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sailoryooons · 2 years

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Carved | One | jjk (m)

→ Summary: Hundreds of years after the Underworld wins the war, Vaesen - demon kind - rule the Realms. The Vanir - creatures of light and the Heavens - are hunted and enslaved by Vaesen. When the demon prince Jungkook is given one of the Carved - angels who have been stripped of their wings - he has no idea what to do with you. You, however, have plans you are determined to see through. Even if it means death in the end.

→ Pairing: demon!Jungkook x angel!female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Type: Series

→ Word Count: 11,921

→ Genre: dystopian, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, angst

→ Series Warnings: This series will feature multiple religious themes under the guise that there are multiple heavens, hells, and all religions are real. Each chapter will contain it's own warnings, however please note that general tags that will fall under this series are: death, gore, dead dove do not eat, enslavement and abuse. This is a dark story. Though there are some good parts, reader and Jungkook are two individuals under very intense circumstances and have goals that do not align. If you want to read it for the smut, please do. But do not leave comments about how morally reprehensible some of the characters will be in this.

→ Chapter Warnings: Murder, graphic depictions of blood drinking, mistreatment of enslaved characters, imbalanced power dynamics, explicit language, alcohol consumption, drug use, graphic depictions of dismemberment, intense world building, hints of suicidal thoughts, hints at non-con / dub-con (not by Jungkook's character), characters fighting to the death, racism in regard to species, a lot of world building (sorry), explicit sexual content, oral (m. receiving), implied sexual content including sadist/ masochist mentions, everyone is a terrible person, including Jungkook

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ faq

A/N: The first chapter is here! This is not as long as I originally intended, but as this is an eight chapter story, I just wanted to get the first chapter to lay the scene. Please note that Jungkook's POV is in third person - this only happens on this occasion - this story will maybe feature Jungkook's point of view one more time, but it will predominantly be reader's. I apologize for all of the terms and unfamiliar words - I will put a mini glossary at the end of things mentioned in here. I hope this lives up to the anticipation, I had a lot of people excited for this which always makes me SUPER nervous.

what music hali was imagining for reader's grand entrance: hells bells by AC/DC

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. BTS is not BTS culturally, intellectually, physically or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

/ PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER /

Jungkook’s eyelids flutter as he tilts his head back, thighs twitching. His fingers wrap tightly in the girl's hair – he's already forgotten her name – tugging at the strands near the scalp. He feels her moan around his cock, vibrations making him pant.

Gritting his teeth, he looks down at the carnal vision in front of him. She blinks up at him, black tears streaking down her face, makeup ruined. Jungkook growls, tightening his hold further, thrusting up into her mouth. Spit dribbles down the sides of her face and chin. He doesn’t care. She gags, more spit leaking out the sides of her mouth as he fucks up into her. She chokes. He doesn’t care.

Her nails are hot in his thighs. Jungkook closes his eyes, thrusting with abandon. Her throat hugs him tight, hot and perfect as he chases a white light beyond his eyelids.

It hits him, making him cuss as he shoves her down all the way, her throat clamping down on his thick cock as he cums.

Spent, Jungkook pulls her off his dick. She gasps for air, falling backwards and heaving. Her mouth is a mess of cum and drool. Her lips are swollen, a fucked-out mess on the marble floor, whining.

Jungkook pushes himself off the rose quartz sink. The lights in the bathroom are dim, a cool pink. He flicks the faucet on, washing his hands from the grease and glitter on her skin. The soap smells like lavender, softening the callused palms of his hands.

Glancing up, Jungkook hesitates at his reflection. Round eyes stare back at him, bloodshot. His pupils are saucers, blown out and hungry. He re-arranges his dark hair, pushing it backward. A single, stray lock falls over his brow, insistent on staying out of place. He leaves it, giving his outfit a one over: black leather pants with a smear of the girl’s glitter, black shirt with buttons, open almost to the navel. The sleeves are long, hiding the winding tattoos on his right arm to his back.

The girl now on her knees on the floor says something to him. He can barely hear over the roar of his orgasm and the music rattling outside in the main club. Jungkook turns around, frowning when he finds her pliant and squirming on her knees for him.

“What?” he asked her.

“Touch me,” she begs. Her pink hair is mused, eyes shadowed with watery makeup. Lipstick smeared. It should turn him on, but it doesn’t. Jungkook knows Taehyung will have more girls and boys back at the penthouse for him. Jungkook is the birthday boy after all. “Touch me, dominus.”

Jungkook scowls. “Get up,” he barks at her. “You’re not a collared whore. Don’t act like one.”

The girl flinches visibly but he steps around her, already tired. He flicks the lock on the private bathroom and melts into the shadow of the hallway beyond.

Deep bass pulses from the dancefloor. Lights and bodies tangle below as Jungkook comes out of the private bathrooms on the second landing. Below him resembles a Vaesen pit – swirling bodies pressed up against one another, the smell of hundreds of creatures and pheromones heady.

A circular walkway with no balcony looks over the main dance floor. The music vibrates the metal floor beneath Jungkook’s boots as he walks over to a section of velvet booths, diamond tables and expensive booze. The red curtains are tied back, revealing a handful of lounging Vaesen royalty and high society. Collared Vanir purr in the laps of Jungkook’s friends, their sickly-sweet voices lost over the thump of bass.

Jungkook plops down next to Jimin. The son of the richest man in all of Lythos grins at Jungkook, peeling the petite collared pixie from his lap and pushing her aside. The pixie tries not to look put out, her pink lips frowning. Her all-black eyes show no emotion, but she’s moving onto the next victim. Sora lets the pixie climb all over her, giving Jungkook an amused look.

“Got your rocks off?” Jimin asks, shouting over the music. He leans forward and grabs a sweating glass. Jungkook can smell the mint and synth in the alcoholic beverage, a lethal drink. “Didn’t take long.”

“Just needed to get blown.”

Jimin laughs at Jungkook’s comment as though Jungkook invented comedy. The young demon is burning with vitality and he’s very drunk, the synth oozing through his veins. And why shouldn’t he be drunk? It’s Jungkook’s birthday and he wants his friends to enjoy themselves, even if Park Jimin has never had a day where he didn’t indulge in his desires.

As a powerful succubus, it’s Jimin’s talent to indulge.

Jungkook doesn’t fault him for that. Jimin’s father owns the largest collection of private banks in the Realm, not just Lythos. Their silver tower they call a home glitters above the entire city – higher even, than Jungkook’s - home to the entire Park lineage. Jungkook cannot keep track of the number of ancestors Jimin belongs to. Jimin is the only Park that matters to him.

Across from them, Taehyung is drawing a knife across the shoulder of a nephilim girl. Taehyung’s legs are spread open, the girl melted in his lap as her eyes stare up at Taehyung like he is the only thing in her world. And he probably his. Taehyung’s leer hypnotizes even the strongest of Vaesen. A collared nephilim is nothing against his magic, especially when he looks the way that he does.

Taehyung’s amber eyes flick up, sensing Jungkook’s gaze. He grins before slipping out a pink tongue to lap at the girl's blood, dripping down her shoulder. The demon closes his eyes, tongue laving at her skin. She shivers in his grip, canting against him.

Jimin gets up from his spot beside Jungkook, slinking across the private space to join Taehyung and his ravishing hands. Jungkook watches the pair sink their teeth into the girl, never biting in the same place twice. Blood blooms over her milky skin. Her eyes roll back in her head, putty in their hands. Blood smears. Wounds drip.

Movement next to Jungkook draws his attention. Sora has disposed of the pixie on her lap, sidling up to Jungkook and nodding toward the pair feeding on the nephilim. “Going to have to pay extra for that.”

Jungkook shrugs. He tries not to look at the girl. He can hear her heartbeat slowing as her blood pools at Taehyung’s shoes. The security at the front of the booth has the intelligence to pull the strings holding open the booth’s curtains. The velvet brushes shut.

Biting nephilim to death isn’t illegal but Jimin and Taehyung are prominent members of society. Unflattering pictures with blood running down their chins and neck just won’t do. Especially because Jimin is engaged to the sweetheart of Lythos, a movie star known for her sweet and innocent disposition on camera.

Andromeda was a nightmare off camera. She doesn’t care what Jimin does, but they have a single rule: do not embarrass me.

“It’s on Taehyung,” Jungkook grunts. “Spared no expense.”

“He even purchased the box of honor in tomorrow’s Titan League match, didn’t he?” Jungkook nods, internally groaning. He forgot that Taehyung had purchased the very obnoxious and very publicized seat of honor for the sporting event. “Bet your father will appreciate your presence there.”

“He will,” Jungkook grunts.

Belial has been pushing Jungkook to participate in more public events for years. Anything to get his youngest son in the public for all of the right reasons. Jungkook knows that he hads to try harder than his brother and sister to be featured in a light that the Belial prefers.

Too nice and they call him an angel. Too violent and they accuse him of overcompensation.

Across melted ice and broken bottles of synth-infused alcohol, the nephilim’s heartbeat lulls to a stop. Jungkook glances at Jimin and Taehyung. They’re not looking at her, instead arguing over the odds for the Titan League match tomorrow. Jungkook doesn’t follow the gladiatorial fights, but his friends are incredibly invested in betting on the Vanir slaves that fight in them.

Blood runs down Taehyung’s neck. The darkness of it looks stark against his satin skin as Taehyung rolls his eyes and leans back against the seat of the booth while Jimin leans forward gesticulating wildly with his hands.

Neither of them looks down at the dead girl in Taehyung’s lap.

Jungkook glances at his other friends in the booth. Yoongi is yawning while a man who is distinctly fae makes out with a woman who looks vaguely lupine over him. He looks bored, as he often does when they go out.

The kitsune is rarely entertained by Taehyung and Jimin’s taste. He’s also been alive for almost two thousand years. Jungkook has a strong sense that nothing in life surprises, or is new to Yoongi anymore. His dark, feline eyes stare out into the distance, lost in his own world as the Vanir turn their attention to him, sucking marks into his smooth, pale neck.

Sora’s girlfriend Maeve giggles at something Sora whispers to her. Her hair is raven black with eyes the color of poison. Maeve looks every part the villain, a sleek figure and cunning eyes with a wicked mouth. Jungkook had a crush on the eldritch vampire as a child until he realized that she was as insidious as her gaze. Jungkook didn't like being the prey and got over his crush quickly.

She still likes to poke fun at him for it, much to his distaste.

The nephilim flops to the floor, knocking glasses off of the table displaying liquor. The Vanir flinch, looking at the dead girl as Taehyung and Jimin frown before continuing their conversation. No one seems to be paying attention except for the wisp of a pixie that had been crawling all over Jungkook’s lap earlier.

Black eyes fixate on the dead nephilim. Jungkook frowns. The pixie trembles and sniffs, covering her mouth. Jungkook smells it then- the fear.

