sick, precarious game of Tetris, another added with each freedom snatched from you, another added with every panged memory of Keigo.

It’s something innocuous that does it, that finally sends those decaying bricks tumbling down in a heap of dust and rubble, shattering to pieces upon impact and releasing the monster it had housed.

Dabi’s old television flickers idly, murmuring softly to itself as you sit cross-legged on his bed, a textbook between your thighs and a highlighter cap between your teeth. It bathes the small bachelor apartment in faded blues and washed out purples, casting long shadows across the warped wooden floorboards.

You’re barely paying attention, the screen set on some borderline decrepit channel that cycles through old game shows and sitcoms from the 90s, but you’d know that jingle anywhere.

The first few cheerful notes leak through the television’s weak speakers, distorted with the hiss of static, and your head snaps up, a razored little gasp slicing your throat.

It’s a commercial for some sort of gummy fruit snack—a snack that you and Keigo were, admittedly, not usually allowed to have, though your foster mother indulged the two of you on select occasions: when you had been exceptionally well-behaved, or when you had managed to ambush her in the snack aisle at the grocery store, a bright box clutched tightly to your chest as Keigo expertly listed all of the reasons the both of you should be allowed such a treat.

But despite how desperately you wanted to indulge in the treat, the advertisement had mortified you as a child; a sort of grotesque scene consisting of children’s heads exploding into a variety of terrifying fruits subsequent to ingesting the snack. Keigo had teased you about it at first, remarking that someone would have to be a real idiot to think that such a ridiculous thing would actually happen in real life.

Right, you had agreed with a shaky nod, desperate to be as smart and brave as your big brother. Of course, how silly. You were just kidding about being scared, duh.

It wasn’t until he finally got a packet in his palm for the very first time—something he had managed to sweet talk another student into giving him—that he realized how afraid you truly were.

Hey, he had said, golden eyes rippling with worry, such an expression much too serious for a child of his age. It’s alright, it won’t actually happen, he pinky swears.

You had given a small, uneasy nod in response, unable to banish the weariness from your features as you gazed at the colourful little candies.

Look, he plucked one of the gems from his hand, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. I’ll go first, okay?

When nothing happened after he swallowed, his head keeping its normal, human shape, he pushed his palm towards you, gently urging you to try one next.

It’s a sweet memory, one that stings your eyes and burns your throat, fragments of the two of you later joking about the stupid commercial spearing through your mind, Keigo earnestly asking you which fruit you’d want your head to turn into (a strawberry, you had said), this little game becoming increasingly absurd as time went on, answers morphing from strawberries and lemons to gigantic watermelons, too big for your necks to hold.

You glance towards the bathroom door, rendered nothing more than a bleary, wavering rectangle of taupe wood parallel to your spot on the bed.

The shower’s still running, the uneven spray from the old, rusting head hissing against the limestone tiles, symphonic stream interrupted by Dabi’s body as he moves beneath it.

His jeans lay crumpled and abandoned near the foot of the bed, a small mountain of creased black denim on the floor, his trademark white t-shirt curled around them like an ivory reservoir.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you swallow thickly, unblinking gaze trained on the pile of clothing.

You know it’s there, buried deep within the fabric. You know you shouldn’t touch it, know that even if you miraculously manage to get away with using it that he’ll know in an instant, that he’ll be able to tell it’s been moved simply by the way you place it back in it’s cocoon of denim.

But the need to hear Keigo’s voice, even if just for a second or two, is too strong a pull, overriding any sense of judgement or risk assessment.

Your hands tremble while your fingers sift through the jeans, fumbling and unsteady as they dive into the material, finding your phone, at last, in the back right pocket. The screen awakens as you lift it to your face, bright white light straining your eyes.

Quick little pants escape your lips as your thumbs work, hastily scrolling through your contacts until you find his honorific and jab at it three times, rushing blood and ragged breath leaving your ears deaf, muting everything except for the drone that echoes through the phone’s speaker.

It’s halfway through the second ring that the bathroom door swings open and he emerges, steam clinging to his bare chest in crystalline beads, a ratty white towel hanging low on his hips, bones jutting out from beneath the fabric.

Shards of ice form in your veins, sharp and prickly, eyes not leaving his as you wrench the device away from your ear and slam down on the red END button, silencing the voice that was just beginning to answer.

For a moment, everything is still, stiff, silent, your breath held dense and stagnant in your lungs as you wait.

He breaks it with a rancorous little chuckle and a roll of his eyes, scoff dripping with incredulity as he turns towards the small bedside table and pulls open a drawer, rooting around for a pair of clean briefs.

“Whatcha got there, baby?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can see the thorny smirk etched into his face, the corners of his lips twitching with fury. To the untrained ear, his voice would sound painfully indifferent, almost patronizing in a way, as if the current predicament you’ve found yourself in is entirely insignificant. But you can hear it, the notes of anger infused in his tone, boiling just beneath the surface.

You must take too long to answer, response morphing to frost in your throat, because then he’s turning towards you, flames of sapphire raging in his eyes, his glare scathing your skin.

“When Daddy asks you a question, he expects a fucking answer.”

The fire blazing in his eyes thaws your voice and you sputter, choking on the words in your haste to spit them from your mouth.

“I just—I wanted—It’s not, I mean, I wasn’t—”

Head cocking in mock confusion, he frowns and furrows his brow, the inferno in his stare still scalding.

“You just, what?”

The soles of his bare feet slap against the hardwood as he prowls towards you, each movement slow, steady, calculated.

“You wanted, what?”

The sound echoes out among the small apartment, sick and sharp, and he shrugs, eyebrows raising as if enticing an answer from you.

“You weren’t, what?”

Finally, he reaches you, his thighs mere inches from your face, azure glowering down the slope of his nose.

“Huh?”

“I—I miss him, Daddy,” you nearly wail, harsh sniffles sandwiched between your words. “I just wanted to—to hear his voice, just for a moment, I swear, I didn’t mean to break the rules, I don’t—I’m not trying to be bad, I promise, there was just this commercial, and—”

“Excuses,” Dabi spits, features warped with aversion, squinted eyes and a screwed up mouth. “You know, I do so much for you. I do so much for you, and all I ask is that you obey a few simple ground rules, so I can keep you fucking safe,” a pause, a harsh breath, “and what do you do? You continue to treat me with this—this blatant disrespect: you spit in my face, you sneak around behind my back, you lie to me—”

“I’m not lying!” you squeal, free hand pawing at his denim-clad thigh. “I promise you on my life, on Keigo’s life—”

“Well that’s not worth much,”

“—that I’m telling you the honest truth!” your voice cracks with earnest, and Dabi scoffs, stepping back from your vying fingers as if he’s downright disgusted. The sudden lack of support has your whole body crumpling, shoulders curling in on themselves, ribs rattling with the irregular stretch and compress of heaving sobs.

“The honest truth,” he snorts to himself. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit? After all you’ve shown me time and again is how fucking selfish you are?”

“Sel—” Selfish?

“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers, twisted triumph infused in his smirk. “Selfish. You’re greedy, craving the artificial comfort familiarity bears, not caring whether or not your brother gets better, not allowing him to truly hit rock bottom and instead teasing him with flitting interaction, like a cat with a string.”

“I—I—” Incoherent static, the fuzz of confusion, permeates your brain, razored little breaths exhaled harsh and uneven as your vision wavers, fat tears racing down your cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shattered to fragments, raw in your throat. “Dabi, I can’t just abandon him entirely. He’s the only family I have!”

“Not anymore!” Dabi roars, but the flames flickering in his eyes are full of fear, of hurt. “I’m your family now, too. Aren’t I?”

Even through your thick tears you can see the heartbreak on his face. It dribbles through that expertly crafted mask he always puts on at times like this; when he wants to hide his truths—feelings and thoughts—from anyone who might be capable of deciphering them.

It’s in his voice, in the way it wavers on certain words, in the way it fades nearly to a whisper, soft and shattered, before it restores itself to a bellowing roar as his fury overtakes his pity yet again.

“God, if you’d just—just leave him alone, if you’d just let him be to realize that there is something important at stake here and it is worth getting better for then maybe he’d already be in a rehab program.” A hand cards roughly through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “But you only keep popping up, reminding him that you’re still there for him, you still care for him, that you’re not going anywhere no matter what he does, even if that thing is killing himself, slowly.”

It still makes no sense to you, how merely checking in on your brother equals any sort of enabling, but you can’t seem to stitch the question together, words welded with spit, emotion overriding your brain.

“I want my brother,” you whimper brokenly, crumpling in on yourself, desperate for Keigo’s arms, Keigo’s warmth, that special type of comfort only a big brother can provide. “I want my big brother.”

“Sorry,” Dabi snarls. “Niisan’s too busy being a Goddamn junkie to give a shit about you. When are you going to realize that he loves that drug more than he’s ever loved you!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry,” you’re weeping, nails digging into the flesh of your knees, clutching your legs to your chest, each sob sending violent shivers rippling through your body. “I don—I don’t know what to do, I dunno how to help! It all feels…” Wrong. It all feels wrong. No matter what you do, or what you say, it all feels so wrong, like nothing will ever truly be enough.

Dabi stares at you for a moment, crystal eyes hard and assessing, before finally he sighs, chest heavy with it, and drops to his knees in front of you.

Slim fingers work to uncurl your own, loose and uncommitted, removing the device from your palms. He doesn’t have to use force, doesn’t have to pry it from your fingers or tear it from your grasp as trembling hands offer it up to him, your head bowed, terrified to meet the diluted hell in his gaze.

He pulls you into his lap a moment later, after the phone is safe and secure on his person, hugging you to his chest as he murmurs out indistinct comforts into your hair.

The words don’t register, voice nothing more than a soothing vibration against you cheek, and you cling to him tighter, desperate for someone to gather up all of your shards and keep you put together—keep you from falling to pieces entirely—his love the only force keeping you here, real, whole.

You have nothing and no one left but him.

Or so it seems.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s an unassuming Tuesday, when it finally happens.

It’s as if the circumstances had been perfectly tailored by fate himself: your final afternoon class ends just over a whole hour early on this particular Tuesday, following an unfortunate mishap between your professor’s laptop and his coffee, leaving you with nothing to do but time to kill.

Dabi usually converges with his suppliers on Tuesdays—his busiest day of the week by far, comprised of meetings and testings, inventory and accounting—which means Tomura more often than not picks you up from class.

The sky is a blistering blue, the unrestrained sun beaming down on glittering waves of undisturbed snow. It’s blinding, but it’s welcomed; a nice break from the monotonous grey you have come to expect cementing the sky.

Yet, despite the bright sun unhindered by clouds, the day is cold, full of sharp winds and frosty air that gobbles up your clouds of breath nearly as quickly as they form.

You shield your eyes from the harsh light as you step out into the frigid atmosphere, squinted eyes scanning the campus idly, a glint of gold snapping your gaze to the left.

You’d know that head of unruly curls anywhere.

For a moment you’re unable to move, feet frozen to the ground as your lungs fill with ice, each stuttered breath like icicles ripping through your throat, leaving the flesh stinging and raw.

He doesn’t see you—not at first, anyway—jogging around the well-maintained track outfitted in black spandex and red shorts, bounding along to whatever song is currently playing through his headphones.

Even from your distance, you can tell that he’s lost weight, the spandex that used to cling to him like second skin gone sagging and slack, baggy shorts hanging lower on his hips than they used to.

Tears flood your eyes, thickly blurring your vision and you blink rapidly, two mittened hands moving to swipe viciously at them, scratchy wool rough against the skin of your cheeks. A hiccuped sob catches painfully in your chest, heavy and stuffed full of saliva as it tangles on your sternum.

That’s when he notices.

Feet skid to a stop on the track, kicking up a thin cloud of dust from the frozen floor, his shoulders heaving as his body stills, straight as a rod.

Time slows, just for a short instant, seconds dripping by sticky and sedated as the universe allows you a moment to process this, to savour it, before it kicks your body into gear, thawing your limbs and clearing your mind, your legs snapping into action and immediately taking off in the direction of your big brother.

You hurdle into his chest with such force it nearly knocks him off balance, heels teetering a little as he catches you in his arms and crushes you to his body. Delicate hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to pull him impossibly closer, gripping him so tightly it feels as though your knuckles are going to slice right through your skin, stretched taut and firm over the bones.

Lithe fingers flex too hard on your waist as he holds you just as firmly, murmured apologies spilling from his lips into your hair.

You can barely make out his words, too slurred with spit and muffled with tears to be properly legible, but it doesn’t matter—you already know what he’s trying to say.

Burning salt leaks from your eyes and you burrow your face into his bony chest, a vicious sob shredding through your torso with such vigour it sends tremors throughout your bones.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, niisan is here, niisan has you,” you feel his voice vibrate against your scalp, but it’s gruff, hoarse, weighed with such heavy sadness it sounds like it’s about to split apart.

“What—What are you—?”

“My training schedule has shifted a little for the new year,” he explains with a wet laugh, squeezing you to his chest again.

Cold fingertips press into jutting bones as your hands roam his back; the knobby vertebrae at the nape of his neck, the sharp shoulder blades in his upper back, the bumpy ribs at the dip of his waist.

He hasn’t been eating.

Of course he hasn’t; you haven’t been there to make him, to check up—check in—on him, to cook him his favourite meals and coax him into having at least a few bites while he’s higher than heaven.

You aren’t spared a minute to inquire about it, though, Keigo pulling back and cradling your salt-stained face between his palms, peppering you with kisses—your forehead and your cheeks and your nose—as garbled sentiments spill from his lips; God, it’s been months now, hasn’t it? and He never got to give you your Christmas present this year and How are you? How is Dabi treating you? Has he hurt you? and Christ, he misses you so fucking much he can’t stand it, each tumbling from his tongue at such a fast pace the words collide and clash, as if he’s worried you’re suddenly going to disappear, going to be snatched from his very palms before he’s able to get it all out.

“Keigo, Keigo, Keigo,” you’re nearly weeping, fingers aching from the strength of their grip on his shirt. “Please, please, I miss you so much, I’m so —I’m so lonely.”

“I’m here, songbird, I’m here.”

In the distance, someone hollers his name, followed by an order, too muddled by the blood surging in your ears for you to comprehend.

Cursing under his breath, Keigo looks down at you, regret tugging at his mouth. “I have —I have to get back to training now—”

“No!” you gasp, dainty hands tightening in the fabric. “No, Kei-nii, please, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he says softly, nose twitching with the threat of tears. “But it’s okay, alright?” Gloved thumbs run across your cheekbones, mopping up drops of crystals. “It’s okay, because you and I, we’re going to make a plan.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x smut #dabi #takami keigo #tw toxic relationship #tw drugs #tw minimal prep

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thecuriousquest · 10 months

Text

The Corn Maze

Yandere Dabi!Hawks x Fem!Reader

Request: Do you think you could do another yan hawks and dabi x winged reader please. I don’t mind if it’s fluff or nsfw or whatever and I don’t even mind what it’s about but I would love to read another story like that. Btw I love your works keep up the great work.

Tag List: @issamomma

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con, vaginal sex, anal sex, spanking, blood, abuse, kidnapping

Checkout my Master List here.

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You want to get into the spirit of Halloween. It’s difficult since all of your friends are off at university while you’re stuck at home taking a gap year. You’re very good about doing things on your own, however. Once you have your mind made up about something, you usually stick with it.

That’s what leads you to your current predicament: lost in a hard corn maze. The stalks keep you from seeing ahead. You find yourself cornered relentlessly. You feel like you’ve been wandering around for four hours now. It’s getting dark, and you haven’t even gotten halfway through the maze.

Your hand flies to your mouth when you hear rustling in the stalks behind you. Whirling around, your hand finds the inside of your bag, reaching for your phone that has no signal. Maybe, you could throw it at the intruder and run.

“What has you so scared, Chickadee?”

A scream is torn from your throat as you hear a male’s voice behind you. Turning to face him, you see he isn’t alone. One of them has wings, just like you. However, his wings look different from yours. Your wings are as black as night, and his wings are red and sharp. His wild hair and golden eyes give him an animalistic edge.

The man next to him has severe scarring on his face and arms, staples holding burnt skin to new. His cyan eyes are electric and entrancing against his raven hair.

There’s something…off. You’re wearing high waisted black shorts and a white tank top underneath a denim jacket. The way they look up and down your body causes you to tremble beneath their stares.

“Are you lost? Where’s your group?” The same man with the red wings asks.

“Yeah, I’m lost, but I’m not here with anyone.” You instantly regret moment you realize you just told them you’re here alone. You groan internally at your stupidity.

“Well, I’m Keigo, this is my friend Dabi. What’s your name?”

You look away from them and mutter your name. “Y/N…”

Dabi moves towards you. Your back brushes the tall stalks of corn. “Why not fly out of here?”

His nose is close to yours…too close for your own liking.

“I…I can’t fly. My wings only act as a shield.”

“So, you’re a little flightless bird, is that it? Oh, chicken wings will love you. How about this? If you can find a way to please both of us, we’ll get you out of here.” He rubs your forearm, trying to create a soothing atmosphere out of his dark intent. “Does that sound good? We know this maze like the backs of our hands. You’ve been here for a while. Everyone’s gone because it’s close to midnight. Nobody would find you until tomorrow if you don’t manage to make it out by yourself. Who knows what could happen to a little thing like you.”

Keigo stands next to him, the two trapping you. “What do you say, Dove? Want to get out of here or stay all night?”

You look up from the ground at them. You don’t want to give them the type of pleasure they’re seeking, but you don’t want to stay here all night. You don’t have a choice in the matter.

You nod and finally find your voice. “Okay, okay, I’ll please you. I just want to get out of here.”

Their smiles are sardonic and filled with lust. Golden and blue orbs gaze along your body, trying to figure out what lays beneath your clothes. By now, the air is chilly, but the crisp October weather isn’t the only thing causing goosebumps to form on your tender flesh.

Keigo’s feathers trail up your legs before they start tugging at your shorts. You draw in a sharp breath, feeling the sudden invasion. You try to knock the feathers away, but you end up cutting your hand in the process.

“Don’t struggle,” he warns you with that same smirk on his face.

You try to just let everything happen, but you feel your black wings curling around you. The wings are sturdy instead of wispy like a regular feather. They aren’t sharp or blunt like Keigo’s, but they are hard like steel while remaining weightless.

Takami doesn’t like you trying to hide from him. With brute strength, he pries your wings open, staring down at you with heavy breaths. He looks so beastly standing there and panting like that.

Dabi shows his cobalt flames to you, scaring the hell out of you. The look he gives you is skin curling. “Try that again, and we might have to play a little game of fire ball.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You better try then. I have no problems with branding a pretty little thing like you.“

Swallowing nervously, you let Keigo’s feathers resume undressing you.

“Now, get down on your hands and knees,” Keigo orders.

You whimper as your body lowers towards the dirt path. It looks like Keigo is going to take his turn first.

The golden blonde hovers over you. He’s fully clothed with his pants down. You’re stark naked. You soon understand the situation: he wants to dominate you.

His intrusion is jarring. You’re only a little bit wet even if this is something you feel pressured into. The friction he manages is beyond any cock you’ve ever taken. He fills you to the point where you can feel the tip poking your belly. Keigo wraps his arms around you as he pounds you from the back.

You hear squelching coming from two sources: your drenched cunt and Keigo’s friend. Looking up at him, you meet terrifying cerulean eyes upon you. He’s watching you while pumping his dick, his smirk still plastered on his patchwork face.

You can feel your walls crumbling as every drop of Keigo’s sweat drips onto your back. You try to close your eyes and imagine you’re by yourself, trying to find the exit of this fucking corn maze. Every jab of Keigo’s dick distracts you from your dissociation, and you’re left biting your lip as you feel used by him.

Not soon enough, you feel hot liquid fill your insides. As he pulls out, his seed drips down your thighs.

Dabi takes his place behind you as he shucks his pants down a bit. Kneeling behind you, he repositions you on your knees. Dabi grabs you by the back of your hair, forcing you off of your hands so that your cheek is pressed against the dirt. He lines his cock up against your ass, and you turn as you try to cover the hole he wants to enter. It’s awkward from this position, but you manage as you balance on your face and one hand.

“Please, no! I don’t want you going back there!”

“Too bad, Flightless.” He gives your bottom a searing spank with his flaming hand. “I’m an ass man, and I’m about to have the time of my life.” He uses both hands to smack you into an oblivion. Your skin feels raw, bruised, and literally on fire. The punishment is endless, and you finally move your hand back in front of you as the message sinks in.

Dabi uses both hands to separate your cherry cheeks. He uses the blood from your torn up flesh as a lubricant for his dick. It works well enough. He likes that he can hear you sobbing weakly and sniffling. After giving your ass a final slap, he slips inside, and he isn’t patient about it either. With one thrust, you feel all of him from base to tip.

Your wings flap, trying to get him off of you as you feel an overwhelming sensation pooling in your body. Pain. Unbearable, aching, misery-inducing pain.

Keigo has to hold down your flapping wings that are trying to knock Dabi off of you. You’re punished for that with the blue flames of hell as he spanks you again and again.

“Don’t pull a stupid stunt like that again,” Dabi demands with a threatening tone.

“Please, just hurry up and come already!” You can’t help but beg him. You just want this ordeal to be over with so that you can go home.

“Aw, isn’t that cute. The bitch wants me to come. You want me to come in you or on you?”

“In me…I guess. Ah, please, come in me!” You clench your fists and grit your teeth as you hear them both laugh at you.

It’s a tormenting sound, to be laughed at while you’re being held down and raped. They cause you to weep silently into your folded arms.

Dabi loads up before pulling out and coming all over your abused backside. In the end, it doesn’t matter what you want. They’re just going to have their way with you despite what you tell them.

When he finishes pumping his seed along your bleeding flesh, he pushes you further into the ground. They don’t even let you get dressed. Dabi holds you down while Keigo gathers your clothes.

“You ready to go home, Chickadee?” The blonde questions.

Sniffling, you try to look at him as Dabi keeps your cheek in the dirt. “You know where I live?”

“Don’t be a smart ass. We’re taking you back to our place. I’m not done with you yet,” Dabi explains.

Dread fills every cell in your body as they drag you out of the maze, force you into their truck, and take you to your new home.

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dayshipper · 1 year

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Jiara - Season 3

I love how Kiara never gives up on JJ. They both know they have feelings for each other and that things have shifted between them but only one of them is willing to admit it.

JJ is afraid that if he and Kiara get together that it won't be an equal partnership because he can't give her what he believes she deserves. He feels that he has nothing to offer and is destined to end up just like his dad because that is what he has been told his whole life. He can't ever imagine things improving or working out for him because that hasn't been his reality. That part is obvious.

But Kiara sees through all of that. Even when JJ steals the money clip from her dad, she still defends him and doesn't let that deter her from pursuing him. She knows what he's doing. Knows that he is sabotaging himself because that's what people like Mike and Anna expect from him. Kiara doesn't let JJ get away with that. She doesn't fall for that trap and continues to stick by him.

Even after she tells him she loves him at her parent's anniversary party and JJ basically turns her down saying that it's not going to happen, she doesn't give up. That's enough for her. It might not be what she wants but she'll wait for him to finally realise that she's not going anywhere and that she cares about him. Most people would have gone on the defensive or forgotten about it altogether but Kiara doesn't. She just wants him to know that she loves him and that she is there for him and always will be. She doesn't care that he doesn't say it back, she just wants him to know. His immediate reaction was to downplay it and ruin it by saying that he is not sorry for stealing the money from her dad. To show her that he is the guy her parents think he is. JJ is reckless with his life, not his feelings. And even after all of that, Kiara doesn't let it get to her. She may be a little hurt but she's not going to give up on him. She sees through him.

I think the catalyst for JJ finally deciding to give it a shot is when he is faced with the reality that he might not see her again for a long time. Yes, he was trying to talk to her at the Chateau before it burned to a crisp (thanks for that Topper btw 😠) but I don't think he was going to tell her that he loved her at that moment. I think it was only going to be an apology.

When she doesn't show up on the tarmac and he sees that there is a possibility that she isn't coming to South America, he panics. He doesn't want to do it without her. He never wanted to do it without her. But now they are going on the biggest adventure that they've ever been faced with and he doesn't want to do it alone. I also love how he doesn't take her absence as a sign that she has given up on him and doesn't want to hear him out after he told her earlier that he won't tell her what he was going to say at the Chateau until they are on the plane. He knows something is wrong and doesn't for a moment think that she's not there because of him.

Kiara has never given up on JJ and now JJ isn't giving up on Kie. His rescue mission at Kitty Hawk makes him realise what he was about to miss. For a moment, he was faced with the reality that Kiara wasn't going to be around and that really put things into perspective for him. He ultimately decides that being together is worth the risk even if he thinks that its never going to work. I think that if JJ didn't confess his feelings for her, that Kiara wouldn't care and continue fighting for JJ. She isn't petty and juvenile. As long as he knows that she loves him, that is enough for her and I think that's because deep down she knows that he loves her too but is just afraid to go there.

UGH I just loved this season so much and just knowing for sure that we have season 4 coming is such a relief!! There are so many things I still want to happen and that still need addressing!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THEM SM 😭😭

#jiara #jj x kiara #outer banks #obx #obx3 #jj maybank #kiara carrera

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revasserium · 10 months

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scorpio rising

elbert; 1,087 words; elbert takes you dancing. i blame @aquagirl1978 for showing me his teaser pv. this one's for u.

he has always been hungry.

from the first day he meets you, he has hungered for your touch, for your smile, for a sliver of your forever — it is not promised. but he does not care. and there’s beauty in this madness — he has always known it — beauty in the mortified longing threatening to grind his bones to dust.

i want…

it’s a selfish thing, he knows, to want like this, to want so hard that it threatens to consume his very soul. he wants — he wants.

“stay close,” he says, because the night is dark and full of terrors but to him the darkness has always been kind.

he feels your presence at his back, emanating warmth like a hearthstone pulled from the dancing flames. he wants.

“el…bert? where are you taking me?”

your curiosity is cool and crisp, slicing through the heat of his own internal frenzy. he wills the tension from his shoulders as he tries to cast you a small, reassuring smile.

“you’ll see.”

at this hour, vauxhall is a cynosure of bacchic revelry, with fireworks and masked dancers, jugglers and magicians and drunken vendors hawking their wares to laughing, unwitting attendees. a hundred thousand tiny lamps glitter among the branches of trees like so many fallen stars, and the raucous sound of street musicians plays backdrop to it all — the air itself thrums with life and vitality, the earth beneath your feet soaked with the remnants.

“wh-what is going on?”

elbert almost laughs at your clear confusion, but he tugs a pair of masks from the inside of his jacket and offers it to you.

“come… dance with me.”

you slip on the mask, still too bewildered to refuse, and feel elbert slip his fingers between yours, tugging you gently towards him and into a pool of flickering lamplight. the music swells and the world spins around you.

there is beauty in this madness — elbert has always known it — beauty in the way a body might tremble and shake when faced with something it cannot control, but this at least, elbert knows. this at least, he can take into the palms of his own hands and hold it close.

this dance — you.

he watches as a brilliant smile blossoms across your lips, your cheeks flushing high with color. it is beautiful, watching you as you fall into a peel of unexpected laughter as he spins you out and pulls you back in, you chest heaving with the exertion of the song.

he wonders if he’s holding onto your hands too tight and then he knows that he is.

but you’re clutching back at him just as tightly as the music ends and everyone around you cheers. he feels the weight of a million pairs of eyes on him and yet still, he only has eyes for you. when you pull up from your curtsey and meet his eyes, he finds himself transfixed by your gaze so warm and soft and full of an unbridled happiness the likes of which he has never tasted himself.

but with you — he thinks he just might.

the mask affords him the brief veil of anonymity, but even with it, he can feel people’s eyes lingering, their heads turning for a second look, a third. he doesn’t have much time.

“elbert, that was so much fun!”

he allows himself a soft laugh as he pulls you into one of the many shaded promenades, pressing himself back into the thickly cut foliage. you stumble into his chest, letting out a squeak as you pull back but he lifts up a hand to stop you.

“please… let me have one more minute…” he says, and he feels you go still in his arms.

he threads his fingers through your spidersilk hair, letting the tangle carelessly against his skin. like this, he smells the soft, fresh fragrance of your bathing soap, and he leans in ever so slightly to take in another breath. your skin is warm and soft, your lashes a darkened frame to the night sky of your eyes.

“elbert…?”

he purses his lips. he lets you go.

“sorry… i just… wanted a moment…”

you smile, shaking your head. several strands of your hair get caught in his fingers and he has to force himself to let them go.

“i had… a really good time tonight, elbert… thanks for taking me here.”

you walk next to him as the pair of you exit the gardens, you tugging off your mask but he hesitates in taking off his own. he traces the edge with a delicate finger as you watch.

“if… it makes you feel better, you can keep it on while we walk back,” you say, letting your fingers lace behind your back.

elbert smiles as he nods, letting the silence stretch thin and smooth between you. in the distance, big ben tolls in midnight, and the pair of you make your leisurely way back to the castle beneath the full blood-moon. you exchange few words and even fewer glances, but elbert find himself willfully lingering half a step behind you just to watch the way your hair sways, to see the glint of moonlight in your eyes as you turn to grace him with a smile.

“thanks again for taking me out…”

elbert slips off his mask as the castle doors close behind you.

“i thought you might’ve wanted… a chance of pace…”

“yeah, it was really fun!”

you smile up at him, radiant and flushed with joy and he briefly wonders if this might be what ellis is always going on about — the happiest moment in a person’s life. seeing you smile like that, he wonders then if this is his.

at least, it would be a worthy candidate.

“good… we should… do it again sometime.”

you nod, enthusiasm pouring from you like milk from a spilling jug.

elbert licks his lips.

“yes! it’ll be a date!” you say.

he can only nod, letting the sound of your voice ring in his mind like the tolling of bells.

a date.

he wants, he wants, he wants.

“a date… yes, certainly, it will be… if that’s what you wish.”

he feels his heart stuttering his chest as you bob your head once more.

“yep, it’s a date then.”

he feels his lips tug into smile, tastes the familiar greed on this tongue.

he wants. he wants. he wants.

“it’s a date.”

#elbert greetia #ikemen villains #ikevil elbert #ikevil #ikevil x reader #ikevil x you #elbert greetia x reader #elbert greetia x you #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #floofy floof floof #uH. didn't mean for it to get a lil dark there at the end but i think i left it open enough to still be uh -- lighthearted. right? right.#i read some of his bonding stories and god if this man doesn't talk super fucking slow LOL #also for those of you who don't know vauxhall is a really famous 'pleasure garden' in london that was active during ????#victorian??? era???? god im so bad at timelines but yeah the general ??? that area of history LOL #tfw i only know about vauxhall from lovestruck but now i get to apply that knowledge here HEHEHEHEHEHEH #anyway i hope you like this aqua !

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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Over The Odds | Celebration

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, fluff, S2L, ceo!jungkook, sugardaddy!jungkook

Word count - 4.6k

Your family host a welcome home dinner for Ruth

warnings: swearing, drunk (consensual) sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, dom!jk, daddy!jk, bratty oc, rough sex, squirting, choking

Y/N: Pls tell me you’re still coming I can’t do this alone

Jungkook: I’m on my way, 5 mins tops

The return of your beloved sister has prompted your parents to host a warm and wonderful family meal, except that it’s neither of those things, not for you anyway. You’re sat at the family dining table debating meaningless scenarios with your dad, as you usually do when you’re together, drinking wine. You’re currently discussing ‘does eating a whole punnet of grapes as a snack makes somebody extremely healthy, or extremely unhealthy?’, impatiently tapping your bare foot on the hard dining room floor, waiting for your boyfriend to rescue you from this hell.

It's not that you don’t want to be here, you do, your parents have calmed down about the whole sex tape scandal now and so being in their company is fine – your dad’s even looking forward to meeting Jungkook, whereas a few weeks ago he would’ve probably used his head as a makeshift dartboard given the chance. As always your mum’s her lively self, already drunk from guzzling two bottles of cheap wine by… six pm. It’s very entertaining though, watching her slur her words and dance around to her favourite songs that blast from the Alexa.