Bodies shift in the private booth as the other Vaesen catch onto the scent of her fear. She doesn’t realize her mistake – the first thing they train the collared to do: never show fear. The Vaesen thrive on fear, consume it, crave it.

Hunger stirs in Jungkook. A deep longing for violence and blood. He doesn’t drink blood to live like Maeve, but it fuels his gifts. Makes him stronger. Spurs his arousal.

Jungkook’s tongue traces his teeth – sharp canines among pearly whites. He leans forward, Sora and Maeve watching with muted smirks. Yoongi has pushed the collared fae off of him, watching with muted interest as Jungkook fixates on the shaking pixie.

Jungkook’s world becomes a needle-sharp focus on the pixie. Her heart is beating triple the pace of a humans. He smells her blood – like the sickly scent of honey – and overtop of that the sour scent of adrenaline and cortisol flooding her system as her fear spikes.

The pixie screams when Jungkook lunges. Thrashes against him when he sinks his teeth in. His grip is iron. She wails and Jungkook bites harder, his heartrate spiking as she fights him. His eyes roll back in his head as lush blood flood his mouth.

As the pixie’s heart begins to peter out, Jungkook’s pupils dilate. He is suddenly aware of the other Vanir in the booth, all attention on him. But there is no fear, just dull interest in the scene as he removes his teeth from the pixie’s shoulder with a meaty sound.

Blood runs down his chin and neck. Stains his chains. Pools in the hollows of his collar bones.

Going back to his seat, he sits down – collapses into the seat. His vision is sharp. Colors glitter their true, full shades. He can pick out conversations in booths next to them, hear the carnal noises coming from beyond the privacy of the curtain.

“Like I said,” Sora announces, leaning back with a smirk and kicking her heels up on the table. Jimin moves the pixie to the ground next to the nephilim, making room for himself. “An expensive night.”

Expensive indeed, but Taehyung doesn’t look at the bill when he flourishes the tip of the pen across the paper. Their group moves down to the second floor, bodyguards falling into step next to them. Jungkook has his own personal armada, but he managed to convince Namjoon to come as a lone guard for the night.

Jimin and Taehyung are the only others with guards – Jimin an obscenely wealthy and very prominent member of social society, Taehyung the heir apparent and COO of his father’s mining company that is responsible for the allocation of Lythos most valuable product: synth.

The material found deep underneath the roots of the city now known as synth is a unique mineral that acted as a biological matter, with the malleability to mimic the makeup of other materials. Its use was wild among the elite – pumped into body alterations to heavily modify the body and appearance, combined with food to change flavor and appearance, used in alcohol to enhance the effect - it even has uses in creating creatures that had gone extinct.

Jungkook doesn’t exactly understand how synth works, but he knows that it is a trillion-dollar empire with unprecedented value and achievement. And the Kims' own every single mine that currently has access to synth.

Jungkook notices a lesser demon walk by, a pair of angel wings on its back. The wings catch Jungkook’s attention, making him swivel around to look at the demon as he passes. They’re in the fashion of the seraphim – large and brushing the ground, each feather perfect and white. Jungkook can sense the blood pulsing in every feather and quill, realizing that the wings are functioning limbs.

A synth alteration, he knows. Synth is the only material that can make prosthetics bind to the host and live. The demon now has functioning angel wings, though that doesn’t make him an angel. Jungkook can feel there is no grace in the demon, no hint at the heavenly power that flows in their wings with a small amount humming in the soul.

Rain is heavy on the air. Namjoon brings the car around, Taehyung and Sora elbowing each other and shouting about something that Jungkook doesn’t understand. Blood is still roaring in his ears, pumping from the high of feeding on fear.

Cold air hits him in the face as he slides into the luxurious interior. He slides to the far corner, away from the clamor of his friends. He feels a strong presence next to him as the car pulls onto the road just as it begins to rain in earnest, water slicking across the window.

Jungkook turns. Yoongi is next to him, quiet and dark eyes watching.

Yoongi has no bodyguard of his own. He doesn’t need one. No one can pinpoint exactly what it was that Yoongi does, but he has money and connections. And Yoongi is terrifying. It's well known not to mess with the kitsune, for their old grudges longer than most creatures exist and their minds are their most lethal weapon.

Jungkook met Yoongi through his father – the Min family had been incredibly loyal and a friend to Belial during the War of the Realms. Yoongi has been a loyal ally to Belial - more Jungkook - since. When Jungkook’s father asks for information on someone in the Realms, Yoongi finds it. When they need someone removed from their opposition, they mysteriously disappear.

Jungkook starts to decline but Yoongi does not waver. “You need to settle.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Your father isn’t the pinnacle of great advice.” Yoongi pushes the water toward him again. “Settle or you’re going to frenzy.”

Jungkook scoffs but takes the water from Yoongi. “I haven’t frenzied in years.”

“Exactly. The longer you go, the easier it is to set you off.”

Jungkook knows the fox-demon is on to something. The less he gives into that white-hot hunger that burns deep within him, the more likely Jungkook is to give in. Like he did when he smelled that Vanir’s fear. Jungkook’s demon-blood is too strong to ignore for eternity.

As the son of a Prince of Hell Delta who's also one of the three ruling lords of the Triumvirate, Jungkook’s demonic lineage is powerful. Belial has had eons to perfect ruling in his Underworld, a prince among demons. Now, he is a lord among Realms – one of three, at least.

Perhaps Yoongi is right. Jungkook is due a demonic frenzy and giving away to bloodlust and carnage if he’s not careful. It's just one of the many side effects of being a greater demon.

Water cools Jungkook off. He sighs and melts into the cool seating of the car, his senses dulling as he relaxes. It isn’t until they’re piling out of the car and riding the mirrored elevator to the penthouse that Jungkook realizes how close he was to losing control. He had felt the beginning of the feral fire within him when he was fucking that girl’s throat in the bathroom, but now his head throbs as he comes down from the rush, nerves jittery.

As expected, there is collared Vanir waiting in the apartment for their arrival among other Vaesen in the wider social circle Jungkook runs with. Jungkook’s fellow members of the Underworld shout at his arrival – a surprise party, though Jungkook had predicted Taehyung’s moves.

Jungkook puts on his Lord’s Smile – that's what Yoongi has jokingly called it. He shakes hands with other demons, often flanked by collared Vanir who keep their eyes on the floor. He accepts drinks with a bow of his head and a polite smile. He calls people by their names. He asks about their families and their businesses. He laughs as they rip their Vanir after them by the collar or their hair.

He performs. And he ignores. That is what he is best at. Doing nothing.

After two rounds around his raucous apartment, Jungkook slides his hands in his pockets and makes his way upstairs. He steps over a witch laying on the floor at the foot of his stairs. Her heart flutters like dove wings and her eyes are shut as she pants. Her collar is pink with a little heart on the front. By the time he has reached the second floor of his home, he’s forgotten about her.

Rain mists the sky on his balcony. He shuts the door behind him with a click, the glass frosted from the humidity outside.

Lythos is shrouded this high up, the rain hanging in the air like a grey cloak. The lights of the city burn gently through it, hundreds of stars in a murky sea. He leans on the slick, metal railing and breathes in deep. It's damp, a touch of coolness to the air. In the sky he can’t smell the stink of the city. It's just rain and cloud.

Jungkook closes his eyes. His skin dampens, hair hanging in his face as he lets the water cool him off. His shirt sticks to his skin, sticky and clammy.

Opening his eyes, Jungkook looks down. He can’t see the ground from up here, though his eyes search. He wonders what would happen if he put one leg over then the other to cross the railing. Would the fall kill him? He doubted it, but as he stared, his curiosity piqued.

Pulling away from the haunting call of misted air, Jungkook murmurs, “Ari.”

The lares appears, the phantom silhouette barely visible in the night. They bow deeply – they have no features, nothing to indicate a gender. Whenever Ari speaks, their voice is both within and without, a thousand whispers in a thousand voices.

“Dominus,” they great. “It is my pleasure to serve.”

“Tell Taehyung to send up one of those drakkon males of his.” Jungkook enters his dark bedroom. He snaps his fingers and a fire sparks to life in a modern hearth. “The more ill-tempered, the better.” Firelight gleams in Jungkook’s eyes as that hunger gnaws at him again. “I need something durable.”

Cameras flash like explosions across Jungkook’s vision. He tries not to flinch, but even after hundreds of years of living, his photosensitivity hasn’t improved. He smirks to the camera, though he really just wants to go back to sleep. He can still smell the yarrow salve sticking on his back – the drakkon had left terrible marks all over Jungkook’s tan skin – and his head is pounding from the line of angel dust that went up his nose five minutes before he got out the car.

It's the only way to grin and bear it. It’s officially Jungkook’s birthday. His apartment was silent when he woke up. The bacchanalia from the night before had been cleaned while he was asleep and the drakkon had been kicked out and returned to Taehyung long before Jungkook fell asleep bleeding and bruised.

The sting was still there when he woke up, claws raking marks up and down his body. The drakkon had begged Jungkook to stay the night after Jungkook broke him down. Jungkook is especially good at edging the toughest of Vanir, numbing them to the bone with pleasure.

He never forces himself on them – Jungkook finds little satisfaction in rape. But to have powerful creatures made for killing and fighting begging for his cock? Pretending that their will is strong and that they can withstand him, only to break and beg? That is something. To fuck them until they break apart feels like real power of the mind and of the body.

Jungkook is feeling drunk on it still as Taehyung offers angel dust, a stimulant. He can tell it's laced with synth, the burn harsher than normal angel dust. But it takes the edge off, makes everything appear sharper, and gives him clarity while making him less irritable.

Hells below Jungkook is thankful for Taehyung.

Jimin and his betrothed pose together, his arm wrapped around her thick waist. Andromeda is beautiful – all soft curves and thick legs. Hair that shines even in the darkest of rooms and eyes that glow an insatiable ruby. They would be a great match if they didn’t hate each other.

Titan League games are usually a glitzy affair, but this one is far more blown out than Jungkook wants. There are socialites everywhere, a mix of those invited personally by Taehyung to be in their box of honor for the fights, and those whose company bought them tickets to appear on the rolled-out carpet.

They wish Jungkook a happy birthday as they pass. He respectfully accepts them, though he is careful about his reactions, measures each one appropriately. He does not smile at those too far beneath him, and he makes sure to shake the hands of those who are either going to be someone or who already are.

Years of media training have prepared him for these interactions.

The stadium sits in downtown Lythos, a crown jewel of a building. Its domed roof keeps the eternal rains from disturbing the fans. Holographic screens display the matchups for the night, painting the world blue and purple.

Titan League matches are only held twice a month – there are plenty of smaller gladiatorial leagues where the glaedia fight, but the Titan League is the biggest of the big.

This is where gods come to die.

Holograms appear as they enter the private lobby for those invited to the box of honor for the match. It’s reserved for those being honored during matches, notable patrons or government officials, celebrities and the owners of the Title Match – the big, final showdown that everyone wants to see.

Jungkook studies the holograms in silence. There are ten matches on the night – five small ones with lesser known glaedia, three glaedia that are notable but not worth a final fight, a Gallows Match to punish criminals, and the Title Match.

A frown twists Jungkook’s mouth. Tapping Jimin, he gestures to the empty disk on the floor where the glaedia should be for the Gallows Match.

Watching criminals of the Realms fight trained glaedia for a chance at freedom is one of the crowd's favorite elements of the highly produced games. It’s the second biggest part of the show where collared Vanir warriors show of their skill against vicious prisoners of war who fight like they have something to lose.

“There is no one for the Gallows Match?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin follows his gaze and grins. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. They’ve got Reaper here tonight! She doesn’t have any marketing pieces, but fuck she is a crowd favorite.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar. Jungkook barely recalls Jimin and Taehyung fighting the night before over whether the glaedia – Reaper – should be allowed their own Title Match.

“She doesn’t have marketing? That seems… odd.”

“She’s apparently really difficult to work with.”

“She’s a collared Vanir, they’re supposed to be controllable.”

Jimin’s grin grows. “She’s Carved.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. Carved angels are not common. As the most massacred of the species during the War of the Realms, there were few of them left. Having a Carved as a fighting glaedia seemed gaudy and strange.

“What is a Carved doing as a Gallows Match glaedia? And a Carved what?” Their group enters the elevator. The Vaesen attendant – a green-skinned lesser demon – hits the button and they shoot toward the private box. “And Carved are supposed to be the most obedient of the collared.”

“No one knows the type of angel. From its strength, I'm guessing erelim maybe. It's strong willed,” Taehyung speaks up. His grin is like sunlight. “You’re going to love Reaper.”

Music pulses in the arena. Cameras fly around on their own, guided by dedicated staff in the control room somewhere the fans cannot seat. The box of honor is low enough to the field to catch all of the action up close, but high enough to get the entire scope.

People scream and cheer when Jungkook enters the box with his friend. He smiles and waves as one of the cameras buzz over to him, flashing his face on the massive screen hanging from the domed ceiling and other LED screens on tablets and in suites.

The moment passes and he lets out a breath.

Along one side of the suite is an ornate buffet table gleaming with food. Jungkook stomach rumbles as he scans the dishes: roasted honey duck, saffron risotto, artichoke soup with black truffles, parmesan crusted lobster, trays of sashimi and truffled caviar. The food is endless and nearly untouched as the Vaesen move about the room.

Taehyung leads Jungkook over to the president of the Titan League. She’s present for each game, watching with a critical eye and she is responsible for the operations and game presentation. She flashes Jungkook a smile, all sharp teeth ending in fine points. Her eyes are reptilian yellow with pupil slits, a grey pallor to her skin. She is stunningly beautiful, an allure about her.

Jungkook acknowledges the lamia, for he is sure that is what she is. She thanks him for being there and bows deeply. “You are in for a wonderful night, my lord.” The lamia straightens and smiles again, a blush on her grey cheeks. “Quietus is the top of the Titan League’s glaedia. He’s an Ulfheðnar and descendent of Odin. His wolf form is unlike anything we’ve seen.”

“I look forward to it. His opponent?”

She grins.

“A vila called Storm. She has the power of a hundred storms at her command.” Jungkook raises his brows. The lamia quickly adds, “They will both be wearing chokes, of course.”

Jungkook nods. He knows chokes are necessary. Vanir can be powerful, and the electronic rings with needles inserted into the arms of the combatants, control their flow of power with electronic pulses. To even the match, fighters are often given disproportionate amounts of chokes based on their power level.

Music and entertainment thunders from the floor of the arena. Clean sand covers the ground as a dancing group puts on a number for pregame entertainment. Thousands of people fill in their seats, the sound a dull roar beyond the protect electromagnetic shield that Jungkook can just detect on the front of the box.

Dull conversations pull him around the room. He is introduced to the slave owners who own the glaedia for the night’s festivities. Faustus is an ancient vampire with a gut – that Jungkook did not know was possible for vampires – and rings on every hand. His perfumed breath his Jungkook in the face when he assures Jungkook that Quietus is the finest glaedia to have existed in Lythos – perhaps all the Realms.

Faustus’ opponent for the evening is a quiet woman with keen eyes. She’s something vulpine – like Yoongi, but perhaps not exactly. She is polite but reserved, her lips thinning when Faustus insists that his glaedia will destroy hers.

A handful of idols greet Jungkook. Taehyung invited them, of course. Pretty little Vaesen and their glittering makeup and delicate clothes, as though they aren’t full of hatred down to the core. Jungkook lets the cute siren hover near his elbow, throwing her a smirk as she giggles.

When it’s time for the match, the lamia finds him and runs over the opening ceremony briefly – he just has to smile and wave when queued. It's easy. It's simple. He's smile and waved thousands of times.

Lights flicker and dim. The arena volume turns up, the walls vibrating as the host steps out onto the field for opening ceremonies. Jungkook settles in the seat of honor – directly next to the president with Faustus to his right. Taehyung and Jimin sit behind him. He can hear them placing bets as the intro music for the first match begins.

Jungkook watches in relative silence as the president – Rima, he remembers now is her name – stands and waves for the cameras. Jungkook flashes a smile and stands as she instructed him before hand, waving lightly to the crowd.

Music pulses and lights explode on the screen. Jungkook hasn’t been to a Titan League match in a long time, but they’re like any other sporting event in Lythos. Sponsor names and logos flash around the LED rings built into the multiple levels of stands. The massive screen shows brief highlights of the first opponents before announcing them. They take the field to an energetic song, throwing their hands up to the crowd.

Jungkook can see the glinting collars from where he sits. The metal chokes running up their arms.

It's a shame Taehyung has dumped so much money into bringing Jungkook to the event. He loses interest almost immediately, zoning out as the first fight bleeds into the second. He isn’t keeping score, though Faustus launches to his feet multiple times next to him – he seems to be cheering often, so Jungkook guesses vaguely that his glaedia are doing well.

His mind wanders back to the night before, standing on his balcony in the rain and looking out into the mist. It was the closest he had come to at feeling total peace. Just the storm and Jungkook alone in the sky. No one would have seen him if he went over that railing.

Death is not what Jungkook is looking for specifically. He doesn’t want to die – though he often wonders how it’s going to happen. He supposes that he could go to an oracle or a banshee and asked them how it ends. There are so many creatures in the world that know the way the lives of those around them will unfold – it would be simple.

And yet pointless.

Jungkook doesn’t want to die, but he’s not thrilled about being among the living either. Every day is a forced performance, and he fucking excels. He slips through the dance every morning with his family and paints the smiles better than anyone he knows. He keeps his head down, works through the paperwork his father leaves him on his desk, settling petty disputes around the city. He does what he is asked.

But fuck he is tired.

Once upon a time, he used to think that his apathy was similar to Yoongi’s. Yoongi moves about the world at a slower pace than most, never seeming moved, always unaffected. But Jungkook realizes that the kind of apathy that Yoongi has is not from constantly wishing he were anywhere else – was anyone else – it was from years of seeing the same repetitions over and over.

Yoongi remains unbothered because he is confident in the way the world was going to play out. He knows his path. Has walked the same one for almost two-thousand years. The kitsune has the true power to be himself without restraint. It’s awarded him the confidence to not care about anything.

Jungkook envies that. To not care. To be whatever he wants without punishment. It is a freedom that no one truly has except for maybe Min Yoongi.

In the corner of the suite, the kitsune is tucked into a comfortable seat in the corner. His feet are kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes are closed. Jungkook’s lip twitch in a smile – only Min Yoongi can get away with pulling something like that.

A deep sound vibrates through the floor and up Jungkook’s legs through his boots. He looks up to see that they have moved through almost the entire match. Fuck he is way more distracted than he thought. He hopes that he was at least staring the general direction of the field.

The scene is different now. The crowd gets on their feet, screaming and chanting as a loud bell tolls. People in the suite get to their feet, including his friends. The president remains sitting, but there’s a glint in her eye and smirk on her lips as the music builds.

Unsure, Jungkook stands. He turns to look over his shoulder at Taehyung and Jimin, who are screaming. Jungkook casts Jimin a question with his eyes. Jimin grins and mouths Reaper.

Ah. Jungkook realizes it’s the Gallows Match that they had been excited for.

On the screen, highlights flash. Jungkook feels his breath catch in his throat as he gets his first glimpse at the glaedia in question. The production value is staggeringly better for her introduction, statistics and clips blurring across the screen.

Jungkook is fixated. Lightning snaps across the screen and the entire arena lights up purple. Reaper is shown summoning a blade of pure wind before slamming it down into an opponent, blood spraying. Its glitches to a highlight of her running and jumping high into the air, as though carried on the wings she no longer has before she comes down, severing a giant in two. She fights with a sword and a dagger – never a shield. Her movements are precise and fast, always with purpose.

“Citizens of Lythos,” the host yells in a deep voice over the arena speakers. “She is sword, she is the storm, she is death, she is Reaper.”

The screen flashes to show the glaedia walking down a mirrored hall. It tracks her movements perfectly as she walks, staring straight ahead. Jungkook is surprised – Reaper is absolutely stunning. Hair braided out of her face, eyes piercing and filled with fire. Her arms are corded with muscles, and he sees scars on her flesh, but the way she moves with her eyes forward and chin lifted up is captivating.

Reaper does not look like a whipped and controlled Vanir. She looks angry, proud and violent.

Music ramps up and a spotlight turns on as the gate leading to the glaedia hall opens. She appears in the archway. Fans foam at the mouth. They scream for her. Jungkook watches as the idols in the suite with him scream in delight.

“That’s my Reaper,” Faustus smirks. “Never has a glaedia been so popular for Gallows Matches.”

“Then why does she have no marketing support?” Jungkook asks the question before he can stop himself. Jimin already told him the answer, but he likes seeing Faustus squirm.

“We feel that it feeds the illusion and her mystery.”

“I see.”

Jungkook turns back to look at her. She’s dressed in black, fitted pants and black boots. Her t-shirt is black as well, covered by a leather vest that acts as armor. Jungkook can’t tell from the box, but he assumes it’s magically reinforced. The sword and dagger as her chosen weapons are on her back. Several chokes line her arms as she stands with her hands loose at her waist, staring up at their box.

And then he feels it. Jungkook goes rigid in his seat, fingers digging into the leather armrests. It’s a soft brush of fire, igniting near his soul. He can feel her ember of live burning there, soft and hot. He grits his teeth as a chill settles on him as a flash of emotion – not his own – spikes through him: defiance.