Your parents aren’t the problem at all, they never are, Ruth and her boyfriend Seokjin are. Whether it’s intentional or not they keep speaking over you every time you open your mouth, Ruth’s even undermined you in front of your parents at least four times in the last hour. They do look sickeningly good together though, like winners of the genetic lottery or some kind of freaky lab experiment to make the perfect couple. Seokjin is…nice. Much like your own boyfriend he’s a CEO, apparently the daughters of this family have a type, and he’s funny, funny enough to make your mum almost piss her pants more than once – that being said she has drank two bottles of wine already so it’s somewhat of an easy feat.

“Is he even coming?” Ruth snort-laughs into her wine glass, glaring at you from across the table that’s covered in cold meats, cheeses, grapes and wine. Even though she’s wearing a very short green dress she’s sitting on Seokjin’s knee, who’s whispering sweet nothings into her pierced ears. In front of your parents none the less.

“He’s on his way.” You say with a deep inhale, blood pressure increasing from your sisters attitude.

Seokjin is drunk, that’s a given, your mother has poured everything alcoholic into his system and danced with him enough times to prove the fact. The skin on his face is redder than it was when he first arrived, but he’s still very handsome – probably the best looking boyfriend your sisters ever had, and there’s been plenty. His hair is almost black, parted in the centre of his forehead similar to the way Jungkook’s is sometimes, he has wide shoulders and looks like he works out frequently, the pink shirt he's wearing is struggling to contain his large frame.

“Look who’s here!” Your mum sings loudly, dragging your boyfriend through the hallway and into the dining room. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring – oops.

“Hello, is everyone okay?” Jungkook’s doe-eyes make you weak at the knees, immediately relaxing in your chair. He’s come straight from work, his black suit and crisp white shirt is a dead giveaway. He’s holding two bottles of wine, presumably one red and one white, or at least he was before your hawk-eyed mother takes them from him with a drunken grin.

You watch him make his way across the room in a few short strides, not to you, but to your father sitting on the chair to your left. He leans down and shakes his hand with warm yet serious eyes, “It’s nice to finally meet you sir.”

“Likewise, you’re probably my favourite person in this room.” Your dad chuckles, returning the handshake.

“Oh?” Jungkook bares his perfectly straight white teeth in an almighty panty-dropping smile as he sits down on your right, unbuttoning his suit jacket, “I’ll take that.”

“You’re dating my youngest and you’ve given my oldest a career, of course you’re my favourite.” He winks, playfully pointing at your boyfriend a few times before passing him a glass of red wine. “And please call me Charlie.”

“Thank you.” He nods, finally settling his gaze on you and the black Bardot-style dress you’re wearing, lingering on your bare shoulders for a little too long to be considered an accident, “You look nice.”

You snort in return, you know just as much as he does that if your parents weren’t in the room right now he would’ve said something entirely different. His eyes flicker to your cleavage for a split second before he starts drinking, clearing his throat and frowning at the taste of cheap alcohol. You laugh again, this time gripping his free hand under the table as you wonder if he’s ever experienced a delicacy quite like a £5 special offer bottle of wine from the local corner shop.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, amused.

“Always am, how are you?” His voice doesn’t have you convinced, nor do his pinched brows. It’s obvious he hates the wine and he’s just trying to be polite, but you let it go.

“I’m good thanks, dad and I were just having a debate about grapes.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He says, eagerly looking between you both.

You smile, jokingly rolling your eyes, “So if a person eats a full punnet of grapes—”

“Jungkook! This is Seokjin.” Ruth shouts proudly, cupping her boyfriend’s slightly pink face, “He’s the CEO of Kim Market, you know the online Asian snack store?”

At this Jungkook grips your hand a little tighter, looking across the table, “Right, I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at fundraisers in the past, nice to see you again. I hope business is going well.” He turns back to you with loving eyes, “I’m sorry, carry on.”

“If a person eats a full punnet of grapes,” You repeat yourself, feeling a little dazed from all the wine and annoyed that you were rudely interrupted, “Does that make them healthy or unhealthy?”

“Healthy.” He says with confidence and a small nod, “It’s fruit.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” You’re beaming brightly, maybe even seeming a little smug when you give your dad a look that screams ‘I told you so’.

“No, because it’s a full punnet, we’re not talking about one or two grapes Y/N we’re talking about a big bag of them.” Your dad half-scolds and half-sighs, he’s not going to drop this any time soon.

“Right,” Jungkook’s quick to jump to your defence, letting your hand go to drape his arm over the back of your chair, “But if I eat a lot of grapes that’s at least two of my five a day, whereas if I eat a lot of chocolate… Well I’ve just eaten a lot of chocolate, counts for nothing. And grapes are less calories.”

“Mmm.” Your dad mulls this information over with a serious expression, you’re looking between them with a pained slightly embarrassed smile, “I can see why you’re a CEO son. You’re smart.”

Son. Your chest swells.

“Of course he’s smart, he hired me.” Ruth gloats, winning your mother to tut and roll her eyes beside her. Similarly to you when your mum’s had even just a drop of alcohol she can’t hold back, always showing and saying what’s on her mind and getting herself into trouble. You stifle a laugh as she mouths something that looks like ‘here we go again’ to you.

“Actually I had no input in recruiting the new employees, my assistant Hoseok was the one who hired you.” Much to your surprise Jungkook shuts your sister down, and you have to catch your jaw before it falls to the ground.

“A CEO that doesn’t have any input with recruitment?” She challenges him with a face of thunder. The room is silent, save for the music and Jungkook’s small but low chuckle.

“It’s not uncommon for the owner of a company to be busy, so our assistants tend to lighten our workload. Right Seokjin?” Your boyfriend grins, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life, “I can imagine you’re much too busy at Kim Market to do the interview and enrolment process for all its new employees.”

“I have a specific recruitment team that take care of things like that.” Seokjin admits with a small nod, ignoring the way your sister visibly tenses on top of him, “You’re right, I don’t have the time either!” He laughs, as does everybody else – save for Ruth.

“It’s just if I were a CEO I’d want to be more careful about who I employ.” She bites, but the man sitting next to you doesn’t fold.

“I trust my assistant, he wouldn’t be my assistant otherwise,” His tongue pops the inside of his cheek and if you could’ve jumped his bones right there and then, blown away by this…assertiveness you haven’t seen in him for so long, “Besides like your boyfriend said, it’s not that we don’t want to we just don’t have the time. But we shouldn’t be talking about work right now, so sorry how rude of me. How’s everyone’s day been?”

You zone out of the conversation completely, Jungkook’s talking to your mum about something relating to the price of wine at the local corner shop but you can’t bring yourself to listen. Fuck. He is without a doubt the definition of the perfect man – sitting there in a suit, putting your sister in her place, getting along with your family, actually listening to what you have to say, looking as good as he does… You’re in awe, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want him right now. On top of you, underneath you, behind you. You want him, all of him. Now.

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice tears you from your vivid borderline illegal daydream that infringes almost all of the man’s human rights.

“Sorry what did you say?” You’re flustered, facing your father with an apologetic eyes.

“How’s the job search going?” He asks again, genuinely interested.

“Oh,” You sigh, you haven’t even been interviewed for any of the jobs you’d applied for, all it takes is one quick Google search of your name to see why, “I’ll find something soon.” You offer him a weak, reassuring smile.

“You know McDonald’s is always hiring Y/N.” Ruth winks, downing the rest of her drink.

At this your mum visibly loses it, shaking her head in disbelief, “Ruth.” She scolds her with a knowing look you’ve seen one too many times throughout your life, “Your sister has the same qualifications as you—”

“And she’s done nothing with them, yet I’m the bad guy?” Your older sibling reminds her, and you, and everyone else of how life hasn’t given you the same opportunities as her.

Jungkook’s frowning with a tense jaw as though he’s having an internal debate before he breaks the silence, “You know I could give you a job. I’m sure Hoseok would love to show someone as smart as you the ropes of what we do at JI.”

“You’re not giving me a job,” You say quietly, facing him, “I’ll find something soon.”

“Oh I know you will,” He smiles, a genuine confident smile because he believes in you, his fingertips lightly graze your back, “But if you ever want a backup option I’m happy to help.”

“I wouldn’t call Jeon Industries a backup option,” Seokjin scoffs, wide-eyed, “It’s one of the most profitable companies on the planet, didn’t you make the Forbes thirty under thirty list this year? For the fourth year in a row?”

Where most people would and rightfully should brag about something like that, Jungkook deflects with a shrug, “All I’m saying is if nothing comes up, we’d be happy to have you.”

As the night progresses both you and Jungkook drink a lot of wine, courtesy of your mother who made sure neither one of your glasses ever made it to being empty. Conversation flows freely between your group and your heart bursts with pride at how likeable and genuine Jungkook’s personality remains throughout the night, even when he himself is equally as drunk as you. Yoongi picks you up and takes you to the familiar penthouse apartment around midnight, and soon you find yourself slamming your boyfriend’s back against the first wall you find inside.

“Whoa, Y/N…” He chuckles breathlessly against your lips, his inked fingers tangled in your hair.

You’re kissing him feverishly, desperately, passionately – you want him now. The alcohol has ridded you of any insecurity you felt before, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex that you’re already moaning against his mouth in anticipation. Feeling brazen you snake your hand down to his clothed crotch, palming his hardening cock.

“Baby you’ve been drinking.” He groans with eyes squeezed shut as if he’s having an internal moral debate, though he doesn’t stop you.

“So have you.” You argue, breath still smelling like wine as you continue to kiss him.

“Ah-,” He hisses, hips subconsciously buckling into your hand for more friction, “I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” You state matter-of-factly, slipping your tongue into his warm mouth.

At this Jungkook grips your bare shoulders and pulls you away from him, his hooded eyes are stained pink from alcohol but you can still make out the burning desire that’s darkening his irises. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath ever since you literally pinned him up and knocked it out of him, “We haven’t done this since… Yknow.”

“So stop talking and get on with it.” You say half annoyed, half flirtatiously, your voice low and oozing seduction, “I want you Jungkook… I want you so bad, touch me…” You whisper, leaning into his neck where you start planting lewd kisses, small bites and sucks.

You feel his Adams apple bob in his throat, along with the vibration of a small growl, “Such a fucking brat.” He rasps, gripping your waist.

You take this an encouragement and kiss his mouth again, messily, shamelessly moaning against him. He’s not even attempting to stop you anymore and judging by the hold he has on your body you know he wants this just as much as you do, maybe more. Within a matter of minutes you’re pressed down against the familiar smell of his mattress, you’re so concentrated on how his body feels on top of yours that you don’t even remember getting to his bedroom.

“Please...” You whimper, head spinning from how good this feels and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“So fucking needy.” He smirks against you triumphantly and it feels as though time slows down when he rids you both of any clothes, tossing them to the ground, leaving you needy and naked. There’s no time to be insecure about anything because he’s making his way down your bare body with a long lick of his tongue, leaving a sinful and shiny trail of saliva from your neck to your core.

“Jungkook…” You whine, your shaky hands coming down to nestle between his raven locks, you’re already wet and throbbing for his touch, his breath is hot against your most sensitive area.

Your boyfriend hooks his arms under your legs, pulling you impossibly closer to his waiting face where he spits on your womanhood, making a loud slurping noise as he mercilessly attacks your swollen clit with his mouth without warning. A piercing shriek escapes you as he smothers his face in your pussy, shaking his head as he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He murmurs against you, doubling his efforts until the speed he’s created has your back arching from the bed, gasping for air. You push your hips up to his mouth, already addicted to how fucking good this feels.

The alcohol in your system surprisingly doesn’t dull your senses, no, you feel everything he’s doing to you. You’re so fucked out in a state of total bliss already that you don’t notice him pulling his left hand from your hip, not until he plunges at least two fingers into your sopping heat with an audible squelch.

“Fuck!” You sob, the stretch and new sensation of being filled with his digits has you reeling, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop! Oh-” Your cries are louder than you expected presumably because you’re tipsy, you’re so loud that it surprises you both.

Jungkook takes your pleas as further encouragement, immediately curling his fingers inside you over and over quickly, making sure to hit your sweet spot each and every time, all while he sucks and licks your clit even harsher. You’re a mess, your limbs are trembling and your hearts beating so fast you fear it might give out at any moment, this feels fucking amazing.

“Do you like this? Mm?” The vibrations of his voice against you has you squeezing your eyes shut, throwing your head back into the pillows with a low groan. “Do you like it when I suck this pretty little clit?”

“My god-,” You’re silently laughing in disbelief as your orgasm is already approaching, he’s fucking incredible. He’s so good at this, he knows your body like the back of his hand.

“Answer me baby.” He plunges his digits into your creamy walls particularly hard.

“Fuck yes!” Your chest is heaving up and down, the cool air swirling your nipples and only upping the ante of his ministrations, “Daddy don’t stop!” The word drags itself out before you can stop it, and he loses it, a possessive growl rattling his strong chest before he adds a third finger to your wetness, licking you so sloppily and fast that real tears prick your eyes at the overstimulation.

“Come for me baby, come all over my fucking face.” He moans, he can feel your walls tightening around his knuckles, his hand and chin are dripping with your arousal and he’s never been more turned on in his life.

“Please,” Is all you manage to choke out, throwing your hands up to your head where they desperately grip the hairs at your scalp as a white hot heat approaches you, “I’m gonna-,”

Jungkook slows his movements, his tongue is flat and wet against your clit as he circles the area, his fingers rocking in and out of you at a leisurely pace. But this doesn’t stop your orgasm, instead it heightens the pleasure as he drags out the final moments of your euphoria, until you’re coming undone, squirting all over him and the sheets below in sync with your pulsating pussy and a high-pitched scream that sounds like his name.

“You’re fucking amazing.” He mumbles into your sopping folds, gently cleaning up the mess he’s made with his ever so talented tongue.

You almost black out from the feeling but somehow find the strength to drag your hands down to his hair, pulling him up to your face and greeting it with heavy, open-mouthed kisses. The taste of you is all over his tongue as it swirls against yours, his lips and chin are shiny and drenched with your come but you don’t care.

“Fuck me, please fuck me.” You pant hopelessly against him, gripping the base of his thick shaft and lining it up with your throbbing hole. He tries to bite back a moan when you grip his hips and push him into you, he effortlessly slides in, you’re so hot and tight around him that he shuts his eyes, burying his head into the crook of you neck.

“Oh-, baby…” He tucks his lip between his teeth, the after taste of you only drives him crazier.

“Fuck me daddy…” You say again, somewhat breathlessly and quiet.

To this he pulls back, his blackened eyes set on you as he holds his weight with one hand and clasps the other round your throat.

You’re both lost in the moment when he starts hammering into your wet pussy, his insane stamina coming into play as he snaps his hips harder and harder, giving you no time to adjust to his massive size. The squelching and slapping noises only add more fuel to his fire and soon he’s fucking you relentlessly into the mattress with a firm hold of your neck, reminding you just how dominant he can be when he wants to be.

“Shit,” A throaty groan escapes him, hungrily watching your body jolt and bounce with each thrust, thankfully the wine doesn’t seem to have affected his capabilities either, “You feel--, fuck baby.”

“Oh my god-,” Your eyes roll back as he repeatedly hits the same sinful spot inside you with his cock, until you’re gushing onto the bed in spurts of slick, coming around his girth.

You watch Jungkook pull back just enough to look between your bodies at the pornographic mess he’s making of you, his mouth agape as he moans a string profanities, finally settling his eyes back to you. “Fuck Y/N,” He releases the grip on your neck, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, keeping it in place with his palm flat on the back of your knee.

“Kook!” You cry, your body feeling as though it’s on cloud fucking nine as he plunges into you even deeper. It’s hard to think of the reasons you’ve been putting this off, right now the only thing on your brain is how amazing he feels inside you, and how your skin tingles with electricity where he touches you.

Jungkook looks to be having the same thoughts as you, his features contorted with pleasure as the crown of his cock slams into your cervix with each feral snap of his hips. This feels too good, he never wants it to end.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Hm?” He croaks between grunts and groans, his voice an octave deeper to what it usually is.

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes!”

His movements turn sloppy, messy, even a little misguided as his arms give out and his body falls on top of yours, his rock hard abs making a slapping sound as they meet your stomach. He’s still fucking you though, his face is hot against your neck, “Shit. You’re gonna make me come—” He cuts his admission short to lick and bite the flesh of your earlobe.