Jungkook pants. He feels her - but no. Taehyung implied that the Carved angel was erelim. Nothing more.

From his vantage point, Jungkook can see the expression on her face. Unfettered rage is there as she glares at the box – not at him, but at the man next to him. Jungkook glances at Faustus and asks, “Feeds the illusion and mystery, you say? Or is she not compliant.”

Faustus sputters. “Carved are quite difficult creatures.”

“Carved are the simplest form of slavery we have. She should die on instinct if you ask her to.” The vampire goes red in the face, something Jungkook didn’t know possible. “Ah, but it makes for a good show,” Jungkook amends. “How many chokes does she wear?”

“Seven.”

“How many is the most in these matches?”

Faustus glances at him, unsure if Jungkook has tired of getting under his skin. “Seven. She wears the most. Quietus wears six.”

Jungkook feels surprise again. “Impressive.”

“No one has worn seven chokes,” Faustus announces proudly. “Ah, here are the opponents for the night.”

A roar of boos rumble through the crowd. Jungkook watches as three uncarved angels are pulled onto the fighting pitch by collars and leashes. He hears someone in the suite gasp – and he is equally surprised.

The three angels on the field aren’t just angels – they're powerful malakim with the full might of their wings and they are unchoked. Though they are the smaller of the angel breeds in the Realms, the messengers of Shamayim are known for being relentless warriors and with power over fire and water.

How a single choked and Carved is supposed to beat them, Jungkook is unsure.

It appears Faustus agrees as he turns to Rima and demands, “What is this? We did not discuss three unchoked malakim for my Reaper. This is an outrage!”

“We discussed game operations before the Lord was announced as our guest of honor. You refuse to put your Reaper in Title Matches despite her skill and our requests.” Rima clicks her teeth at Faustus. “Careful, you’re on camera. Wouldn't want the fans to see you panic.”

Faustus turns and tries to look unaffected. Jungkook can see how settled the vampire is as the malakim are unleashed on the field. They don’t immediately attack the handlers. They know that if they defeat the Carved angel standing across the pitch from them, they’ll be granted freedom.

Jungkook glances at Rima, who has her eyes fixed on the Carved. Either Rima is incredibly confident in Reaper’s ability to rid the world of the three malakim that shuffle their wings on the field, or there is something deeper. Something more sinister.

Punishment comes in many forms, Jungkook knows. He wonders who is being punished: the glaedia or her master.

If Reaper is bothered, she doesn’t show it. She bends down, running her fingers through the sand. It leaves marks, fingerprints in the earth. Jungkook recognizes it as an older tradition, warriors grounding themselves before they fight. He is transfixed as she stands back up and looks at her opponents.

Jungkook’s small connection to the Carved angel peters out. He can still feel her there – but it’s muted. Like a hand on his thigh, soft but not a disturbance.

The malakim shuffle, nervous energy in every movement. They're on the thin side and covered in grime. The Reaper is at least clean, staring at her three foes as the siren blares for the match start.

Noise surge as the crowd's scream, jumping to their feet. Jungkook leans forward, elbows on knees as the malakim attacked.

They're uncoordinated and immediately Jungkook can tell they aren’t working together. He scoffs at the wasted opportunity as the middle most malakim – a female with ebony hair and skin pale as the moon – launches upwards with a few beats of her wings, intending to take the Reaper from higher ground.

The Reaper moves fast. Jungkook almost misses her pull the dagger from her back, throwing it with more force than he’s seen in years. It hits the male malakim with blond hair in the face. Ichor sprays as it cleaves his skull, the dagger hurtling to the ground behind him. Cheers erupt at the sudden display of violence, but Jungkook pays no attention to how quickly she’s disposed of one enemy when she has two left.

Lightning dances up Reaper’s arm as she skips backwards, light on her feet as the two malakim charge her from the ground and the air. Jungkook thinks that if she can get the woman out of the air – he gasps as purple lightning cracks like a whip.

Flashes of purple and white light up the sand as the Reaper throws a rope of lightning at the flying malakim. The opponent on the ground hesitates, looking up as the whip made of pure electricity wraps around the malakim’s neck. Reaper yanks hard, the flying malakim screaming as she is ripped to the earth. She beats her wings, but the force of the bolt seems to overwhelm her.

Dust flies up as the malakim hits the ground. Jungkook can hear the crack of a broken wing. Reaper lets go of her lightning whip to remove her sword, lifting it in front of her face as the male malakim breaks from his shock, trying to land a two-handed blow onto the Carved angel.

Sparks dance where the swords meet. Jungkook feels the vibration in his teeth from the blow. It rattles the malakim but the Carved doesn’t move. The malakim growls something to Reaper that Jungkook cannot hear. She bares her teeth at him, and a gust of wind punches the malakim, sending him backwards. He hits the far wall and crumbles.

Faustus shoots to his feet, screaming and punching his fist into the air. Rima watches with muted interest, her eyes flicking back and forth between the Carved and the female malakim getting to her feet. There's a char line around her neck burned flesh and her right wing hangs wrong, twitching. Jungkook is surprised she’s alive.

The woman pulls the sword from her back. It glints, deadly as she circles Reaper, carefully not to cross her feet. Jungkook can’t help but shake his head.

“What?” Rima asks him, catching the movement. “You are not entertained?”

“These malakim are warriors. Look at the way they move. Why not attack together?”

Rima grins. “Only one is allowed to live – whoever kills the Carved.”

“So it’s not as tilted as it appears.”

“It’s tilted enough. Fighting three malakim determined to skin you alive is difficult enough.”

“Still, had they attacked together, the result may be different.” Rima hums. “You disagree?”

“I think that the Carved has better things to be going than Gallows Matches.”

“Like fighting in your Titan Matches?”

Rima grins.

Metal against metal rings out, drawing Jungkook’s attention back to the fighting. The malakim is quick and precise, going on the offense immediately as she presses the carved back. The male gets up to his feet, though he is unsteady.

The crowd screams directions at the Carved. Despite being on the defensive, she doesn’t seem stressed. She evades the malakim’s attacks with ease, ducking under them and spinning away. She is just beyond the reach of her enemy’s sword each time.

Even when the second malakim joins the fray, the Carved angel is calm and collected. Jungkook is pleasantly surprised when the malakim begin working together, timing their blows. Where one sword misses the next follows through. They get close, but Reaper’s foot work keeps her ducking and dancing.

Reaper barely uses her sword. The crowd is laughing and jeering at the malakim. Jungkook realizes she’s playing with them, making them sweat and work in tandem as they play chase. As they near the corner of the arena, she ducks under their swords again and strikes upward with a fist.

The male malakim goes flying upward. He catches air on his wings, beating them until he goes higher and higher. Fire sparks along his hands. Jungkook raises his brows and realizes what the malakim intends as his female partner battles Reaper.

Heat singes the and as the flying malakim shoots fire at the two of them like guizers. The female malakim screams as her teammate sacrifices her. Orange flame swallows both of the angels on the ground, causing everyone in the box to stand. Jungkook finds himself standing along with them, walking forward for a better view.

Taehyung appears next to him. “Holy shit it fried its friend. Fucking glorious.”

Jungkook can hear the female malakim screaming. “Caged animals will do anything to free themselves.”

Taehyung claps Jungkook on the back. “True, brother.”

A blast of wind erupts from the fire. It knocks the angel backward, spinning as he tries to gain control of his flight. The fire cuts off, smoke curling as the dust clears. Where the female malakim stood is nothing but bone and ash. Reaper steps over the corpse looking up at the male malakim who hovers. She shouts something at him – the malakim answers in kind, sneering.

“Cut!” the crowd screams. The voices join one another, a deep chant as they begin to stomp their feet, repeating the word over and over again. It sounds like a war drum. “Cut cut cut cut.”

“Do it,” Taehyung muttered. “Come on!”

“Do what?”

Reaper looks around. The male malakim seems just as confused as Jungkook. Taehyung doesn’t look at him as he answers, “Reaper can summon the wind and form a blade.”

Jungkook thinks back to her highlights. “That’s an incredible concentration of wind. She can do that with seven chokes?”

Taehyung doesn’t have to answer. The Carved angel widens her stance as the chanting of the crowd booms. She spreads her arms wide, and they begin to scream. Electricity and adrenaline fills Jungkook, that hunger like a frenzy sizzling in his veins at the uncontrolled desire of the crowd. Spit flies as they scream, fans red in the face with the force of their excitement.

The malakim is no longer distracted. He brandishes his sword and drops from the sky, a bullet shot from a gun toward the Reaper. She brings her arms together in a sharp movement, as though she is about to clap. But she doesn’t her arms crossing just slightly. Jungkook sees the blade of wind slice toward the angle, a horizontal disturbance in the air.

Blood and guts spray. Jungkook blinks in surprise. The malakim blinks a moment before the top half of his body separates from the bottom. It’s like time slows. Jungkook watches, fascinated as the light dies from the malakim’s eyes. He drifts to the ground as the crowd screams. They throw roses and flowers. Handkerchiefs and favors hit the ground before the malakim’s blood paints the sand crimson.

His body hits the ground in two parts. Entrails leak from both halves, inky and ruptured. Reaper stares at the pieces of the angel, panting. It's the first time she seems tired, though the match couldn’t be longer than fifteen minutes.

Reaper is announced the winner. She walks over to the center of the pitch, facing the box of honor. Jungkook can make out her features more closely – keen eyes and sensuous lips. There's blood on her face and neck.

The glaedia’s eyes drift to Jungkook. For a moment, they stare at one another. Taehyung elbows Jungkook, teasing him as she stares directly at him. She doesn’t lower her eyes like she should, making him arch a brow. There is an intensity and fire there that makes something deep inside of him stir.

Jungkook almost shivers when he feels her mind brush against his. It’s fleeting and fucking terrifying but it goes away almost as quickly as it came. He’s beginning to think the angel dust has affected him more than he anticipated.

His breath quickens. Erelim cannot touch him - he cannot feel them. There is only one type of angel who can do that, and they're almost eradicated. Jungkook shakes his head, leveling his breathing.

She bows deeply to Jungkook. She straightens and casts her eyes down, as though she remembers she isn’t supposed to look Vaesen in the eye – much less a lord of the city.

Taehyung turns to look at Rima behind them. “Why isn’t the Carved fighting Quietus? The next match won’t be nearly as entertaining.”

The Vaesen who owns Storm clears her throat. “With respect, Mr. Kim, my glaedia are-”

“Fine, I’m sure. But Storm is not Reaper.” Taehyung directs his words to Rima. “You’re the president of the league. Surely, it’s your call to alter the Title Match.”

Rima looks uncomfortable. “It’s not protocol to have a glaedia fight twice or to have a patron’s glaedia fight one another. Storm is wonderful -”

“They are fucking Vanir,” Taehyung interrupts. “What does it matter how many fights they have? They were born to die.” The discussion is drawing the attention of the cameras and the suites next to them. Rima tries not to look put out, smiling. “You cannot tell me that the Carved angel down there fighting an Ulfheðnar is not worth of the Title Match.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” the president answers carefully. She looks at Faustus, who is uncharacteristically silent. “They are your glaedia. Are you willing to lose one?”

The vampire is careful as he says, “It is not ideal. They are my most prized possessions, Mr. Kim. I own glaedia and those are my two biggest money earners.”

Yoongi materializes at Taehyung’s elbow. The taller demon bends his head as Yoongi murmurs something so quietly that even Jungkook cannot make it out. The kitsune drifts a few paces back as Taehyung nods.

“You’re right.” Faustus starts to sag with relief. “So how is this: I’ll purchase Reaper from you as a gift to Jungkook.” That catches Jungkook’s attention, brow arched. “That way if Quietus wins, you still have a glaedia. If he loses, you’re still up money from Reaper’s purchase.”

Jungkook has seen this before. Taehyung’s usually calm and collected exterior gives way to the spoiled son of one of the most powerful demons in Lythos. Taehyung tilts his head, amber eyes glowing. Though Taehyung’s father is Yeom-ra, a demon king, his mother’s heritage remains unknown. It is the son of a king Jungkook is looking at now as Taehyung’s gaze intensifies. All eyes are on them, trained to the tension crackling in the air.

“Lord Jungkook is my best friend,” Taehyung murmurs softly. “And today is his birthday. Have you not seen how bored he is? He is too polite to say so – he is the son of a Triumvirate, after all, trained in the art of manners.” Taehyung steps forward. “I, however, have no such limitations on my patience when it comes to what I’ve paid for. Sell me the Carved.”

No one moves. Faustus looks to Rima for help, but she no longer has the power. Jungkook has kept silent, as he often does. He prefers to watch the exchange. It matters not to him who fights who. He steals a glance sideways at the Reaper. Her gaze is like thunder, dark and stormy. He smirks. Violence is there. Her fist opens and closes.

“As you wish, Mr. Kim. We live to entertain. Reaper and Quietus will put on a splendid match for the Lord’s birthday.” Faustus glances nervously at Jungkook. “They are friends, the pair of them. Their reluctance to fight will be enjoyable.”

Taehyung places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, amicable again. “There is no such thing as reluctance among the collared. What do you want for the Carved?”

“What am I going to do with a glaedia?” Jungkook asks, shrugging off Taehyung’s hand. “Just let them fight, I don’t need a Carved.”

“Let me buy you the fucking slave, Kook.” Taehyung whistles and a collared dryad appears, bowing her head and handing him a wallet. He removes a checkbook, glancing up through serious brows at Faustus. “The number?”

“She is worth at least three million daenae.”

Taehyung scribbles. Rips the check and tosses it at Faustus. “I’ll buy it for four. Carry on, Rima.”

With a critical eye, Rime speaks into an ear piece, instructing the control room the change of plans. The host down on the pitch gets word, launching into the announcement immediately. Jungkook is only half listening as the host announces that Lord Jungkook has purchased Reaper and put her up for the Title Match against Quietus.

The crowd works themselves into a frenzy.

Rima is busy calming down the patron whose glaedia was originally supposed to fight quietus. The woman is visibly upset, though she talks in hushed tones and doesn’t dare to look at Taehyung or Jungkook.

Jungkook grabs Taehyung by the elbow, interrupting his laughter with a group of socialites. Taehyung let’s Jungkook steer him away as the game operations crew readies the pitch for a new fight. Jungkook does not have to turn to see that Reaper is still on the field. He can feel her there.

“Why would you buy me a glaedia?”

"I have one, I don’t need another.”

Jungkook glares. “I don’t need one at all.”

“Well it can’t hurt you. Your dad might be impressed you had the balls to buy one.” Jungkook is caught off guard by the truth of it. Taehyung must see the anger and hurt flash into his eyes, because the older sighs. “It doesn’t have to be a glaedia. It can be used for anything, it’s Carved.”

Reaper brushes up against the very being of him again. Jungkook closes his eyes, struggling to keep a firm hold on himself. She’s not poking at him, but it’s like she’s discovered someone like her and she’s curious. He doesn’t think a Carved should be able to do that. “Then you take her.”

“My family has two Carved. We don’t need another.”

“I don’t want her.”

And he doesn’t. Jungkook swallows past a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain it to Taehyung. That Jungkook can feel the angel behind him pacing on the field. He couldn’t feel the malakim. But Reaper invades his senses.

Taehyung turns to leave but Jungkook grips his elbow, hands like iron. Taehyung’s brows furrow as Jungkook very gently says, “She’s seraphim.”

“What?”

“She’s seraphim,” he repeats. “Please don’t make me take her.”

Taehyung is startled. He turns to look at the Reaper on the field. Jungkook doesn’t look as they settle into another pregame ceremony. He feels her drift farther from him, perhaps near the entrance she took to the field. Taehyung looks back at Jungkook, doubt on his face.

“You are sure?”

Taehyung nods. “Just... think about it. And if you don't want it, I'll take it.”

Nerves eat at Jungkook. He doesn’t sit back down in his seat of honor. He stands near the electromagnetic shield protecting them from the glaedia, watching Reaper stare at her opponent. He’s missed the pregame ceremony and entrance of the famed glaedia. The Ulfheðnar is tall and broad, black hair shorn short. His ears are pointed and there are claws tipping his fingers – he’s shifted into his wolf frenzy, and yet he doesn’t attack Reaper.

The two glaedia stare at one another. When the siren announces the fight, neither of them charge. Instead, they walk slowly toward one another, both alert and careful. The crowd begins to hush, falling to a murmur when the two fighters meet in the middle.

It is a rare thing to see a Viking Ulfheðnar not feral in his battle rage. The shifters are ancient bloodlines with Nordic roots, a type of werewolf that is gifted with power from Odin. They shift, like berserkers, during a battle frenzy and are known to be lethal in battle, blinded by rage.

That is not what occurs. Quietus sticks his arm out to Reaper. She grips his forearm tight, an agreement between warriors, some mutual respect as they murmur to one another. There are fans booing in the crowd, but most people, like Jungkook, watch with rapt attention.

Faustus’ words come back to Jungkook: they are friends.

“Faustus, command your glaedia, please,” Rima sighs.

With fervor in his voice, Faustus barks commands in crackling demon tongue. The collar on the Ulfheðnar’s neck sparks with red and he lets go of Reaper’s arm, backing up several paces as he shakes his head wildly, as though he’s trying to shake out fleas. Reaper looks unbothered, glancing once at their box before bowing her head in acknowledgement before stepping back a few paces.

Again, Jungkook feels that defiance surged through her.

Like before, she goes a distance as she rolls her shoulders and removes her sword from her sheath. Jungkook watches as Quietus removes his as well.

Quietus charges first but Reaper reacts immediately, charging him. Their blades spark as they cross, Quietus ducking backwards as Reaper’s sword stabs at his head, his throat and his chest in a quick succession, her movements sharp and fast as a snake.

He clips the end of her sword, sending her arm wide. She spins into his blow, closing the distance he opened up for a strike and using the momentum of her swing to stab into him. Their swords clash with enough force to send her to a knee, blades locked at their cross guards.

Their movements become a blur. The Carved angel moves with fluid, fast movements. One blow bleeds into the next, never stopping, her feet never stumbling. She spins around the Ulfheðnar, keeping him looking for her. Jungkook has never seen a glaedia move like that, never stopping.

The Ulfheðnar seems to barely be controlling his rage. His blows are strong, vibrating up the arms of the Carved angel. Jungkook sees the grit in her teeth as the Ulfheðnar lands a two-handed slice from above, jumping into it. Metal sparks and she goes down to a knee again, the crowd gasping. Jungkook feels a spike of fear – realizing he wants the angel to live. Even if it means being bound to Taehyung.

Reaper’s head snaps to the box. She’s distracted, a look of surprise on her face as her eyes search the box and land on Jungkook. It costs her a sword to the shoulder. She rolls away as her blood wets the sand, the crowd going wild as Quietus draws first blood. The angel skips a few steps back, face twisted in pain as her hand comes up to her shoulder to assess the damage.

Stay out of my head, a voice growls at him.

There is no doubt in Jungkook’s mind now that the Carved on the field is a seraph. Only the seraphim who formed legions of soldiers in the War of the Realms could speak to one another in their thoughts. The legion was programmed to be legendary warriors of Heaven Delta, one of the hundreds of heavenly realms in the world. They were bred soldiers, linked to one another by their souls.

Jungkook knew from experience as he felt his seraph mother die as if it had been his own death.

Sweat beads on his brow. He grimaces as he closes himself off to the pain radiating from the seraphim warrior below. If anyone seems him struggling, they don’t say anything. He fixes his jaw and watches with intense focus as Reaper grimaces and pulls the dagger from her back.

The Carve angels sword work is nothing compared to how she moves with two weapons in her hand. Each move completes the other, her sword slicing followed by the stab of her dagger. She is twisting and cutting, her body in a rhythm of its own.

This is how Vaesen almost lost the war, Jungkook thinks as he watches her. The seraphim and the Valkyrie of Valhalla had been such a force during the War of the Realms that the Underworld had almost lost until the creation of the Lilin.

“Hells,” Taehyung breathes, leaning forward. Reaper opens a cut on Quietus thigh as she ducks under a blow. She lands another gash across his back. The Ulfheðnar roars. “It moves like a fucking soldier. The damn thing had to be in the legion.”

Jungkook snorts. “They’re all dead.”

“Are you watching the same creature I am? That’s not taught as a glaedia. That thing is a Carved seraph of the legion. It has to be.”

The thought that the angel below is old enough to have been a member of the legion during the War of the Realms is unsettling. It would mean that Faustus had no idea what creature he had in his possession – something far more expensive than four million daenae.

Perhaps Taehyung would keep her after all.

The fighters break apart. Quietus is heaving, having to expel all his energy to keep up with Reaper. She points her sword at him, balanced on the top of her dagger. The silver is stained with blood as she takes her stance again. She’s on the attack again, moving toward him.

Fury reins down as she attacks. Wind kicks up the sand as she moves, gathering at her feet. She’s faster now, Quietus barely able to keep up. He makes mistakes, stumbles. Her sword does all of the work distracting him, keeping him ducking as her dagger follows a new dance – it strikes on its own, cutting him open a little at a time. She is no longer fighting with her dagger following her sword movement - she changes the rhythm and uses the weapons separately.