“I love you Jungkook.” You whisper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

Your heartfelt confession pulls him over the edge, until he bottoms out as hot bursts of his come shoot into your walls. He’s sweating, his hair is damp against his glistening forehead as he rides out the wave of ecstasy with the occasional roll of his hips. The room is otherwise silent as you both try and catch your breath, you cling onto his tanned frame for dear life as your body trembles from the aftermath of having your brains fucked out.

He peels his head away from your neck, his hooded eyes are drowning with emotion as he stares down at you through dark eyelashes.

“I love you too Y/N,” He shakes his head with a grin, still breathless, “I love you so fucking much.”

When you wake the next morning you’re greeted with Jungkook’s sleepy smile, somehow, during the night you’ve ended up sharing the same silk pillow. His face is close, close enough for him to gently kiss you before you’re fully awake. His lips against yours prompt you to kiss him back with a soft chuckle, eventually pulling back to look at him.

“Good morning.” You hum, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Good morning beautiful.” His smile reaches his doe-eyes before it tugs the corners of his lips, “Are you hungover?”

Surprisingly enough you feel fine but your body is aching far worse than your head, “No I’m okay,” You admit with a lazy morning voice, “How are you feeling?”

“Like the luckiest guy in the world.” He grins, pulling you into his strong arms for a morning snuggle.

You’re so comfortable and content against his warm body that you almost doze off again, feeling nothing but loved. But the feeling of his morning erection pressing against you causes you to laugh, there’s absolutely no way you can handle another round with him right now you’re so sore.

“Not happening,” Your shoulders bounce, “Not yet anyway.”

“Ignore him, he’s just excited that there’s a naked girl in my bed.”

“Mmm,” You laugh again, gazing up at him, “Well you’d better kick her out before I find her and kill her.”

To this Jungkook lolls his head back with a silent giggle, “I don’t know if the idea of there being two of you turns me on or scares the shit out of me. You’re a handful as it is.”

“Just stop talking.”

“See what I mean?” His brow quirks knowingly, “You’re so bossy.”

You choose to ignore him and settle back into his chest, your arm messily thrown over his small waist. There’s a dull vibration coming from somewhere in the room that disturbs your peace and wins you to groan. You might not be hungover but you’re not much of a morning person either, and you’ve decided that whoever’s calling right now is going to get an ear full of your wrath.

“Is that my phone or yours?” You ask, not bothering to move.

“Mine I think,” He sighs, “Hang on.”

And just like that he gets out of bed, making sure to drape the covers back over you before he searches for his discarded suit trousers. Eventually he finds them and grabs his phone, you feel like a pervert for watching him stand at the foot of the bed entirely naked and hard – his toned, tattooed body is a sight you’re never going to get used to. He’s perfect.

“I’ll be right back, I’ve got nine missed calls from Tae,” He chuckles to himself, glancing at you with a small smile, “Do you want a coffee? I got some blonde blend in for you.”

“God, yes please.” You stretch on the bed, every muscle in your body aching.

But when he returns to the bedroom he doesn’t have a coffee for you, instead his sharp profile is blanketed with concern and confusion as he sits on the edge of the bed in grey sweatpants.

“What’s wrong?” You sense the shift in atmosphere immediately, covering your bare chest with the bed sheets when you sit up. “Is everything okay?”

“That was Taehyung…” He’s quiet, putting you further on edge, “The police finally traced the IP address from the video leak.” Your heart drops into the depths of your stomach, reality crashing down onto you like a tonne of bricks. Jungkook swallows, cocking his head to one side with a frown.

“The video was leaked from your apartment Y/N.”

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hydrangeyes · 6 months

Text

Snowball Fight

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is a barely edited rambly cliché, empty brain hrs, I’ll edit this out if there isn’t any. Anyway, I’ve been called in early for work so this will be hella late.

Hawks x Male reader, demon quirk (it’s not that important)

headcanon that keigo does not like cold weather, that yeah cool air on his wings are great but ice cold about to make icicles cold? hard pass.

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It was a crisp freezing cold Christmas week. Monday to be exact. Everything was covered in snow and the few brave (or stupid) souls out that afternoon were running about last minute Christmas shopping. It was this upcoming thursday after all.

And thank whoever up there Keigo found himself off for the holidays, because he did not like the cold weather. See his wings can keep him warm but his wings themselves couldn’t take how harsh the winter air gets in the sky. So he’s been dubbed “useless unless it’s an emergency”. After all, it’s not like there’s gloves for every individual feather.

Letting out a bored sigh, he thinks about what he can do right now, not going to his apartment was one. Days off were a blessing but how empty his place was around this time made him antsy. A thought to call- no. Just pick up a bucket of chicken and go home, not think about- a dull wack to the back of his head sends him tumbling forward.

“P-pfft!! Hahahaha!!!” A familiar laugh coming from behind him. Keigo straightens turning with a fake smile. There behind him was his current avoidance. Y/n L/n, a good friend turned benefits that well…He was catching feelings for. They started out as work buddies, Enji asking him to test a new recruit with a ‘demon’ like quirk.

And boy was he a beast. A tall 6’0, tight but soft muscles, hooded f/c eyes, and black hair styled up to reveal an undershave. Y/n’ whole look fit his sharp teeth, horned head, magic quirk. To be honest, hawks was a little bit surprised that y/n was a hero. Given he looked more on the villain side, he was surprised y/n got this far.

But after the test it didn’t take long for them to start up a casual friendship. Keigo smiled a little at the thought. Y/n was easy going and fun to be around. He didn’t expect anything from him and that just broke down a lot of the reservation keigo had. To say it took long for him to catch some type of feelings from their fuck friends arrangement, would be a fat lie.

It was fun and had him dazed easily. But it was the softness after and the hang outs that felt like dates that made him feel like he needed to run.

Which was his current problem. Having all avoided the man for a few weeks now to figure out what to do with these new emotions. Keigo felt guilty about it but well he was never taught how to handle these types of emotions…. In a good, healthy way at least.

“So much for being the quickest baby bird.” Y/n teases once he’s close enough. Snapping back to the present Keigo huffs pretending to be annoyed, his growing blush at the closeness kind of giving him away. “Mah, what has you so distracted?” Y/n asks, chuckling as Keigo gets redder. Scowling slightly, Keigo picks up a handful of snow and quickly packs it with a swing.

Y/n yelps as it hits his face. And seeing Y/n with such a surprised expression sends Keigo into a snort of laughter. Y/n blinks looking at his friend laughing up a storm, his wings drooping in the release of tension and grins. Good, he missed his idiot.

“Oh it’s on.” Y/n said, starting a mini snowball fight war, that grew as fans and kids joined in. Keigo can’t exactly say when he’s felt this light and happy (outside of learning he was gonna meet endeavor as an equal). As it got darker, things started to slow and with some pictures taken and left alone to catch their breaths. It ended with just him and Y/n.

Let out one more breath before slinging an arm over Keigo’s shoulders, this was not where he was trying to go with looking for Keigo but- Y/n hums as Keigo presses into him freely as the wind starts to pick up. -This was perfect.

“Hey. My place?” Y/n mumbles hopefully

Suddenly Keigo couldn’t help but want to be working rather than having to answer that. Adrenaline came back and he pulled away a bit unsure. Y/n sighs feeling the tension come back.

“What did I do?” Keigo quickly looks up at in confused “Wha-”

“Look I know when someone is avoiding me. So I’m guessing you want to break this whole arrangement off or something?” Y/n say as calmly as he could, but there was an edge of defeat in his tone. Keigo felt his wings ruffle and try to curl around the both of them. It was old, dark, and too public (they were in a park the back of his mind whispered).

He would at least have this conversation somewhere warm and private. “Can we talk…at your place?” his eyes focused on y/n’s shoulder. “Yeah.” Y/n mumbles back, with a flick of his hand opening a portal to his living room and shuffling them in. Keigo shivers at the shift in temperatures kicking off his boots and plopping onto the couch, as y/n does the same with his shoes following after.

“Than-”

Y/n leans down pressing a kiss to keigo’s lips. Balancing himself with one hand on the couch a bit hunched over. He kept his body relaxed just in case keigo wanted to push him away. But he didn’t, instead gripping his coat and using it to tug him closer, deepening the kiss.

(Watch as my writing changes now that I found mood music, at least to me it does)

“I love you. I fell in love with you and I’m terrified” Keigo whispers softly, the words ringing through the nearly empty apartment. Keigo chuckles wetly as he felt himself tremble but he held on and nipped at y/n’s bottom lip. Y/n stares down at him, eyes unmoving breath escalating.

“Heh…heheheh-” Y/n sucks in a breath as euphoria courses through him in a wave and he knocks keigo back full onto the couch kissing him recklessly. “My sweet, beautiful keigo.. I love you too. And there is nothing you need to be scared of.” Y/n whispers back at a startled keigo.

Both gave each other shaky smiles, neither able to articulate the sheer happiness they were feeling. So with another boost of adrenaline, Y/n leans down to start his journey loving every bit of Keigo freely.

#top male reader #x male reader #hawks x male reader #keigo x male reader #bhna x male reader

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transhawks · 1 year

Text

I'm overthinking something and going to throw it here to hear what everyone else thinks. The whole Todoroki eye imagery stuff has been well discussed, I have a meta or two on it somewhere, but I'm just rethinking what Dabi told Hawks. You know the spiel of, "More than Twice, more than anyone else, you should have kept both eyes on me." right?

So, initially we thought that was Dabi saying Hawks should have recognized him as a threat. Then as we kind of got into the Touya storyline, the wording seemed to hit on Touya's insecurities about Endeavor, too, because his father never saw him, after all.

So, on one level, we can say this was definitely a projection that Hawks is another top hero who didn't pay attention to Touya like he should have.

Except -

The thing is Dabi doesn't know that Hawks was ordered to kill Twice. He doesn't know that the HPSC had a simultaneous raid on Redestro's "body" in the hospital, and that no matter what, Hawks had to eliminate Twice to either ensure the Redestro in the basement or hospital was gone, even if they assumed the hospital one was the real one. No one expected Redestro's supports to fail that badly, actually. So, as far as what Dabi knew is that Hawks was targeting Jin, but specifically targeting Jin in other ways. Remember his sentiment line?

It's clear Dabi might have heard or realized Hawks had been trying to convince Jin to leave the League. That he was offering him mercy. Heck, he knew Hawks would put himself in harm's way to save him, he was very assured Hawks was that type of hero (he was wrong). So, while we can definitely take that statement as Dabi saying that Hawks should have realized Dabi was a threat, what if there was hidden meaning to it too?

Notice how Dabi asks Tokoyami who really deserves to be saved?

I think, perhaps, there might have been (and mind you Dabi was hysterical/manic in that whole episode) some part of Touya asking why Hawks saw something to "save" in Jin and not in him? Is this me over-thinking it? He's always had a weird thing about heroes not saving others. Touya's opinion of himself is also absolutely heart-breaking, as we can see in how willing he is to burn himself to a crisp.

So there might have been an anger that, again, a hero overlooked his potential as a threat, sure, but maybe a part of Touya was asking why he wasn't worthy of that hand Hawks had 'extended' to Jin, too.

#as an aside the choice Hawks gave Twice was no choice at all #but it's also a big thing about how hawks pick and chose who was worthy according to his own beliefs #which is a big part of the problem with hero society #dabi #hawks #just some thoughts

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stabbyfoxandrew · 26 days

Note

mafia au please!

tsc has broken me and i need your beautiful kevjean to cheer me up

WIP Wednesday (4/17) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 136)

The smell of pancakes cooking is simultaneously mouth-watering and… trauma-inducing. The first time Kevin had ever had them was in Palmetto, the morning he’d dragged himself onto the Foxes’ team bus. Despite Abby’s doctoring, his left hand was totally unusable and his right didn’t fare much better with a fork. But being the kindest nurse he’d ever met, Abby had noticed him struggling and cut his pancakes into bite-sized pieces for him and drizzled them with enough syrup to make his eyes bulge.

He’d slowly eaten them as his father started talking criminal charges against Riko. The very idea of challenging him made Kevin’s stomach roil and it was then and there he broke. He told Wymack the horrible truth about the Moriyamas and swore him to secrecy. That, of course, didn’t last long once a certain goalie stuck his nose into Kevin’s mess of a life.

Andrew had come to Abby’s house the next day and demanded an explanation. For some reason, Kevin couldn’t not tell him. Despite holding all those secrets for a lifetime, he let them flow as soon as Andrew rounded on him. He’s still not sure why. Perhaps it was his desperate need to be understood. Or it could’ve been fear. But he told Andrew the bulk of his life story then and there, omitting a couple details. Namely a pair of backliners with sharp tongues and pretty eyes.

Speaking of that, Jean is watching his skillet like a hawk. What he’s expecting to happen, Kevin isn’t sure. Apparently it does though, because Jean moves in with a spatula to flip a pancake over. It’s less than graceful, but Kevin is impressed regardless. He gives a little round of applause, which startles Jean.

He rolls his eyes playfully at the attention and does a little bow while he’s at it. As he turns back around, Kevin steps off the stool to watch Jean pour more batter. There’s another plate he wasn’t aware of and it’s got what must’ve been a test pancake on it. It’s smaller than the ones Jean’s been stacking and burnt to a crisp on the top side. How ridiculous that a burned pancake could be so endearing.

“Can I have that one?”

Jean turns his head and grimaces. “If you want it. I was going to throw it outside, at those birds that show up sometimes. I told you about them before. One of them snatched a cigarette out of my hand a couple of months ago."

"And you want to give them food?"

"I said, 'at them' not for them," Jean clarifies. "But I suppose, even if I hit one with it they'd eat it."

“If you feed them they’ll stay.” Kevin says, making Jean’s mouth quirk.

“Like Neil?”

“You can stop making the stray cat jokes, he’s not in here. And we both know how we feel about him.” Kevin says, plucking the pancake off the plate and pulling part of it off to stick it in his mouth. Oh, it’s… definitely charred. And a bit bitter.

“I told you it wouldn’t be good.” Jean says, glancing over at him. He notably and predictably doesn’t reply to Kevin’s comment about Neil. Or maybe that is an answer to the Neil thing.

“Mm,” Kevin hums thoughtfully. He knows it would be.

#teehee here lovely. have Kevin waxing poetic about Jean's ability to burn a goddamn pancake :)) and thinking about neil too :)) and andrew:)#aftg #kevjean #Mafia Restaurant AU #WIP Wednesday #🕊️#answered #anon

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spxllcxstxr · 2 years

Text

Shades of Green • B.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hey could i request something for Benedict Bridgerton. Maybe the reader is jealous because he’s courting someone else maybe a princess or something. — anon

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton promised you a dance at Lady Danbury’s next ball but you find he’s a bit preoccupied with a Duchess instead

Warnings: fem!reader, jealousy, historical inaccuracies, drinking?

Word Count: 978

A.N: is this historically accurate? No. Is Bridgerton historically accurate? Hell no. So we’re all going to just deal with it lmao, switched up the request just a wee tad bit like otherwise it’s the same, first time romantically writing for Benedict so I hope you guys enjoy it! I actually loved writing this lmao

•

With your jaw tightly set you watched from the edge of the ballroom as Benedict danced yet again with the Duchess Charolette Frederica.

The German Duchess managed to snag him for the first dance and hasn’t let him go since. With the amount of times they’ve twirled around the ballroom, you’re surprised they haven’t yet been sick.

You attempt to hide your scowl behind your wine glass as they pass by you, Benedict smiling at her as she bats her eyelashes. Their fingers are intertwined, though hers are covered by white lace gloves. You wish that were you in her stead. However, here you are, standing at the edge of Lady Danbury’s elegant ballroom.

The day before last Benedict called upon you, informing you that he wanted your first dance and that he had something important to ask you. At that time you thought, quite hopefully, that he would finally be asking to court you, though now it seems you had been wrong this whole time.

The shimmering diamonds draped across the base of your neck gone to waste.

The grip on your crystal glass tightens.

“I am no artist, but I can recognize a shade of green when I see it,”

Your gaze slides away from the two dancers, instead landing on one of his younger sisters. Eloise stands next to you, arms crossed against the bust of her lilac dress, smirking. While you practically considered Eloise a sister, you despised being on the receiving end of her smug countenance.

“What ever do you mean, Eloise?” You try to relax your features and keep your eyes trained on the young lady, but you awfully desire to bring your eyes back to her brother and his current dance partner.