It pays off. She spins away from Quietus and switches her weapons hand. The Ulfheðnar doesn’t realize she's swapped, predicting the attack of her sword hand as the bigger threat, striking her right hand only to find her parrying with a dagger. Her left-hand, gripping her sword, plunges through his chest, the crowd gasping.

Reaper pants. Her hands don’t leave the handle of her sword. Quietus has dropped his, his hands going to her shoulders and holding her in place, head bowed. The crowd is screaming for Reaper, throwing flowers as the shields are lowered, letting fans shower her in favors.

She ignores them. The Carved angel on the field only has eyes for her opponent. She rests her head against his, panting as she says something to him. He nods and slowly, she pulls the sword from his chest. He sags and she catches him, bearing his weight as she puts her sword in his hand. Taehyung makes a sound of surprise, but Quietus does not attack.

Together, the pair sinks to the sand. He grips her sword, panting as the hole in his chest bleed freely. She kneels next to him in the sand, murmuring something to him. Curious, Jungkook finds himself reaching out, only to slam into a metal barrier. He is cut off from her.

The Ulfheðnar’s breathing gets unsteady. He pants once. Twice. His chest no longer rises and he dies with the Carved angel leaning over him, murmuring something in front of thousands of spectators.

Taehyung cheers with the rest of the crowd.

Jungkook does what he does best: nothing.

“You old fuck,” you pant, resting your head against Ulf. Blood and sweat slicks on your skin. He smells terrible – you know you’re not kept much better. But the distinct scent of wolf is there. “You let me win.”

“Fuck you,” Ulf rasps, voice filled with fluid. You can hear the gurgling at the back of his throat. You want to cry, but you don’t. You block out the thousands of eyes on you, and try to ignore the presence of the endarkened demon in the box of honor. The one with the dark, round eyes. “I was trying my hardest, you Carved bitch.”

You grin through the pain. “Hold on, I’m going to lay down and give you my sword, yeah?”

“Please.”

With careful hands, you give him your sword. He wraps his hand around it, knuckles white. Hands shaking. He sags against you as you slowly go to the knee with him, laying him in the sand. It’s already stained with blood. Ulf is trembling as he holds the sword, death rattling his lungs.

“I’m sorry they did this to us,” you tell him, surprised by how much that you mean it. You have never expected to make friends in this place. You had never expected to come to this place at all after you were Carved. “Find peace in Valhalla.”

“Say the words, please.”

You nod. “Lo, they do call to Ulf. They bid him to take his place among them, in the halls of Valhalla. Lo, there waits his wife Sigrun. Lo, there waits his son Beorn. Lo, there waits his brother Ragnar. Lo, there does he see the lineage of his people, back to the beginning.” You sniff as the light begins to fade from the Ulfheðnar’s eyes, yellow fading to blue. “Lo, they do call to Ulf. He is among them, in the halls of Valhalla.”

The Ulfheðnar is dead. The words for him is empty. Valhalla is no longer ruled by Odin and his children. It is under the thumb of the Triumvirate, of the three lords from an Underworld who rule across the Realms with fiery whips and cursed collars.

Sitting on your heels, you look at Ulf. The field workers are jogging across the pitch to take his body and feed him to some other twisted creature. There will be no lit pyre for Ulf today. And though you spoke the words of his people over him, you know he does not feast in Valhalla tonight.

Getting up, you pick up your sword and dagger. You feel the eyes of the endarkened demon on you, the half-angel, half-demon, that so many died for to honor this night. You taste metal in your mouth – you have bitten into your lip, blood blooming.

Marching across the pitch, you don’t look at the fans. They throw roses at you. Articles of clothing. Money. Jewels. Favors. Women and men alike call to you for sexual favors. They offer to buy you. They scream for you: Reaper. Reaper. Reaper.

That is not your name. It has never been your name.

Perhaps it is more fitting. Death is your craft. Death haunts your steps.

Gears grind as they lower the metal gate behind you. You stop on instinct, holding your wrists out. Workers clad in all white move quickly about you. Your weapons are taken, and your chokes are removed. Two heavy, electric cuffs are slapped to your wrist. You shiver as you feel the spark go through you, but the feeling of power through you dulls a bit as the needles dig in, sending signals to your nerves to cut off your grace.

They wouldn't need it if Faustus could control you.

The collar around your neck chafes you, the blood and sweat giving too much room for it to create friction. The mirrors are powered down and you’re guided in the darkness.

The ‘hall of champions’ isn’t so glorious when the production cameras aren’t on.

You’re led through and underground network of tunnels. When you turn to go back to the room where you shower and remove your gear, a guard tuts at you. “This way. Your new owner wants to meet you.”

You freeze. “New owner?”

“Is there a fucking echo in here?” He hits you painfully on the spine with the end of his gun. You snarl and he grunts. “Hope he makes you a collard whore. Fucking hate when I’m on shift and it’s your fight.”

You begin to walk again. It’s not the first time guards and other employees have complained about you. You aren’t as mindless as they would like. Their vision of the Carved is empty angel shells with no mind, no ability to speak, and little awareness. While that is somewhat true – particularly for the malakim and malaikah – that is not true for you.

Voices stir on the other side of a heavily guarded door. The security team is dressed in all black, semi-automatic weapons at their hips and eyes on you. Rolling your eyes and heaving a sigh, you ready for the performance. Though you snap and bite at the lessor creatures of the Underworld who poke and prod you, you’re not stupid enough to misbehave in front of Vaesen that matter.

Usually.

Cool air greets you as you step into the room. You fight the urge to tilt your head up and look at the faces in the room. You can already sense him there – that seraphim touched demon who had nearly cost you your life. It grates you to know there is someone out there like you. You haven’t felt other seraphim in so long you thought you had been hallucinating.

The room is filled with powerful Vaesen. You sense them, an instinct bred in you. Not all of them are demons – there are other creatures there that belonged to the otherworld, but perhaps were not demons themselves.

Faustus – the only overweight vampire you’ve ever met, introduces you to a demon named Kim Taehyung. You steal a glance at him – stunning tan skin, high cheekbones, red lips and a burning gaze with amber eyes, dark hair and a nose that would look too large on anyone else. It fits him perfectly – his face is perfect.

“Mr. Kim is the son of Yeom-ra, and he has purchased the rights to you. He purchased you for… Lord Jungkook?” Faustus seems unsure.

Taehyung made an annoyed sound. “The Lord has refused my birthday present for him. Which is a shame.” A warm finger slides under your chin, bringing your face to tilt upward. You hold your breath and will yourself not to look into Taehyung’s eyes. “Exquisite. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker upward. He is so beautiful it feels like you could never look away. “That pretty face would do better as a collared whore,” Taehyung croons. “Such pretty eyes – I bet they’d look so beautiful full of tears while I fuck that mouth.”

“Taehyung.” The voice is soft, but final. Taehyung gives an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“You didn’t want it, Jungkook.” Taehyung grips your chin, flashing his teeth in a wide grin that is anything but kind. “I’m going to fuck that mouth until-"

“I’ll take her, then.”

Your heart skips. You don’t need to look to know that Lord Jungkook is the man talking.

Lord Jungkook. Son to one of three of the Triumvirate, the ruler of the Realms.

Lord Jungkook. A lord of demons, the only one with seraphim blood.

“Have it” Taehyung sighs. “It is your birthday after all.”

Lord Jungkook. Who you have been gifted to as a slave.

You look at him then. Dark eyes hidden by strands of his dark hair. Lush mouth that looks far too soft to belong to a man that belongs to one of the deadliest demon families in history. Soft eyes that echo violence and destruction. A freckle that makes him look far too human.

You stare and stare and stare. Neither one of you says a word. No one says anything.

A brush of his mind touches yours. You almost break.

Pain is inevitable.

Pain is constant.

Pain is power.

But for the first time in over seven hundred years, you are not alone.

D E F I N I T I O N S

Carved – angels who have had their wings surgically removed and sold for ownership. The possession of an angel’s wings gives the owner power over the angel’s grace, thereby giving them power over the angel.

Chokes – electronic cuffs with micro-needles that send signals to the nerves and nervous system to block channeling magic – most often used on glaedia

Collared – a Vanir who is owned as a slaved. They are often identifiable by the custom collars their masters put on their necks.

Domina – term used by a slave to their female identifying master

Dominin – term used by a slave to their gender neutral identifying master

Dominus – term used by a slave to their male identifying master

Enlightened – the term for half-angels, half-demons who have angel dominant blood

Endarkened - the term for half-angels, half-demon who have demon dominant blood

Gallows Match – the match before a Title Match used to execute prisoners of war or criminals who have been found guilty of capital crimes

Glaedia – Vanir slaves that fight in the arena for their masters. Some glaedia are incredibly popular in the media and are members of the elite via their status in the arena. Popular glaedia can live a lavish lifestyle but are highly managed and marketed.

Malakim – refers to the angels associated with Shamayim (Judaism)

Malaikah – refers to angels associated with Jannah (Islam)

Nephilim – those who are half-angel, half-human

Triumvirate – the three Lords who rule the Realms – figures of the Underworld

Title Match – the headline glaedia match in Titan League gladiator-style sports

Underworld – refers to the collective hells of multiple realms

Vaesen – creatures associated with Underworld Realms such as demons, daevas, sorcerers, vampires, wraiths, and monster-like creatures

Vanir – creatures associated with Heaven Realms such as angels, faeries, witches, dragons, demigods and any heavenly-like being

War of the Realms – the multi-universal war between Heavens and Underworlds, in which the Underworld won. Demon-kind have been ruling the Realms for over two thousand years.

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#fic: carved #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bangtan boys #haliiimede writes #demon jungkook #demon!jungkook #jjk #jjk smut #jungkook x you #jungkook series

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ameliasbitvh · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ; 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑.

a/n: special tag for my bsf @wolfstar-lb 😍 towards the end there's a little tvd crossover LSHJSGSHSH ugh im gonna write for stefan rn !!

library account: @ameliasbitvhlibrary

summary: vampire!reader spots tom riddle and decides to do the wizarding world a good little deed. (smut & character death) — nsfw rule

wc: 1.4k

requested: yes | | no

warning(s): character death !! blood kink, blood, reader feeds off of tom, smut, oral sex (male receiving), kind of non con bc tom is compelled but breaks thru it and reader compels him again, degradation kink, rough sex, and the kiss with stefan is fr rough and not proofread!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

[ navigate ] [ another tom fic ] [ masterlist ]

—

tom wandered around the forbidden forests, every step he took making a crunch on the fallen leaves. he was out here tonight to play a dangerous game, he was looking for someone to sacrifice for a horcrux.

as he kept his pace and kept walking, he noticed a figure, a shadow in the misty air. he squinted his eyes as the shadow moved slowly.

you knew he was watching you and god you were starving. there was one way and one way only that you knew how to get a fresh supply of blood, seduce and kill.

your hips swayed back and forth, alluring him closer to your body.

tom didn't know what was happening? why he moved closer to you? but once he did, his eyes finally made out what he was seeing. a beautiful girl.

your hips swayed with the wind, the breeze in your hair giving him the perfect view of your side profile.

finally, the moment he had been waiting for. you turned around, your sharp feline eyes meeting his. his eyes grew wide when yours collided with his.

your gaze was so intense that he couldn't look away, suddenly there was a glint in your eye that made him feel euphoric, high in the sky.

your seductive lips moved with a motion that beckoned him forward, "come here to me, pretty boy."

he obeyed, his legs carrying him to you.

"good," you smirked.

now, he was right in front of you.

your hands reached out, roaming his broad and strong shoulders.

they found the pumping pulse in his neck, you could feel it racing against your fingertips.

he was dazed, his eyes dreamily intoxicated; fixated on your body.

he knew you weren't a drug but you got him so high. the same way you felt about blood.

your lips brushed over his ear lobe, nibbling on it, a whisper ushing from your lips. "tell me, what were you out here for?"

his adams apple bobbed up and down for a moment, "to find a sacrifice for my third horcrux."

"horcrux you say?" well of course you had heard of that devilish object, it wasn't a product of mankind in your eyes. only the darkest of all would attempt it, telling you exactly how this boy was.

no one would miss him? so it's fine, you're doing good for this. you like to call it: charity work.

"and your third one? you are certainly naughty, mommy's gotta put you in place doesn't she?" you pouted, your arms wrapping around his neck. pulling him closer to you, your lips ghosted over his. "i gotta teach you a lesson, don't i?"

following, your lips collided on his. fiercely your tongue fought his for dominance, his hands under your thighs lifting you up he slammed your body against a tree. you let out a harsh moan and bit his lip with your fangs in response; blood spilling from his blushed lips.

your tongue immediately lapped it up, tatsung just how sweet he was. his intoxicating flavor forced your hips to rock against his cock. the movement making his cock harden. "fuck —" he groaned, but was cut off as your hand danced down his clothed abs into his pants.

"you feel my hand right there, sweetheart?"

he nodded his head, tossing it back he bucked into your hand.

you laughed at him. "so fucking pathetic, stupid bitch."

you soon removed his belt, falling off his waist it clanked against the decorated forest ground.

your hand pumped his length, "so big, i can't wait to taste you again."

you slithered onto your knees in front of him.

his eyes were already glued on you, ready for your every move he was guessing. again, you jerked him off. teasing him you tapped his tip on your tongue, making him whimper. "be patient, darling, because you don't have much longer."

you swirled your tongue around it, slowly taking it all in your mouth. fuck, he was big.

the head of his dick hit the back of your throat making your eyes water. bobbing your head back and forth you moaned tasting his sweet cock. but his blood was sweeter, making your teeth rot for it.

you didn't have a sweet tooth, it was more of a...per say; blood tooth.

especially the blood of a man.

what could you say? you're a maneater.

at first you weren't because you thought it was too many calories, but boys just tasted so good. you couldn't help yourself.

as your pace increased you felt him twitch in your mouth and immediately pulled away, in reaction he moaned and groaned. "if you wanna cum, you're gonna cum in me. got it?" you tilted your head, your tone making his cock strain more than it did before because fuck he wanted to fill that pretty pussy up.

standing up, your thumb swiped his lip, removing the blood and you sucked on it. "if you want to fuck me, say please."

even under your spell, it seemed his pride was still intact. but it did flash in your mind for a moment if he had broken out of your compelling powers. who knew what he was capable of?

"just let me fuck you."

"you're so cute, but say please." you laughed with a 'warm' demeanor.

fine, if he wants to play the hard way, you'll play the hard way.

slowly your fingertips grazed your body, pulling your black laced panties under your skirt. you flapped your skirt up, flashing him. a challenging smirk on your face, you bent down to dust off your shoes (that clearly had no dust). giving him a view of your sex, he inhaled the cool air flowing between the two of you.

his hand reached out to grab your wrist, but you were faster than him and snapped around before he could even comprehend it. his eyes widened in shock.

"what the fuck?"

"what is it, baby?" you cooed, feigning what you clearly knew he saw.

"are you a —"

"fuck I'm so wet." you moaned, your legs wrapping around his torso. your hot cunt on his throbbing cock. you rocked against him, riding on top of his sex. he felt the heat of you spreading through his body. "you fucking bitch — p—please just let me fuck you." he groaned, pre cum spilling from his tip.

"since you asked so nicely." you grinned, sliding his cock inside you. you slammed your sex against his, both your hips swaying together.

hot and sweaty skin clapped in sync, heavy moans leaving the both of you, his skin glistened in the moonlight.

your lips stamped kisses onto his neck, turning into hickeys.

those hickeys gradually becoming rougher, into small bites and nips at his skin. he hissed each time, but his thrust got faster.

but since this was going to be his last time, you guess you could help him out a bit.

being a vampire had its perk, like speed.

your hips came down on his quicker, harder, and faster than he thought possible. he for sure would've toppled over if his back hadn't hit a tree roughly.

you felt his cock twitching slightly inside you, he was close. perfect timing.

slowing down you pulled away from the safe coven between his neck and shoulder that had been hiding you.

"im not sorry for this." but so lost in pleasure he couldn't even hear you.

you shoved your mouth on his neck, your fangs sinking into his delicate skin.

"what — what are you —"

retrieving from his neck for a split money you shush him, your eyes having that familiar glint in them making him feel high. "shhh."

you returned back to your meal. your hips moved at lighting speed with his, his dick thrashing in you as he came for the last time. mumbles, groans, and curses leaving his lips.

you came right after him, your mouth sucking his throat even faster as you suppressed your moans against him.

pulling out of him, you let his body slip onto the ground as you bled him dry.

"y/n! what did i say about feeding off these school boys." a familiar voice scolded you, but a playful banter in his tone as well.

ripping yourself off of the brunette, your eyes met a copper head. "oh, stefan! im just trying to have fun, come and join me won't you." you laughed standing up, tom's blood leaking from your luscious lips.

the vampire took strides to you, his hand grasped your chin. "let me have a taste, my love."

both your lips collided, he groaned into your mouth, his lips growing stronger and stronger with each stroke.

you retrieved from him, veins surrounded his dark eyes. a grin stretched your face. "well look who it is, the ripper."

"don't you have so much to say, maneater?"

—

👠💄☎️ — @o-rion-sta-r @orphixc @dracoscum @marrymetheonott @l0vely-lupin @kpostedsum @malfoysmainb @drac0spersonalslut @youreso-golden @yiamalfoy @just-a-smol-spoon @dr4cking @dlmmdl @hotgirlwhoreadsff @littlemissnoname13 @f4iryluvy @itsmentalillness @pansyspet @thatsluttybitch-blog @teenwolfbitches28 @mvdbldd @squishytomatoes @sophiesmovingcastles5 @marimorena06 (hmu to be added and pls check ur settings if I can't tag u !!)

#tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x vamp!reader #— eve's request ✍;#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle smut #harry potter universe #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle angst

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

Text

Previous - Chapter 1 - Next - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

ao3 link here

One month later

"The Age of Unrest, of course, is known by this name because of the stirring restlessness of the Clans’ gentlefolk. However, this unrest did not stop at the well-mannered, hard-working folk who were subjected to the Empire’s rule; as it happened, rogues, tramps, bandits, and malcontents of every sort were also restless. Eventually tiring of their own singular wickedness, they banned together, forming a nuisance known as the aptly-named League of Villains. Oh, they were a mean, mangey, motley crew, and as they began to terrorize the land in ways never before seen, it was widely agreed that it would be better by far to stumble across a pack of rabid wolves than a single member of the League. The wolves, at least, could not talk, and in that age, there was nothing more antagonizing than the yapping of an idealist right before meeting one’s demise. It settles ill on the stomach.”

—Balthazar the Wise, On the Age of Unrest

(Y/N) woke up gasping for air, her body coated in a thin sheen of cold sweat.

The moon shone big and bright in the eastern sky above the small farming village of Solime. The light of it shone through the open shutters of the village temple’s window, casting the relatively small space in ethereal silver. The walls, which were made of cool gray stone, looked like pools of mercury, and the steady drip, drip of dew slipping into the brazen bowl at the altar, though quiet, sang out into the night like a lonely moan.

(Y/N) forced herself to sit up on the soft pallet she used as a bed during her travels, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She was safe, she was fine— it was hard to remember, sometimes, but she was okay.

It had been a while since she had dreamed of that time.

This is nothing like then, she mused, internally grateful for not having accepted the hospitality of one of the villagers, instead having insisted on sleeping in the temple like any other traveler might. And yet, some days I wonder which is worse.

It was hard to say.

Nearly a year and a half ago, in the Battle of Brookside, the war between the Empire and the Clans was escalating to its peak of violence and ferocity. The goddess-blessed— those with supernatural ability granted by the goddess— were being hunted like foxes in the wood by imperial soldiers, especially those of which had physical manifestations of their blessings. It was a nightmare to say the least, but even then… even then, even while running for their lives and fighting for their homes, there had been more freedom, more agency for the people than they would ever be allowed to have under imperial rule. Some days, (Y/N) thought that it might have been better to have never made peace with the Empire in exchange for the people’s autonomy. After all, what peace could mean more than freedom?

(Y/N) shook her head. Those thoughts belonged to days when she didn't remember the screams of women and children ringing out into the night. They belonged to the times when she no longer thought of the long, dreadful days of her capture when she was finally caught by imperial forces about a mile south of The Wildwood surrounding Castle Morg.

She remembered those days well. By that time, the Clans were already losing the war; (Y/N) had been leading a battalion masquerading as nothing better than rag-tag bands of guerilla fighters, attacking imperial encampments by night and running during the day. Looking back, she should have known that it was only a matter of time before she was caught, but some foolish hope had taken stubborn root in her heart, faithful and unyielding. So strong was her faith that before they eventually took her, (Y/N) had led the imperial soldiers on a three-day chase through the Wildwood, living on nothing but hope, acorns, and a single skin of water; even as they surrounded her, (Y/N) still had hope. She killed six out of twenty men before she was subdued, and she kicked and screamed all the way back to the newly-captured Brookside Castle, raising holy hell at all hours until someone finally knocked her unconscious.

It was odd what two weeks of captivity and brutal treatment could do to a thing like hope.