One eyebrow raises. “You have declined every man that has asked you to dance so far tonight, all while watching my brother like a hawk,” One of her hands is placed delicately on the one you’re clutching the glass with. “You are jealous,”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Heart beating rapidly at being discovered, you turn your head back to the ballroom.

“I am not color blind, nor am I blind to the look of love,”

You lightly rip away from Eloise’s grasp in order to sip at your rosé. Maybe if you don’t respond to her she’d find another one of her brothers or Penelope Featherington to impose upon.

It was quite clear to you that you were being harsh to Eloise, but you’d been hurt enough at this ball and you didn’t want to be reminded of your unrequited love.

You take another sip as the music dies down.

“Brother!” Eloise calls from beside you, not giving up in the slightest.

You watch as he turns to face the two of you, ignoring the Duchess’ comments and dodging her wandering hands.

“Benedict, come join us, we need an artist’s opinion!”

He bows slightly to the lady in front of him before striding over to your spot. Breathing deeply, you attempt to compose and ready yourself for Benedict Bridgerton.

Up close you can see that his face is freshly shaven and his shirt is crisp and new. He hasn’t yet raked his hands through his dark hair or loosened his collar. He looks like perfection, like he hadn’t just been exerting himself dancing.

Maybe you’re staring a bit too long and a bit to intensely at the dark flecks in his already dark eyes because he coughs slightly and almost chokes out a question to his sister.

You look at her, wondering as well why she called Benedict over.

“Brother, what shade of green would you call the one adorning (Y/n)’s face?” She gestures to your head, and you almost gape at the nerve she has.

Benedict’s features actually relax as he briefly glances at you.

“I’d say it is looking quite like a healthy forest green,” Benedict smirks, answering quickly as his brown eyes run over your features. Unknowingly you hold your breath as he focuses on solely you.

His close attention has your face heating up and your heart beating faster. Thickly, you swallow.

His fingertips softly graze your cheekbone. “Well now it has swiftly changed to vermillion!”

Mortified, you stutter out protests as Eloise snickers.

The music crescendos, signaling the start of another dance. Before you know it, Eloise takes the glass out of your hand and Benedict offers an open palm to you.

“I promised you a dance and a question, Lady (Y/n). May I perhaps have this one and an answer?” His teeth are slightly crooked and stained and yet his smile is something that you can’t help but mirror.

Warmth blossoms throughout your chest as you accept his hand.

He pulls you closer to his chest, your fingers tangled together.

“I have wasted so much time already, (Y/n), and I no longer wish to prolong this,” Benedict starts, his voice low. “I wish to properly court you,”

Your heart beats and your steps falter. He chuckles at your reaction.

“And what of the Duchess?” You question when you’re able to breathe properly again.

Benedict rolls his eyes at your misplaced concern.

“Just another Lady unable to win over the Viscount so instead she turns her sights on the second son,” His eyebrows raise as he watches the worry drain from your body. “You were concerned? Darling, the whole time we were dancing I wished I were with you,”

“Oh, Benedict…” You’re breathless, jittery in his hands was your dreams come true before your eyes. “Yes. Yes Benedict, I wish to court you,”

The man before you smiles even wider, head dipping at your response.

“Now look who’s vermillion,”

The two of you chuckle as he turns an even brighter shade of red as you continue to dance like there was no one else present at Lady Danbury’s ball.

•

#bridgerton #Bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #benedict #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton blurb #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton x jealous reader

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 3 days

Text

Like A Moth To Flame | Dabi x Hawks

Hawks has been with people before – but never quite like this. He always does what’s expected of him, what’s desired of him – when people want to sleep with the Wing Hero, they want to experience the persona he puts on for the cameras at work. So, he puts on a show. He’s Number 2 Hero Hawks – cocky, witty, always a little too cool. He says all the right things; he even winks in the act.

But here he is now with Dabi...he's stowed away in some trashy L.O.V safe house trying to sleep with a goddamn villain. And for the first time, he feels he doesn’t need to perform. He can just take what he wants. No need to make conversation or act the part of the cheeky, aloof hero. Whatever happens next will be dictated by pure need.

“Get up. And loose the damn coat.” Hawks hisses, pushing lightly at Dabi’s chest. Dabi grins, and for once in his goddamn life, he does as he’s told. He peels himself slowly off of Keigo, but takes a moment to roughly grind his hips down into the hero, eliciting a gruff gasp. “Sorry.” Dabi quips, and he sounds anything but.

The blue flame villain gets to his feet and shrugs off his jacket, casting it aside on the coffee table. He looms over Hawks. He’s wearing a clean, white V-neck shirt that shows where his burnt, purpling skin is stapled to tanned soft flesh. He sinks his hands into dark jean pockets and cocks his head to the side, clearly saying “what next?”

Hawks slowly gets to his feet, sizing Dabi up. Without warning, he attacks, sweeping his leg swiftly beneath Dabi’s own – throwing the patchwork man to the ground hard. Dabi lets himself fall to the floor with little resistance, his head hitting the carpeted floor with a small bump. His eyes narrow darkly and his smile grows wider. “So you like it rough?”

Hawks throws himself down on top of Dabi, catching himself on the floor in a plank position. He’s hovering above Dabi’s body, one knee between the man’s long legs.

“Well I’m certainly not here for romance, sweetheart.” Keigo growls, before dropping himself on the blue flame villain. He buries his face in Dabi’s neck, licking a rough stipe down crisped skin before sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh of his shoulder. Dabi lets himself groan appreciatively at the contact. He moves to hold Hawks to him, his left hand climbing up the back of the hero’s head and threading itself back in his spiky hair. He lets his right arm to caress the sensitive crimson feathers that protrude from the shorter man’s back. He slowly activates his quirk in that hand, letting Hawks feel the heat building up against his left wing.

“These feel…flammable.” Dabi laughs darkly, digging his hot hand further into Hawks’ feathers. They’re papery to the touch – like fallen leaves in autumn. His finger slips alongside the edge of a larger feather and feels it cut deep. A bead of blood drops onto the wing, hitting with a sizzle. Hawks flinches slightly beneath Dabi’s searing grasp, but continues to bite and kiss his way across Dabi’s collarbone.

“So I’m your weakness then? Fire.”

The hero doesn’t respond, sliding a hand up to roughly push Dabi’s face to the side to shut him up. He pulls the collar of the villain’s shirt down low, revealing sinewy muscle and a line of staples beneath his collarbone. Keigo moves his mouth lower and slowly, deliberately draws his tongue along the seam between burnt and healthy skin. Dabi’s eyes widen and his body convulses with an involuntary shiver. No one’s ever touched him like that.

Hawks notices the response, doubling down on his efforts. He crisscrosses his tongue across Dabi’s chest.

The villain’s silence is resounding. He lets the heat on his fingertips die down, ensuring the safety of the feathers beneath his fingers. He lets his mind go blank for a moment and stares dazedly at the ceiling. His fingers twist in the wing hero’s hair, encouraging him to keep going. Hawks obliges, licking and sucking lightly on the blue flame villain’s damaged and abused skin.

After a few minutes more, Hawks pulls his lips away from Dabi’s scarred body. “You’ll need to lose the shirt if you want me to keep going.” He whispers, breaking the silence. "I'm only just getting started."

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aurorawest · 16 days

Text

Reading update

Arthur and Teddy Are Coming Out by Ryan Love - 3/5 stars

The Fate of Stars by SD Simper - DNF at pg 32

A Gathering Storm by Joanna Chambers - 4.75/5 stars

I kept getting the Madame Leota room from Haunted Mansion stuck in my head as I was reading this (not a bad thing!). This book has a surprisingly low rating on the Storygraph, and I'm not going to torture myself by looking at the reviews, but I'm assuming it's because of the power discrepancy between Ward and Nick. Clearly it didn't bother me as I really enjoyed the book!

Dionysus in Wisconsin by EH Lupton - 4.75/5 stars

At some point I might get tired of Mid-Century Modern romances, but not this day. This book was super fun, with an interesting world and lovely characters. And a Midwest setting! I've spent a lot of time in Madison, Wisconsin, where this book is set, so I got the added bonus of knowing most of the places pretty well. There was even a shoutout to an obscure piece of Madison history, the Lost City in the Arb. I have to get the second book in the series now!boy

Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan - 3.25/5 stars

I gave this book an extra quarter of a star for being written in 2003, when it would have been genuinely pretty groundbreaking. Reading it in 2024, it's very twee and pretty cringey (the queer utopia town would have been a magical fantasy in 2003, not so much now in a lot of places). When Levithan credited Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat books in the acknowledgements, I though, ah. No wonder. Hated those as a teen.

All that said, there's some genuinely lovely writing in this book, and it has its place in the queer canon.

The Greywacke by Nick Davidson - 5/5 stars

Super interesting nonfiction about the discipline of geology and how the early geologic epochs were figured out. Also gave me an idea for a historical romance about gay Victorian geologists.

Home Grown Talent by Joanna Chambers & Sally Malcolm - 5/5 stars

I think I loved this one more than the first in the series. The social media scandal was perfect, in that it was exactly as absurd as every social media scandal is, and thus hilarious, but also chilling in how even something so stupid can ruin people's lives.

The First Bright Thing by JR Dawson - DNF at pg 1

Prince of the Sorrows by Kellen Graves - DNF at pg 30

Reuben's Hot & Cold by M Arbon - 3/5 stars

Slight Foxing Around the Edges by Melissa Polk - DNF at pg 132

Restored by Joanna Chambers - 5/5 stars

Balefire by Jordan L Hawk - 4.75/5 stars

A Rulebook for Restless Rogues by Jess Everlee - 4/5 stars

The Mars House by Natasha Pulley - 5/5 stars

See my brain vomit about this book here. If you've been around here for any amount of time you know all Natasha Pulley's books make me feral. Absolutely no exception here. I cannot believe her first UK publisher dropped her over this book. Idiots! It's wonderful just like everything she's ever written.

In the Case of Heartbreak by Courtney Kaye - DNF at pg 181

The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason - DNF at pg 21

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun - 5/5 stars (reread)

Just as good as the first time I read it!

Exhalation by Ted Chiang - 4.5/5 stars

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic - DNF at pg 84

Crisped + Sere by TJ Klune - 4.75/5 stars

It actually kind of makes me mad that this series isn't Klune's most famous work, because it's real good. At this point it seems kind of unlikely he's going to continue it, but man, I'd love another book.

These Silent Stars by Chani Lynn Feener - DNF at pg 68

Trailer Park Trickster by David R Slayton - 5/5 stars

See below.

Deadbeat Druid by David R Slayton - David R Slayton - 5/5 star

I LOVE this series. Love love love love. Absolute must read. If you're a fan of KD Edwards's The Tarot Sequence, this series is right up your alley. It seems like there will be more after this initial trilogy, and there's also a spinoff book coming soon which I'm super excited for. Read them!!

#a gathering storm #joanna chambers #dionysus in wisconsin #eh lupton #boy meets boy #david levithan #reading tag #trailer park trickster #deadbeat druid #david r slayton #crisped + sere #tj klune #the mars house #natasha pulley #homegrown talent #sally malcolm #the greywacke #nick davidson

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seradyn · 8 months

Text

A Dream Come True (Chp. 12)

Chapter 12/35: A King's Garden

Another date with Ardyn; this time he has chosen to show you around the Emperor's gardens.

Link to work masterlist

Word count: 11,588

TW: None

Tags: @savage-rhi @blossom-adventures @ticklemycucumber

Lmk if you'd like to be tagged in updates

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>> What do you mean you won’t be able to play games with me today >:((((((

>> Satus, I do have a life, you know.

>> Life shmife! You always play games with me on Saturday!

You sighed down at the little device, your breath coming out as a wispy cloud under winter’s crisp sun. You were standing outside your apartment, waiting for Ardyn’s attendant to come pick you up, the glow of your phone illuminating your face. A restless crowd shuffled around you, the city alight with the excitement of a freedom the weekend promised.

Your own excitement swirled within you like a happy cloud when you awoke that morning, but it came to a screeching halt, when you remembered your little tradition with your friend. Satus had been the one to suggest it back in college; to de-stress from homework and the like, and neither of you saw a reason to stop when you’d graduated. It was part of your little slice of normal. You always looked forward to it.

You felt guilty for having to cancel with such short notice, but, in all fairness, Ardyn hadn’t given you much notice himself. He’d asked you out again barely twelve hours ahead of time. And on your happiness high, you’d agreed to it without remembering your obligation to your friend. You didn’t mean to leave him hanging like that, it just sort of happened.

>> You know how computers work. Just play something else!

>> Instructions unclear. I keep texting you.

>> Put down the phone then, ya goofy goober.

>> Well, see now, my friend isn’t online yet.

>> Goddamn it Satus! I have to go soon!

>> Alright alright. Do I at least get to know what you’re doing?

>> I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.

>> >:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((

You shook your head at his antics, yet you laughed lightly at them too. He always loved to kid around, and being overly dramatic in situations like this was one of his favorite bits. He was probably already over it, giggling to himself about giving you a hard time. You’d have to remind yourself to reschedule your gaming session, as thanks for being a good sport.

The time was nearing 11:55, so you shoved your phone back in your pocket, bouncing on your heels as you waited to be picked up. Unfortunately, Ardyn hadn’t told you what kind of car they were going to drive, so you were left guessing with every vehicle that parked nearby. Your eyes tracked each one like a trained hawk, only to be disappointed when some unimportant businessman or woman got out.

A bell tolled off in the distance, signaling the turn of the hour. Its last chimes were still reverberating through the streets when a sleek, black car pulled up to your apartment building. You watched as a man in a pressed suit stepped out of it, the imperial emblem embroidered on his breast, and your heart skipped a hopeful beat. A bushy mustache of coppery brown hairs sat under his pointed nose, eyes a porcelain pool of rich chocolate as he scanned the bustling streets.

You raised a brow at him, your gazes meeting through the throng of bodies. He looked you up and down once, then nodded gently. Your cue to approach, and you followed it, though you maintained an air of caution.

“Miss,” the man said your name clearly as you came before him, his voice authorative and confident.

“That’s me,” you said, clutching the straps of your purse tightly for comfort.

The man placed his hand over his heart, bowing deeply to you. “The chancellor is expecting you. His Excellency has instructed me to escort you to his location.”

“T-thank you,” you said awkwardly, a bit flustered by the formality of his address. He didn’t seem to mind though, and quickly straightened, opening the car door for you. You thanked him again as you tucked yourself into the leather seat, the door slamming closed after you. You’d been put in the back, behind the front passenger seat, allowing you a clear view out the windshield. The inside smelled of cleaning supplies, and you wrinkled your nose. Ardyn’s car smelled much better.

The driver didn’t say anything as he got in, the vehicle coming to life with a gentle purr. Thankfully, as soon as he’d gotten onto the road, he turned on the radio, saving you from uncomfortable silence as you stared out the window.

…Investigators are still hesitant to rule out foul play in the disappearance of a small family, discovered earlier this morning…

Gralea, while still impressive in the light of day, was a city whose true beauty shined at night. Your date on the town had proven such. The neon lights and the glowing signs flickered under the overwhelming brightness of the sun, unable to compete with the rays that broke through the clouds.

…Witnesses say a strange man was seen visiting the victims just before they were discovered, yet the scene inside would suggest a daemon attack…

The radio crackled as the reporter babbled on, your eyes glued to the outside and your driver remaining silent. At intersections, you could gaze down the corridor of endless skyscrapers, which stretched for many blocks before another wall of glass and concrete blocked your view. Between the buildings, you were able to glimpse where the sky was dominated by an enormous cover of steel and blinking lights. Zegnautus Keep. That was where Satus worked.

And Ardyn, you realized with a squint.

…The frequency and intensity of daemon attacks has grown over the last few weeks. We caution listeners to stay inside and lock their doors at night in these uncertain times…

The driver turned away from the Keep, and it disappeared behind you in a sea of spires. It took you a long time to finally glimpse the marbled walls of the imperial palace, separating the emperor from the rest of the city. It was in a secluded district, across town from where you resided. The buildings gradually thinned, until the car rolled to a stop in front of wide, ornate gates. Seemingly on their own, their hinges shrilling, they creaked open and you entered the palace grounds.

Said building was massive, sprawling with ivory tendrils that stretched to the very edges of its protective wall, like creeping vines of ivy. Unlike the castles you’d seen in storybooks, this one was flater, sturdier, looking more like a fortress than an emperor’s dwelling. What few towers stretched into the grey sky were topped in gold, ornamental buttresses supporting their clawing reach. You could faintly see the main doors, which were dark and inlaid with more gold, a wide set of stairs leading down to the road before it.

In front of the palace, the road stretched out into an O shape, almost like the emperor wanted his guests to admire the palace before he met with them. Patches of green were dotted all around the grounds, grass enclosed by pruned shrubs and sliced by walking paths. In the center of this circular road was a neatly trimmed lawn, which framed a massive statue of the Hexathon. It caught your attention, and you found yourself studying it as the palace loomed closer.

Titan sat at the bottom, heaving a crude chunk of earth over his head. Ramuh, Shiva, and Ifrit were above him, the deities of ice and fire swirling around the middle of the statue in a silent ballet. Ramuh stood between them, his staff thrust importantly into Titan’s stone. Leviathan snaked her serpentine body around all of them, her waves lapping at their heels and her reptilian maw open in a mute roar. Above all the gods, looking down on them as if in subjugation, was Bahamut, his bladed wings spread proudly, his armored talons clutching a detailed sword.

You squinted at him as you began to round the bend. Something about the Draconian…was making you feel strange. A worm of unease wiggled restlessly in your gut as you stared at the god’s soulless eyes. You’d never had much of an opinion on any of the gods, but now, something about them just seemed…off.

It wasn’t as bad as Ifrit’s affect on you, though. His marbled eyes locked forward, his face absent of expression. But you could see it; the anger that burned in his irises, how his nose wrinkled with his hatred for man. You could remember it so clearly, the dream like a thorn in your side, reminding you what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his flames.You blanched, your arm tingling with phantom pain, and you rubbed it instinctively, trying to make the sensation go away.

Stop being weird. Stop letting those stupid dreams get to you.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your gaze away from the statue, and the images out of your head.

That was just as well, as the car began to slow, the stairs leading up to the palace reaching down to you. Now that you were closer, you noticed two soldiers standing on either side of it, their weapons held smartly and heads held high. You stared at them, feeling they seemed odd somehow, but quickly averted your gaze. You didn’t want to be rude.

As soon as the car’s engine died, the attendant nearly leapt out of the vehicle to open your door for you. You smiled at him, and thanked him again as he helped you out. He only nodded in response, gesturing up at the palace doors.

“Please, follow me,” he said, striding ahead of you and starting up the stairs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; you didn’t want to know what those soldiers would do if they found you without a chaperone. Something about them irked you.

When you could see them clearly, you understood why; they were no simple foot soldiers, they were Magitek Troopers. You’d never seen any up close, but you immediately felt off put by them. Apathetic expressions set in steel, unblinking red eyes peering through slits in their visors. You had to wonder why they were given human faces; to unsettle the enemy, or to keep the regular infantry in line?

Either way, they gave you the creeps. You walked closer to the attendant, eyes trained on the soldiers warily. They gave no regard to you or your escort, staying stiffly in place as you walked between them. The attendant seemed unperturbed, giving them as much acknowledgement as they offered, wordlessly pulling one of the ornate doors open for you. You quickly darted inside, breathing a sigh of relief when you could no longer see their blank stares.

While he was busy closing the undoubtedly heavy slab of stone, your eyes widened, taking in the grand foyer. You’d expected the palace to be extravagant, but this almost felt excessive. The ceilings were so high, you had to crane your neck to spot the bejeweled chandeliers hanging from it, intricate designs carved into every inch of the architecture. The palace looked entirely made from white marble, your footfalls echoing hollowly on the polished tiles. The walls were trimmed in gold, and useless artifacts dotted the corners; statues and vases set in all manner of gems. Twin hallways stretched deeper into the palace on either side, undoubtedly filled to the brim with more priceless nick knacks. Your parent’s estate was a slum in comparison.

“Please, right this way.” The attendant strode past you, veering off to the left with the assumption you would follow. And you would be a fool not to, the echoing clop of your footsteps on the tile fading from the lobby as you journeyed deeper into the winding maze. Twists and turns too many to count, past countless sealed doors with more Magitek guards standing watch, your walk was a silent one. You were too busy eyeing the soldiers for conversation, like they may suddenly come to life at the scent of an outsider amongst them. Of course, no such things came to pass, and the halls remained deserted of any other human presence but that of you both. It was…eerie. Almost lifeless. The ridiculous opulence displayed in how much gold was slapped into everything only added to its oppressiveness.

Eventually, after you were sure there was no chance of you remembering the way back, the hallway came to an end, a set of polished wood doors on the farthest wall, flanked by, what else, two more Magitek Troopers. You tensed at seeing them, staying close to the attendant as he walked up to them, turning to you with purpose.

“The Chancellor shall be waiting for you through these doors,” he said, gesturing at them. “You need not worry, the soldiers stationed here have been instructed to treat you with the utmost respect. Though I caution you not to go exploring without his Excellency; they may mistake you for an intruder.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said, looking at them up and down at his obvious warning. They gave no reaction to either of you, set like statues with lights for eyes.

The attendant bowed to you in parting, and you gave him a grateful nod. When he hesitated to take his leave, it dawned on you that perhaps you should tip him. You didn’t mind the prospect; he’d been nothing but kind to you thus far, and you didn’t want to come off as rude. Slinging your purse in front of you, you began digging through it, searching for a bill or coin you could offer him. Because of this, you failed to notice the confusion that donned his face.

“Ma’am, is everything alright?” He asked cautiously, the tonelessness of his voice fading for a moment in puzzlement.

You huffed down at yourself in response, your search coming up fruitless. “I’m sorry,” you said, keeping your gaze down to hide a wave of shame that lapped at your mood. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

The attendant looked you up and down, before giving you a wide smile.

“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” he said with obvious amusement. “The Chancellor ensures I am well compensated.”

You gave him a pointed, unbelieving look. “Really?” You questioned. Ardyn didn’t strike you as someone who cared much for making sure servants were well paid. He hadn’t even bothered to tip your server from the night before.

With an affirming nod that assuaged your worries, you smiled back at him. “Good,” you stated firmly. “I won’t stand for anything less.”

The man chuckled lightly. “I can see why the chancellor is fond of you.”

Your cheeks flamed at that, and you turned away from him. “T-thanks,” You stuttered, unsure what else you could say. The man gave you a final approving look before he departed, disappearing around the corner on light feet. It wasn’t long until his footsteps had faded completely, and you smiled in his direction before turning back to the doors.

Wearily, eyeing the troopers, you reached out and swung the door outward on silent hinges. Rays of light struck your face, forcing your eyes closed as you stepped through the threshold. You jumped when you heard the door close behind you, but then you relaxed. At least you were separated from the MTs now.

Shielding your face with your hand, your eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the outside, a warm breeze combing through your hair. Even overcast, there was so much more light out here than there was inside the palace. When it didn’t hurt so much to open your eyes, you took in the scene before you, and a breath caught in your throat.

It was green. So wonderfully, organically green. The white tiles gave way to a neat path of cobblestones, weaving in and out of a lush field of grass, whose neatly trimmed blades were left just tall enough to tickle your ankles.

And there were flowers. Rows upon rows of flowers, organized by species and all in full bloom. In winter, no less. Orchids, tulips, roses, sylleblossoms, in more colors than there were in a rainbow. There were hundreds - no, thousands, it must have been. Some with blossoms that hung like bells, and others whose petals were spread wide, reaching upward towards an absent sun. Butterflies and bees obliged their welcoming blooms, gorging themselves on their nectar.

Trees, too, there were trees. Cherry blossoms and hanging willows, their thin branches gently swaying in the breeze. The wind caught on their leaves, singing a soothing lullaby to the birds that wistfully sung back. The stone pathways stretched deeper into the garden, twisting out of sight beneath archways of woven rose bushes. You could hear the faint gurgling of a fountain, hidden behind a wall of vines and brush.

It was like falling into a storybook; too perfect to be real.

And yet it was. You stood there for a long time, just admiring it. Gralea had become so industrial, barely any fauna had survived within its walls. They’d been slashed and burned to make way for imperial bases, for palaces, for office buildings that no one liked. It was so primally joyous to be surrounded by life, in every sense of the word. Like you could feel Eos sigh as her children flourished on her soil.

You were transfixed by the feeling, breathing deeply to catch that organic scent on your nose. So much so, that you jumped slightly when you felt a sudden weight upon your head, a black rim on the outskirts of your vision. Reaching a tentative hand up, you traced the outline of a hat.

“Now I dare say that looks much better on you than it does me,” a silky voice teased from behind you, announcing his presence before he stepped into view. Turning, you saw Ardyn was smirking as he eyed you up and down, but that was nothing new. It was when you noticed him without his beloved headwear that you realized he’d placed it upon your head instead.

Carefully, you traced the rim with a finger, noting the craftsmanship of the little thing. It was definitely designer, yet it looked so silly, combined with the rest of Ardyn’s ensemble. The thought had you smiling softly to yourself.

“Guess you’ve got good taste,” you said, your smile widening into a grin as you glanced at him. He’d walked a few paces ahead, but now he stopped to turn back to you.

“Ah ah ah!” Ardyn wagged a finger at you. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, come along. I’ve had a small luncheon prepared for us, and it would be a shame to let it spoil.”

You flashed him a bright smile. “Sounds wonderful,” you chirped, taking your place next to him as he began to lead you through the maze of flowers. Bright purples and deep blues, peach pinks and blushing reds, you reached out your hand to let your fingers glide gently across their petals. Their touch was like feathers, their aroma like the finest perfumes.

It was enchanting, especially for a city kid like you. You darted from bush to bush, inhaling their dreamy scent before trotting after Ardyn, who ventured off ahead of you. When you stopped for what must have been the tenth time, a merry chuckle chimed in your ears, and you turned, finding Ardyn’s golden eyes on you. His smirk had been twisted with an amused fondness, watching how you enjoyed the flowers with a near childlike innocence. You beamed brightly at him, a wordless thanks for bringing you there. It was gorgeous, and your heart soared with how perfect everything was.

And secluded, you thought, hiding a smirk by sticking your nose into more flowers. No one here to ogle at you this time, thank the gods. Perhaps Ardyn had been paying attention.

As you went to smell more of the flowers, a branch caught your head on something, startling you a little. Right - you were still wearing Ardyn’s hat. Glancing at him, he’d walked a few steps ahead of you again, unaware that you’d fallen behind. A playful smirk pulled at your lips, watching him blissfully saunter on without a care in the world.

Perhaps you should repay him for how he greeted you at the entrance…

You waited until he got a little further away, close to the end of long flowerbeds you walked between. As soon as he did, you quickly darted forward, almost jumping to swiftly place his hat back on his own head. You giggled when it fell over his eyes, his steps faltering in bewilderment as you scurried away, innocently burying yourself in the beautiful flora while he fumbled with the offending accessory. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lift it, revealing his own signature smirk that was equal parts amused and conniving.

Oh, he was so going to get you back for that.

“Best be careful,” Ardyn warned as he walked up to you, admiring the flowers you were using to hide your face. “One might say I’m a reigning champion at such games.”

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes briefly to enjoy the sweetness of the flowers.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, making a show of ignoring him, cupping another flower and bringing it closer, its amber petals almost seeming to glow in the afternoon rays that broke through the cloud cover.

Ardyn let out a laugh, making you smile widely to yourself. Even if you lost whatever game this was, hearing him laugh was prize enough for you.

“Oh, I knew there was a reason I took a liking to you!” He said delightfully. Warmth coated your neck at his remark, and a lock of hair found itself between your fingers.

Gods, him and his assistant?

“Come along now, darling,” Ardyn said, waiting to continue until you joined him. “We’re almost there.”

You shook yourself mentally, willing your blush to subside so you could smile at him. “Coming!”

The path from there diverged in several directions, and once you were at Arryn’s side, he led you deeper into the garden, the shrubs growing larger here. These bushes boasted thick branches and fat leaves, obscuring the rest of the garden with their grasping tendrils. The flowers before had been tall, to be sure, but now they stretched into the sky, as if they desired to be free of the soil that nourished them. It almost felt like those corn mazes you’d heard Satus mention sometimes, but you had no doubt this was infinitely more luxurious than stocks of corn. The flowers popped even more brightly against the darker background, drawing your eyes every which way as you tried to take all of them in.

“Here we are,” Ardyn breathed, coming to a stop at the end of the path. You halted at his side, looking up from the hydrangeas to see where he’d taken you.

Your eyes went wide, a tiny gasp escaping through your half parted lips.

The rows of flower beds gave way to a small clearing, in the center of which stood a proud cherry tree in full blossom. Bright pink tufts of petals coated its elegant branches, which would’ve provided ample shade, if the sun had been out. The ground was covered in the soft down of its buds, like a blanket of strawberry snow. Directly beneath the tree, a towel had been laid out, decorated with the twin dragons of the imperial emblem, who twined themselves down its middle. Atop the fabric was a large circular dish, filled to bursting with all manner of fruits and sweet berries, whose bright colors betrayed a taste of the tropics. To your right, another path spilled into an ornate gazebo, fit with blooming vines that hung down off its domed roof. Butterflies and bees hopped merrily from flower to flower, while birds playfully swooped between the branches, each frolicking in their own little slice of paradise.

“Ardyn…this is beautiful,” you said with unconcealed awe. The fairytale comparison felt even more fitting now, every detail lovingly crafted, like a painter over their latest work.

Ardyn hummed a soft laugh. “I’m pleased it’s to your liking,” he purred, again enjoying how impressed you were. He quite liked that look of amazement you wore.

“I mean…how can this place even exist?” You said, looking around at the peonies that framed the clearing like a halo. “It’s the beginning of winter.”

Ardyn hummed again, as if pondering your question, before wordlessly pointing upward. You followed the gesture, staring up at the gloomy sky with confusion. You squinted, unsure what you were looking for, before your eyes finally caught on what appeared to be a dark line cutting through the sky.

“A greenhouse,” Ardyn answered your unspoken question. “His Radiance had it installed many years ago. Said the palace had grown ‘stuffy’.”

The thought of the emperor having distaste for his own palace made you chortle quietly to yourself, your gaze fixed on the outline of the glass panels in the sky. “Can’t say I disagree with him.”

“I’ll be sure to inform him of your disapproval,” Ardyn teased. “Now, come. Let us enjoy the bounty I’ve had prepared.”

His boots crunched on the crisp lawn, the cobblestones fading to pebbles at the end of the path. The damp soil squished beneath your feet as you stepped to follow him, your restless eyes trying in vain to take in all the scenery. It wasn’t long before you reached the tarp, though you hesitated before it, unsure if you should take your shoes off to keep from tracking mud over it. Although, a glance at Ardyn told you he hadn’t deigned to do so, so you figured it was alright. He was already settling at the base of the tree, his back supported by its wide trunk and his legs stretched out in front of him. You seated yourself on his right, staying close but giving enough space so you wouldn’t touch each other accidentally. The fabric was unbelievably soft, yet kept the prick of the grass blades from stabbing you. Petals rained down gently from the tree above, but they were easy enough to brush aside.

“Please, help yourself,” Ardyn said, pulling the platter of fruit between the two of you. Upon further inspection, it contained more than just fruit, though. Squares of a pale cheese were stacked neatly on one side, with plain crackers butting up against them. Thin slices of a freckled meat were farthest from you, folded neatly over each other.

Ardyn gravitated towards the latter, taking a slice between his fingers and popping it into his mouth. You watched him chew for a moment before eyeing the cheese, hesitantly taking a square. You were a picky eater after all, and again, you worried over liking anything. Although, you spied ulwaat berries amongst the pile of fruit, one of your favorites, so at least you wouldn’t go hungry.

Cautiously, you nibbled off a corner, letting its taste flood your mouth. It was creamy with a light saltiness, becoming smoother as it melted in your mouth, and you let out a contented hum, eating the rest of the square in one bite. The pile of snacks dwindled as you both munched happily, a quiet calm spreading between you.

“I don’t believe we finished getting to know each other,” Ardyn said after he finished, his golden eyes falling to you. You met them with a nod, reaching for some of the blueberries you saw. Their vibrant sweetness exploded on your tongue as you bit through their supple skin.

“Tell me, have you gotten the chance to travel much?”

You shook your head as you gulped down your snack, looking back out at the bordering flower beds. “My parents never cared much to take me when they went on trips. And after I was kicked out, I never had the money.”

Ardyn let out a soft sigh, his gaze fixing ahead of himself. “A shame, really. Though, I suppose that means I’ll just have to show you around.”

You paused, glancing at him quizzically. “Like…show me around the world?”

“Where else?” Ardyn smirked at you, raising a brow challengingly. Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, unwilling to hold his gaze as a wave of heat washed down your shoulders.

He wants to take me around the world? The thought was sweet, yet it almost felt too good to be true. Why would he want to spoil you so much?

“Fear not,” Ardyn chuckled at your rising bashfulness. “I’ll ensure we don’t visit any wineries.”

You huffed a laugh at that, the tension leaving your muscles at his gentle jest. Truthfully, you were quite enchanted with the prospect. You’d been cooped up in the city since birth, and you longed to see what lay beyond those dreary walls. Sure, you’d been to a few places that boarded the city limits; small towns and rest stops when your parents visited their orchard, but aside from that, the outside was a complete mystery to you.

“I’d like that,” you said, a soft smile on your face.

Ardyn smirked. “Music to my ears!” He exclaimed, munching on a piece of cheese. You reached for a cracker, loudly crunching down on its dry saltiness.

“I have been wondering about your culinary tastes as well, though I suppose I should’ve inquired sooner,” Ardyn said. “I take it everything is to your liking so far?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah,” you said, swallowing the last of your cracker. “It’s all lovely, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He plucked some grapes from their bunch, rolling them around in his palm. “So, what is your favorite dish?”

“Hold on,” you said, your smile fading as a slight nervousness invaded your heart. “Last night, you got to ask all the questions. Today, I want to get to know you.”

You met his eyes as you said your piece. You didn’t want to seem pushy, or ungrateful for the dates, but you still didn’t know much about him. If someone asked you to describe him, you would be reduced to mostly talking about his choice of clothing, proving how little he’d revealed to you. Granted, it was only your second time sitting down with him, but you’d done your best to be honest the night before, and you felt you deserved the same courtesy. Though you hoped this wasn’t some invisible line you were stepping over; perhaps there was a reason he wasn’t able to discuss such things.

Ardyn met your questioning glare with a smile, instantly making the unease ebbe away.

“Very well,” he said. “You must forgive me if I seemed recluse; one can never be too cautious in my position. Though it is for that reason I cannot promise I can be entirely forthcoming with you.”

You shook your head with a smile of your own. “That’s okay, I understand. I just want to get to know you better.”

Ardyn gave you an understanding nod. “A reasonable request,” he assured. “Ask away.” He ate his grapes while he waited for your first question, grinding the rinds between his teeth.

Here’s your chance to learn more about him. Where to start… You figured you should start small, ease him into opening up.

“Sooo…what’s your favorite color?”

There was a pause, long enough you thought he may not have heard you, until Ardyn snorted out a disbelieving laugh. “That is what you wished so badly to know about me?”

The tips of your ears burned with self consciousness, and you looked away from him. “It’s just a question,” you said defensively. It was the first one that came to mind, and you figured it was good enough. “I didn’t think it was some big secret.”

Ardyn hummed, staring out at the expanse of flowers around you. Guess it is a secret, you thought glumly as the silence stretched, and he offered no answer. You let out a sigh through your nose, grabbing a slice of meat and eating it. The spices immediately exploded on your tongue, a piercing hotness mixed with a hint of salt and garlic.

“Green.”

You looked up at Ardyn, puzzled. “What?”

“My favorite color,” he met your eyes again, signature smirk in place. “Is green.”

The sourness you felt dissipated, and you brightened. “Yeah? Got a favorite shade?”

“Hmm. Tough one, that,” he mused. “I must say though, the deeper shades often catch my eye. They are incredibly rich colors, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would. I love a good phthalo green.”

“You really know your stuff! Pray tell, what is your favorite color, then?”

“Navy blue,” You said, layering a piece of cheese and meat onto a cracker.

“A most noble choice,” Ardyn cooed. “You certainly have fine tastes.”

“Didn’t used to like it,” You admitted, biting down on your little makeshift toast. The cheese and meat complimented each other quite well, with the cracker adding a light crunch. “It’s grown on me over the years.”

“I can certainly see why,” Ardyn said, smiling to himself. The conversation died down for a spell while you both ate, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other's company.

At least, that’s what you hoped was happening. You were certainly starting to enjoy being around him.

“What’s your favorite animal?” You broached, once you finished your cracker.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not really one to care for fauna.” Ardyn laced his fingers in his lap, looking quite relaxed as he reclined against the tree.

“Well, what’s one animal you like, then?” Ardyn raised a brow at your insistence, and you flashed him a smile. He let out a sigh, knowing you wouldn’t let him get out of answering in some capacity.

“I have a slight fondness for our yellow-feathered friends,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened, and you gasped dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “So you are a chocobo person!”

“Noticed that, did you?” He chuckled, seeing the twinkle in your eyes. His answer had excited you a great deal.

“How could I not? Everyone knows that song.”

“Then it shouldn’t be so shocking I’m familiar with it.”

“That’s not the shocking part,” you shook your head. “More shocking that you happen to like that song.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “Something to listen to while I fill out paperwork.”

You hummed an agreement at that, chewing on some of the ulwaat berries, their bright sweetness a nice contrast to the saltiness of everything else.

“Might I ask what animal you find yourself fond of?”

“Hmm.” You pondered that as you popped the last of the berries in your mouth. “I also like chocobos, I always thought they were cute. And snakes too, I like snakes.”

“It seems we’re more alike than I thought, in regard to the former. Have you had a chance to ride one before, a chocobo?”

Your smile faded sadly. “No,” you sighed, your childhood dreams of doing so long since fizzled out. “My parents would be mortified by the thought. Always said it was ‘beneath’ us.”

He smirked smugly at the flower beds before himself. “Well, you’ll not have to worry about them any longer,” he said. “Perhaps our first destination should be one of the many ranches that lay to the west. I've heard some have quite remarkable flocks, with your pick of plumage.”

Your lips parted in shock. “You’d take me to see chocobos?” Your parents hadn’t even wanted you near the things, and here was the chancellor, offering to take you?

“But of course!” He flashed you a grin. “When I am not bound by my obligations here, it’ll be a day on my gil.”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded for a moment, before a smile began to tug at your cheeks. “That’s sweet Ardyn, I -…Thank you.” You thought about telling him he didn’t have to, that he didn’t need to spend his money on you, but the look on his face told you he would only insist. It was obvious to anyone this was one of his ways of flirting, and yet…it made your insides feel tangled with a warm fuzziness you couldn’t name.

Although, the former half of his sentence brought up something you’d been wondering about. It was decidedly more intimate than your previous questions though, and you hoped he wouldn’t take offense. But you had been curious.

“What’s it like…being chancellor?”

Ardyn scoffed playfully. “Got tired of small talk, did you?”

“You seemed rather disappointed I started small,” you countered.

“I suppose you have me there,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, to be perfectly honest, being chancellor isn’t as luxurious as one may be led to believe. I could be mistaken for a common accountant, given how often I am tasked with balancing budgets these days.”

“Not a numbers person?” You snickered.

“Oh, quite the contrary.” He waved his hand, swatting away the idea. “My fluency in numeracy is without question; it is the sheer boredom I feel from filling out such paperwork that makes some days drag on.”

“Do you like it? Being chancellor?”

Ardyn nodded. “Indeed I do. It is an honor to serve my country, paperwork and all.”

The way he said ‘my country’ told you there was more to that story, but you decided not to probe. After all, he’d already told you more about his position than you would’ve expected. You smiled though, instead remembering something he’d said the previous night.

“Coworkers and all?” You teased, flashing him a smirk of your own. He scoffed again at that, shaking his head.

“Yes, coworkers and all. Though calling them anything more than imbeciles is being generous.”

You laughed, hearing the clear annoyance in his tone. He didn’t bother trying to hide it.

“Why don’t you just fire them?” You questioned. “You’re like second in charge, right?”

Ardyn smiled, you supposed at your naivety. “That I am, though I am not in charge of his Radiance’s cabinet. I’m afraid I’m stuck with whomever the Emperor chooses.”

“Bummer,” you said, and Ardyn nodded. Would that he could get rid of those fools, but it was as he said; he was powerless in that regard.

“I trust what I’ve told you shall stay between us?” He asked, glancing at you. After all, he had to play nice with them, at least for the most part.

“Of course. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“How relieving,” he sighed contentedly. “Have my answers satisfied you enough to permit me an inquiry?”

“Alright, go ahead,” you said with a wave of your hand. He’d earned it. “You wanted to know my favorite food?”

“Actually I had something else in mind,” he said, turning to you. “Have any of the flowers here caught your eye?”

“O-oh,” his question caught you off guard, and you tried to remember all the different kinds you’d seen. There were so many, it was hard to settle on just one. “I liked the orchids we passed, I’ve always been fond of those. But really, everything here has been beautiful.”

“Orchids, hm?” He echoed, considering that for a moment. Without another word, he abruptly stood up, shaking the tiredness from his limbs and stretching a little. You looked up at him with bewilderment, wondering if you’d said something wrong.

“Worry not, I’ll be just a moment.” He smiled down at you. “Please, help yourself to anything you see. What’s mine is yours.”

With that, he left you under the tree, disappearing into the thicket of roses and thorns. You stared at his back as he left, wondering where he was going, but given his sudden interest in your flower preferences, you figured he may be gathering a bouquet for you. Not exactly subtle, though given his manner of dress, you supposed subtly wasn’t his strong suit. Still, the thought had you blushing, it was quite sweet, if that was indeed what he was doing. The man wasn’t kidding when he said he enjoyed chivalry.

While you waited for him to return, you scooted to the edge of the blanket, admiring the pink and yellow blooms all around you. Some leaned over the raised beds in which they resided, beckoning you to sample their luscious scents. You could hardly refuse them, smiling as their gentle petals caressed your face.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, but you were soon startled out of your blissful indulgence when, again, something was placed on your head. This was definitely not a hat though, more of a circlet, and when you reached up to touch it, you felt flowers beneath your fingers.

Turning around, you were surprised to find Ardyn kneeling behind you, a wide, satisfied grin on his face. You hadn’t even heard him return, nor felt the blanket dip from the addition of his weight. The man was like a ninja when he wanted to be.

Carefully, you removed the circlet from your head so you could look at it. Your breath caught as you held it out in front of yourself, staring in stunned awe. Ardyn hadn’t simply gotten you a bouquet, no, the man had made you a flower crown. Comprised of the flowers you told him were your favorite, the craftsmanship was breathtakingly immaculate. Each of their stems were woven together at the perfect length, leaving just enough room for the flowers to create a stunning halo. Not a leaf was out of place, each of the dozen or so blooms he’d used pointing outward and on full display. You held it with the utmost care, afraid you might undo the stems should you treat it wrong.

“Do you like it?” Ardyn asked proudly, sitting on his shins and watching while you turned over the delicate crown.

“Like it?” You gaped at him, looking into his honied irises. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you might,” he snickered. You continued to admire his handiwork, turning the little thing over and feeling the petals between your fingers, which grew sticky from their yellow pollen. Ardyn simply watched you examine it, before he decided to gently cup your hands in his, guiding you to place it back on your head. You could feel the callouses on the tips of his fingers, and the warmth that sent a tingle down your arm, your heart skipping a beat.

“After all, it suits you…花の姫.” (Hana no hime; flower princess).

He let go as your eyes went wide, part of you unsure if you were hearing correctly. But no, he’d definitely just called you flower princess in ancient Lucian. The sweetness in his voice had a mad heat trickle down the tips of your ears, a blush spreading across your fair cheeks.

“I don’t know about ‘princess’,” you said shyly. “But you’re definitely かっこいいです.” (Kakkoii desu; handsome).

“Oh my!” Ardyn quipped. “Feeling bold today, are we?”

“You make me so,” you said, giggling at his prideful smirk. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, the compliment had certainly stroked his ego.

“I really am a bad influence, aren’t I?”

You both shared a laugh at the thought, though you couldn’t help but think it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. His own eccentricities made you feel more comfortable being yourself, which meant you could match his playful energy. Honestly, you were thankful for it, even if you weren’t sure why you felt the way you did.

When your laughs had been swallowed by the garden, Ardyn returned to his place under the tree, settling with his back against it. You watched him, waiting until he was comfortable before following him. You hesitated when you got back to where you were sitting before, debating with yourself if you should get closer to him, and you ultimately decided you did. You liked being near him. So you shoved the platter of food aside, causing Ardyn to raise a brow, but he made no protest. You plopped down next to him, only a few inches of space between you two, close enough you could smell his cologne.

“Might I ask you another question?” Ardyn said, once you’d settled in beside him.

“Sure,” you nodded to him.

“What is your greatest desire in life?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t expected that one from him; it was a bit of a deviation from where you’d left off. “You’re asking me about philosophy?”

He looked over at you, a knowing smile on his face. “It’s just a question,” he teased dramatically, and you scoffed.

“Alright alright,” you said with a wave of your hand. You didn’t mind the question, though you took a moment to really ponder it, a thousand different suitable answers coming and going, yet none feeling quite right. Sure, there were lots of things you desired, but none feeling worthy enough to say your life was dedicated to it. Not until you found something that really spoke to you.

“To make people happy,” you said truthfully. “I know what it feels like to be hated by people who are supposed to love you, and I don’t want anyone to have to face that alone. So I try my best to be kind. I don’t always succeed, but I try. If it means it can make someone a little happier, if my dumb joke made someone laugh, I think that makes it all worth it.”

“Hmm,” Ardyn stared ahead at the flowers, his eyes half lidded. “Spoken like a true altruist.”

You shook your head with a smile. You weren’t sure about that, but you wouldn’t argue. “What’s yours?”

Ardyn’s gaze traveled upward, watching the pink petals float down from the tree, swaying gently in the artificial wind.

“To bring justice to those who have wronged me,” he breathed. There was a dreaminess in his voice, and he seemed lost in thought as he said it. You stared at him, watching as unnameable emotions swirled in the depths of his eyes, and you felt a pang of sadness pierce your own heart. It sounded like whatever it was had been haunting him for a long time. You wanted to ask for details, but you knew it wasn’t your place to pry, especially in that moment.

Instead, you tentatively reached over, taking one of his hands into yours and giving it a gentle squeeze, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly. Ardyn blinked away his thoughts, returning to the present as he slowly met your eyes.

“I hope you succeed,” you said, giving his hand another squeeze, accompanied with a reassuring smile. He seemed startled by your words for a breath, before he regained his composure and matched your warm expression.

“Thank you,” he said, and you knew he was being sincere. The playful lilt that ever flavored his speech was noticeably absent.

You nodded to him as you let his hand go. The two of you allowed the silence to stretch, listening to the leaves rustle and the birds chirp. Both of you leaned your backs against the great tree, her bark smooth and welcoming. It was nice, just experiencing all that with him, and your heart soared with how well everything had gone so far. You wouldn’t mind spending many days like this, enjoying the quiet serenity of each other.

And then an idea popped into your head. You straightened slightly, glancing over at Ardyn. He looked quite relaxed, happily gazing at the bees that hopped from flower to flower. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, suddenly nervous about what you wished to ask him. His earlier words echoed in your head while you tried to sum up what little courage you had.

Feeling bold today, are we?

Why yes, yes I am, you thought, deciding to go through with it.

“Hey Ardyn?”

“Yes?”

“Can I…cuddle you?”

There was a pause. Ardyn’s brow furrowed, and he looked at you, puzzled.

“I beg your pardon?” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Like, snuggle,” you said, wringing your hands while you felt another blush coming on. “You know; like holding each other.”

Ardyn seemed to think on the idea, like it was foreign to him. Then, an amused smile touched his lips.

“You’re certainly welcome to try,” he said with a shrug.

Challenge accepted.

You scooted closer, watching his face to make sure he was okay with what you were doing. He seemed indifferent so far, though he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Just before your bodies met, that’s when you made your move. Quickly, you crawled into his lap, making sure to be gentle as you settled into him. Ardyn made a startled sound, but did not protest your actions. You made yourself comfortable right under his chin, burying yourself in his many layers of fabric, his scent all around you. You closed your eyes in bliss, resting your head against his chest as your body soaked up his warmth.

“Is this okay?” You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were slightly wide, and his hands hovered at your sides, like he wanted to hold you, but was afraid of doing so.

“…Yes,” he said, but you could hear uncertainty in his tone.

“It’s okay if it’s not,” you said. “I’m just a cuddle bug.” It was true; ever since you were a child you’d loved cuddling. It felt so nice. It felt like love.

Ardyn took a moment to shed his doubts, but once he did, he chuckled softly, his arms finally wrapping around you, holding you to himself. One cupped the small of your back, while the other held your arms, his thumb carding across your skin. He brought his knees up, cradling you in his lap, which brought a smile to your face, knowing he had accepted this. You felt so comfortable, so safe being held in his arms.

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Ardyn said, and you could feel the words in his chest, next to his heartbeat. The vibrations felt so oddly familiar. “It’s simply…been a long time.”

You shook your head at that, another pang of sadness zipping through your chest. “Next time, I’m holding you.”

He let out a laugh, and you smiled.

“What a sight that would be,” he said, resting his chin atop your head. You could feel his sharp stubble prick your scalp, and you couldn’t help but think it felt nice. You sighed deeply as the conversation died down, Ardyn beginning to massage your skin with the pads of his fingers. His breaths were long and deep, and you enjoyed how they felt against your own.

When your eyes drooped close for a second time, a wave of drowsiness wafted down your shoulders. Don’t fall asleep, you warned yourself, but your body had other plans. Surrounded by Ardyn’s warmth, snuggly tucked into the gentle fabric of his scarves, the soft thumping of his heart began to lull you to sleep. You tried to keep yourself from succumbing, shaking yourself and blinking the sleepiness from your eyes, but you soon lost the strength to do so. You felt your body relax into Ardyn as you were pulled into the void of blissful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

Not anymore.

Though, he could remember a time when it wasn’t uncommon. Where if some lucky interloper had claimed to have seen him basking in the gift of life, of love, it wouldn’t have seemed so outlandish. When he often found himself in the royal gardens, with the most wonderous woman on Eos in his arms, or him in hers…

But those warm memories had long faded to empty, darkened coals.

Yet, holding you, a parallel to those lost memories, he found himself reminiscing. As he nuzzled his face into your hair, pushing gentle kisses into the top of your head, he could see it. See her. The smell of flowers lingered from the crown he’d made you, and he was transported back to a time before he’d lost all he’d loved. He could smell the field of wheat they both adored, the sylleblossoms they traded, the fragrant wood of that old willow tree. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Aera cradled in his lap, Aera whom he held like his most precious treasure.

But when he looked down…what he found was not his beloved. He saw you instead, sleeping like a babe, unaware of the turbulence that twisted his innards.

And part of him hated that. Was enraged that you made him feel the way she did.

He was filled with the sudden urge to shove you off himself. To yell and scream and even slay you for trying to usurp his heart.

His hardened gaze glared at your unconscious form at the thought.

He could kill you. The daemons hummed with glee at the prospect.

It would be so easy. Like trimming fussy, overgrown rose bushes…

…but he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Some part of him liked this. Your warmth. Relished in it, cherished it. It had been too long since someone truly cared for him, wanted what was best for him. It had been even longer since someone held him, ran their fingers across his skin with unconditional reverence. Those notions had died with Aera, when he became the Gods’ perfect monster.

Though despite his misgivings, you’d opened your own heart to him. It had taken some prying, to be sure, but you’d offered him something he hadn’t experienced in centuries. A connection that ran deeper than surface level, down to the very core of his being. What shriveled up, broken and blacked pieces of it that remained. He could see it when he looked into your eyes, the sheer amount of empathy they held, even from what little he’d told you. Somehow, you already cared for him.

And that fact was utterly terrifying.

Ardyn let out a frustrated sigh, watching the way it disturbed your hair. He brushed a stray lock of it out of your face, delighting in the softness of your skin beneath the pads of his fingers. Savoring how your lungs pushed on him with every breath. The feeling of your body relaxing into his.

Someone in this time cared for him. Trusted him.

He pulled you further into his chest, holding you tightly.

He wanted that. He needed that.

“Well played…” he murmured, a smirk blooming on his face. The Gods had certainly given him an apt challenge.

You stirred in his grasp, startling him out of his thoughts. He loosened his grip so you could move, watching as you sleepily crawled upwards, nuzzling the side of his face before placing a kiss on his jawline.

He blinked at the sudden affection, unsure how to respond, but you didn’t seem bothered by that. You immediately fell back asleep, settling into his form and breathing deeply.

He remained unmoving for a moment, before a sly chuckle left his lips.

“Quite the minx you are,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around you once more.

“You seemed tense,” you surprised him with your voice, thick with a dreamy fog.

He huffed a small laugh at that. Perhaps you weren’t as oblivious as he thought.

“Not untrue, my dear,” he purred. “…Not untrue.”

He could feel his own eyelids begin to grow heavy. Ardyn rested his face against yours, breathing in deeply your scent as they drooped closed. His last words hung in the air as he succumbed to the temptation, a peaceful darkness welcoming him as he drifted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ardyn wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but he felt his consciousness slowly return. His eyes stuttered open, a groggy groan parting his lips as sleep slipped through his fingers. Much to his pleasure, it had been a dreamless rest.

“Your Excellency?”

He met the eyes of the meek attendant who’d awoken him, allowing his displeasure to frolic on his face. At least your own sleep hadn’t been ruined by the intrusion.

“I hope for your sake this is something important,” Ardyn warned, satisfied when the poor fellow visibly began to sweat.

“M-my apologies sir,” he stuttered. “But his Radiance has requested an audience with you.”

Ardyn let out an exasperated sigh, looking down at your sleeping form regretfully. “I suppose I’ll have to go see him then,” he said, barely containing his annoyance.

“My apologies, sir.”

Ardyn waved his hand, and the attendant scurried away immediately, happy to have escaped with his job intact.

Peering down at you, Ardyn let out a sorrowful sigh. Nuzzling his cheek against your forehead, he wondered how he was going to wake you. Part of him wanted to say to hell with the emperor, but he had too much left to do for that just yet. Still, he was quite sad what little peace he’d found that day was already coming to an end. Moments like that were so rare, he wanted to prolong it for as long as he could. Alas, the emperor was not a patient man.

“Darling…” Ardyn whispered, nudging you with his cheek. When you gave no response, he said your name, a little louder now. You roused slightly at hearing it, whimpering as you began to regain consciousness. Stubbornly, you burrowed yourself deeper into the folds of his clothes, hiding your face from the setting Sun. Ardyn smiled at your defiance, but he knew you couldn’t stay there forever.

“I’m afraid our time for naps has come to an end,” he said gently. You groaned, clutching onto him like he may disappear without a moments notice.

“Don’t wanna,” you said into his chest. Your voice was muffled by his coat and scarves, but he could still hear how the words were slurred through half-conscious lips.

Ardyn narrowed his eyes at you, then smiled. He let out a dramatic sigh, allowing his arms to fall limp at his sides.

“Whatever am I going to tell The Emperor?” He lamented, lacing his voice with facetious despair. “I fear he would not be so forgiving, were he to discover the fault for my tardiness was yours. I am only looking out for your safety.”

That got you moving. You sat up immediately, your eyes wide as you looked at him in shock. “The Emperor? Gods Ardyn, I’m sorry!” You started scrambling to become presentable, leaning out of his lap to brush crumbs off the blanket, adjusting the hem of your shirt, and frantically combing your fingers through your disheveled hair.

“Darling…darling,” Ardyn said, the urgency in his voice giving you pause.

“There’s no need to be so nervous!” He spoke between laughs. “His Radiance isn’t coming here, he has simply requested an audience with me.”

You stared at him for a moment, before you let your shoulders sag, sighing in relief. “Jeez Ardyn, don’t scare me like that. Still, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Come now, there’s no need for that,” he rubbed circles into your back with his thumb to reassure you. “It’s not often I have the luxury of a midday nap.”

A wide smile spread across your face. Ardyn almost wanted to reach out and pinch your adorable cheeks, but he resisted the urge.

“Yeah? Did you like it?”

He nodded. “That I did. ‘Twas nice to feel relaxed, if only for a little while.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” you said, and the warmth in your eyes almost made Ardyn feel lightheaded.

When was the last time someone looked at him like that?

“But I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Just as quickly, your face darkened again with guilt. Undeserved guilt, but Ardyn could see it nonetheless, and something inside him didn’t like it. Gently, he cupped your face in his hand, bringing your eyes back to him and tracing shapes into your cheek.

“You’re much too hard on yourself,” he said softly. “No such thing shall come to pass. And even should it, the blame would not rest on your shoulders.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, worry etched into your features, before you sighed loudly. “Okay,” you said, yet the worry didn’t fade. “If you say so.”

Arden flashed you a reassuring grin. You remained stoic as you looked at him, until your eyes absentmindedly flicked up, and you abruptly started giggling. Ardyn raised a brow at you, puzzled by the sudden change in demeanor.

“Something amusing?” He asked.

You smirked at him. “Yeah,” you said through another bout of snickers. “You have petals on your hat…and in your hair.”

Ardyn blinked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Do I, now?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “You look cute like that.”

“Cute?” Ardyn huffed indignantly. “You insult me.”

“Oh come on,” you leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek with your nose. His lips parted in surprise from the affection, and you smiled big at him. “You’re adorable.”

Ardyn scoffed, making you laugh. He shook his head at you, before his smirk returned at full force.

“Well…I suppose it’s not as bad as having petals running down the front of my shirt.”

Your eyes went wide, smile gone as you looked down to find, indeed, there were petals going down your chest. Some had settled on your breasts, a few even found their way into your bra.

“Ugh, Ardyn!” You cried, flinching away from him to frantically swat away the petals. He laughed loudly while your ears burned a bright red, pulling your shirt up to hide your modesty. Ardyn couldn’t help but enjoy the irony of this situation, given how eager you’d been the other night, but he supposed this was his doing. Besides, you were technically ‘in public’, at least more so than you’d been at your apartment.

“Come now darling!” Ardyn said through bouts. “I have enough respect for you not to stare. At least…not much.”

You glared at him, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “You’re bad.”

“Never claimed to not be,” he said with a shrug. You shook your head at him, even as a chuckle bubbled up from your throat.

“Guess that’s why I like you.” You grinned at him.

His own smirk grew at that. His heart skipped a beat, and he told himself that’s because of how perfectly his plans were unfolding. You would be much easier to keep an eye on now.

“You’ve no idea how delighted I am to hear that,” he purred, grasping your hand and bringing it to his lips, placing a light kiss on your knuckles. It was cute how you tried to hide your blush by looking away, but Ardyn was far too keen for such things.

“I’m glad,” you spoke shyly, even while a happy grin remained on your lips. “So, when can I see you again?”

“Yes, about that,” Ardyn gave your hand a light squeeze before releasing it. “I had hoped you would join me for a little celebration the Emperor is putting together in half a fortnight. It will be a grand ball filled with all his Radiences greatest luxuries. Would you do me the honor of being my guest for the evening?”

“Oh gosh, Ardyn,” you said, wringing your hands nervously. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for that kind of thing, I’ve never spoken to any nobles besides you. I don’t even have anything nice to wear.”

“Nonsense!” Ardyn boasted. “It would be a privilege to have you at my side for the night. And you needn’t worry about attire nor your manners; I shall provide you with both.”

The look you gave him was full of doubt. “That’s sweet Ardyn, a-and I’m flattered, really, but…are you sure you want to be seen with me? What if I embarrass you or say something stupid?”

He supposed he couldn’t be surprised by your shyness, but seeing you like that nearly made him feel pity for you. Your self doubt was a plague, much like the rage of his own daemons, the both of you silent puppets to their whims. He almost felt sorry for you.

Almost.

“You needn’t worry,” Ardyn said softly, grasping your chin in his fingers to force your eyes back to himself. “I’m sure the noble houses will be too busy with their own jealousy, courtesy of the beautiful maiden at my side.”

That got a laugh out of you. He grinned as he let go of your face, the sound like a gentle wind chime, coaxed into singing by a soothing breeze. He found himself liking the sound, as odd as it was to acknowledge that.

“What happened to ‘flattery will get you nowhere’?” You asked with a knowing smirk. Ardyn returned the sentiment with his own signature smugness.

“Well…if you’d rather I didn’t call you such…”

“No no,” you said quickly, placing your head in the open palm he offered. You hummed happily as his thumb carded across your supple cheek. “I like it when you call me that.”

“I figured you would,” he said. “Now, I’m afraid we must be going, dearest. The emperor will only wait so long.”

You nodded. “Right.” Reluctantly, you crawled out of his lap, standing so you could stretch out a little. Ardyn found himself feeling cold now that you were gone, but he ignored that, rising to begin the trek back through the garden. You followed along behind him, taking one last look at all the flowers as you went.

“Oh, shouldn’t we bring the plate in?” You asked just as his boots touched the cobblestone pathway. He turned to see you looking at the platter of forgotten food, and he had to chuckle at your question.

“You’ve no reason to fret; a servant shall come and retrieve it for us,” he said.

“Oh…right.” You hurried after him, shoes crunching on the pebbles of the walkway. The journey back to the entrance was peaceful, and Ardyn enjoyed once again watching you bounce from flower to flower, gently caressing their delicate petals before darting to the next. You were more excitable than he would’ve guessed from your previous encounters.

Of course, Ardyn insisted on seeing you to the palace gates, which you were more than happy to agree to. He led you through the winding hallways, and you remained respectfully quiet, even while a soft smile still adorned your face. It wasn’t long before the palace’s grand doors came into view, with his most senior servant waiting obediently next to them.

“Justin will show you home,” Ardyn said, gesturing at said man. He bowed respectfully to the both of you as you approached, posture picture perfect.

“Of course Your Excellency. I will bring around the car.”

“See that you do,” Ardyn dismissed him, and he was out the door with a trained swiftness. He turned back to you, and you smiled at each other.

“Thank you, Ardyn,” you said. “It was all so wonderful. I’m glad you brought me here.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning that he was touched. “You’re very welcome dear,” he cooed. “I shall see you on the evening of the gala. In the meantime, I shall have suitable attire sent to your abode. You can expect it on Friday.”

You beamed at him. “Thank you Ardyn. I-I really don’t know what to say, that’s very sweet of you. You know you don’t have too.”

“Oh, but it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to spoil someone. All I ask is that you join me for the festivities.” He raised his arms theatrically, indicating the decadent palace around you.

You giggled at his dramatics, your eyes full of warmth as you gave him one last smile. “Alright, I’ll see you then.” You waved at him as you turned, beginning to follow after the attendant. Just as you came to the door, you glanced over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. Ardyn titled his head inquisitively, watching indecision contort your expression. He thought it rather amusing, how you often seemed to struggle with internal debates.

Finally, you made up your mind. Without warning, you darted back to his side, standing on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his left cheek. Ardyn’s eyes widened, and you smirked proudly back at him.

“I’ll see you next week,” you said merrily. With that, you were gone, out through the double doors before Ardyn could respond. He stared after you for a moment before letting out a light laugh. You’d surprised him more than once today, and for that he was grateful, even if he knew the palace hands would doubtless be busy, spreading rumors of the chancellor’s newest toy. Perhaps that would get the obnoxious suitors that try to court him off his back for a little while.

He could muse about all that later though. He made his way back through the endless halls, the scarce servants scattered about bowing to him deeply as he walked by them, descending into the lower bowels to retrieve his beloved automobile. All the while, much of his thoughts were taken up by you. Reliving those soft moments you shared, analyzing the feelings that accompanied them. It was fascinating, for someone like him. The fluttering in his chest…he couldn’t tell if he despised it or adored it.

He wondered if you remembered the flower crown still perched on your head. You looked so heavenly with it…part of him hoped you would keep it. Would smell the blooms and think of him.

Even if the rest of him was swathed with rage. For none of this would matter, in the end. All that mattered, was that he got his revenge…

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Can you tell my love language is physical touch? 🤣🤣

I want to thank everyone that included me in those tag/ask games, even though I didn’t have time to do them. Thank you for thinking of me 💕💕

Next chapter is gala time!

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #ardyn izunia x reader #ardyn x you #a dream come true #ffxv fic #ffxv fanfic

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