Fourteen days, fourteen nights— that was how long (Y/N) spent in enemy hands. They beat her, burned her, kept her chained to a wall by her wrists in the dungeons of Castle Brookside with only gruel to eat and rank ladlefuls of water to drink. The soldiers of the Empire would question her for hours and hours, taking fingernails and strips of flesh from her hide for every time she cursed them— and she cursed them a lot. Her accelerated healing allowed them to push her farther than a normal person could possibly have endured, and (Y/N) remembered praying for the goddess to bring the castle down on top of them brick by brick, killing every living thing within. Darkest, blackest vengeance— that was what had become of her hope.

On the dawning of the fifteenth day, Shoto Todoroki had stormed into the castle with a written pardon from the Empire and a license to kill as he pleased; (Y/N) remembered hearing the screams of her torturers as their faces were melted by those famous Todoroki flames and thinking that the goddess had finally unleashed the might of heaven to smite earthly devils once more. Perhaps the goddess did smite those men and Shoto was just a vessel to embody that divine wrath, but all (Y/N) could remember doing when he set her free was sobbing, that crying out that she had wanted to be the one to kill the bastards that had caused her so much pain.

Looking back, it all seemed so long ago, and yet— and yet, in her dream, (Y/N) had seen the frightened eyes of the boy whose job was to feed her in perfect detail, as though it were only yesterday that he was crying, repeating I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry over and over again as though that would absolve him of the sins he hadn’t even committed. Every time, he would apologize, hiccupping little sobs as he spooned gruel into her mouth— he couldn’t have been more than twelve, and the bastards had made him watch, training him to be an Inquisitor before he even knew what it was to be a man.

Strange— why was it that memory in particular which haunted her? Was it because he was just a boy, a small, bird-like thing with a big heart and teary eyes— because he was the only thing in that castle possessing something even remotely resembling humanity?

(Y/N) wondered where that boy was now, if he had since lost his kindness.

A shout rose in the distance, stirring (Y/N) from her thoughts. Through the window to the east, (Y/N) could see smoke rising to meet the sky from somewhere in the distance, and before she remembered the time of year, her whole body tensed, ready for war.

Fool, she thought to herself after a moment of thought. Jumping at shadows like some kind of alley cat. I should be ashamed.

No doubt the smoke and the shouting had come from Tinkermen and Troubadours that were camped somewhere nearby, traveling together to visit bigger towns for the festivals. Beltane was a performer's busiest time of year, after all, and the best season for traveling.

Still, the image of that smoke disturbed (Y/N). Something about it felt wrong, even ominous.

Jenny’s baby is going to be born tomorrow, she mused, an odd wave of certainty washing over her— goddess-given intuition. I suppose I should stay another day, Welcome the child myself.

(Y/N) had planned on leaving early the next morning, but it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to stay. Giving birth was an unpleasant process, and Jenny was a young woman with no husband and few friends; it would be worth (Y/N) delaying her journey to support the girl.

Still uneasy, (Y/N) relaxed onto her pallet and fought to find sleep— this time, hopefully dreamless.

***

Flames as blue as a jay’s wing reached up to the midday sky, and Dabi— the Black Dragon of the League— was prowling with his sword drawn, seeking whom he would devour.

The village was fairly small—a little farming community by the name of Solime that made its living off of the miles and miles of golden wheat which grew naturally over the moors— but unusually fierce. Before Dabi and his marauders had come through, it had been a lovely, prosperous little place, no doubt full of laughing children and doting parents; it was certainly not the League’s usual fare, but the men were hungry for both food and violence, and Dabi— well, Dabi was of the opinion that everything looked better when it was burning with flames of beautiful sulfur-blue.

“Mercy!” cried a distant voice that shook with desperation. “Please, my daughters—”

The pleading ended with the thunk of metal cleaving flesh, and Dabi grinned. What anguish his father would feel at the news of yet another village razed! Todoroki Enji would shake with rage and impotence, and the very image of it was almost good enough to make Dabi shiver.

Through the ash and smoke, Jin the Twice appeared in Dabi’s peripheral with a worried look on his face. Normally, that would be no cause for concern— Twice often got something of a fit of the vapors during raids like these— but this time, something in his expression gave Dabi pause.

“Twice!” he bellowed to his comrade over the din of chaos, “What news?”

Twice stopped, searching for Dabi, and found him waiting patiently a few yards away. Hurriedly, Twice made his way over, looking more panicked by the minute.

“What news, he says, what news indeed!” The vertical scar that split Twice’s forehead in two rippled with concern. “We’ve cornered a wildcat over in the temple, and not the kind with fur— one of the novices there is armed and dangerous.”

What fun! thought Dabi, imagining a feisty young priestess writhing on the furs in his tent. There may yet be excitement to be had here.

“What, some kitten’s claws are troubling you?” he asked, shifting his gaze over Twice’s shoulder to the direction of the temple— a one-room building just big enough to seat the families that made up the village. “Surely one backwater pussy-cat is no match for—”

A truly harrowing scream rang out from the temple, and Twice winced.

“She’s killed four men so far,” he said with a pained expression. “No one can get near her.”

Dabi raised a brow. Interesting.

“Weapon of choice?”

“Bow and arrow,” Twice replied, and Dabi scoffed.

“Let her shoot until she runs out of arrows, and then kill or cage her like the animal she is— I don’t care which,” Dabi said, but Twice shook his head.

“She already ran out of arrows.”

Dabi frowned.

“Then how is she— ”

Another scream rang out, and Dabi decided it was time for him to see what all the commotion was about for himself.

“Follow me,” said Dabi, striding off in the direction of the temple. “I’ll declaw this cat myself before she can do much more scratching.”

“Be careful,” warned Twice, only a step behind. “She’s feral!”

Dabi took the warning for what it was, but even so, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that he was met with at the threshold of the temple— nor could he have predicted how hard it would be to contain his laughter at the irony of it all.

The girl— well, truly, it was a woman about his own age, maybe a bit younger— stood poised with a shortsword in hand and blood on her face. She was dressed like a man, in breeches and a shirt, and though Dabi had only heard rumors of the woman who roamed the countryside with breeches and a shortsword, Dabi recognized her on sight.

The High Priestess and Hand of Cerridwen stood before him, fierce and fearless; she was a relic of a faith newly forsaken, and she represented all that Dabi was working both for and against. This young woman was the perfect symbol of the perseverance of the Old Faith and its perversion— the spitting image of a plant twisting itself almost beyond recognition to gain even a sliver of sunlight.

What a golden opportunity!

Dabi stepped forward, fully intending to brave the point of her sword to seize her, but she proved too quick, stepping up with a warning slice before he could get close.

“Not a step further,” she commanded, locking eyes as fierce as any wildcat’s with his own. The steely strength and resolve Dabi found in her gaze was most interesting, and despite the six dead men at her feet, he decided to press his luck.

“Or what?” he challenged, stepping into the room. “Would you hurt a man who has done you no wrong, little priestess?”

“I know who you are, Black Dabi,” she sneered, her lovely features turning dark with malice, “And as it happens, I have no problem killing a man like you in the name of my goddess.”

“My, my, aren’t we well-informed.” Dabi knew his smile looked more like a predator baring its teeth, but he couldn’t care less. “Why don’t you put that sword down before someone gets hurt, pussy-cat?”

She looked like she wanted to lunge at him, but she stayed put, wary.

Intelligent, he thought, watching her watch him right back. This is no ordinary pussy-cat, oh no.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Dabi continued, walking even closer. The woman brandished her sword, and he stopped just outside of its reach. “If you know who I am, then you also know you can’t kill me.”

Her eyes glinted, ferocity lurking behind her mask of calm. “You underestimate me.”

“I think not,” Dabi replied slowly. “I really, really think not… High Priestess.”

He could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. The only thing to betray her surprise was the widening of her eyes— and what eyes they were! She looked like she could light a fire with her gaze alone, and Dabi felt something hot flare in his gut as he watched her.

Just when it seemed that she was going to say something in reply to Dabi’s revelation, there was a pained cry behind her, and Dabi noticed the rotund form of a pregnant woman lying on a cot behind the priestess. At the sound of distress, the priestess was momentarily distracted, and in that split second, Dabi pounced, wresting the sword from her hands and tossing it aside as he wrapped his own slender fingers around her throat.

“Now, pussy-cat, I’m not a bad man,” he told her, lying blatantly as she choked and sputtered on her breath, her eyes burning holes in his face. “I can see you’re in the middle of something, but I can’t just turn a blind eye to you killing my men, can I?”

“You can if I gouge them out,” she spat, her words garbled by the pressure on her neck, and he tightened his grip on her throat so much that her voice died there under his fingers as she struggled and fought against him.

“How rude,” he tutted. “If you would have asked nicely, I would have let you see to your patient… but now I’m not sure that such an ill-behaved wretch as yourself deserves to do as she wishes. Unless, of course, you really are who I suspect. After all, even a man like me has to acknowledge the will of the goddess, no matter how poorly behaved the vessel is.”

The woman sputtered and struggled against him, but to no avail. Dabi wasn’t letting her go until he had answers.

“So, how is it going to be, kitten? Confirm my suspicions, and neither myself nor my men will disturb you in your duties any longer."

There was wild hatred in her eyes, and Dabi was beside himself. It was heady, having this much power over someone who was arguably the most powerful woman in the land; the feeling was so intensely satisfying that Dabi was almost sad when he had to ease his grip on her throat to get her answer.

“I am the will of the goddess incarnate,” she croaked, her fingers digging into the scarred flesh of his forearm, attempting to push him even farther from her. “I am with Cerridwen, and she is with me.”

“Proof, pussy-cat,” he chided. “I want to see your power.”

There was a long cut across Dabi’s arm— he hadn’t given it much notice before, since he could barely feel it— and with no small amount of distaste, the priestess grabbed the wounded arm and held it in her hand. Right before their eyes, the cut on Dabi’s skin sealed itself shut as the same place on the priestess's arm was rent open. If what the rumors said was true, that cut would heal completely within the hour, and Dabi was fascinated.

“Exquisite,” said Dabi without quite meaning to, and the priestess glowered.

“You’ve seen,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Will you let me see to my duties?”

“Of course,” he replied more softly than he meant, releasing her. “Do you have need of anything?”

The priestess looked as though she might refuse his offer of assistance out of pure spite, but then the woman on the bed jolted upwards, holding her belly with a horrible groan of pain, and the priestess surprised Dabi by giving him orders.

“A fire, I need a fire in the fireplace,” she said, turning away from him to see about her patient. “I need the dead bodies out, some strips of clean cloth, and I need a pot of water on to boil. All the doors and windows need to be shut, and I’m sure Jenny would like her privacy.”

“You’ll have all that, privacy excepted,” he replied, extending a hand to the fireplace. At his will, blue flames flew to fill the hearth, and he nodded to Jin— who was standing just outside the open door— to gather men to fulfill the rest of her requests. “Sorry, pussy-cat, but if you think I’ll leave a kitty such as yourself alone in a room to sharpen your claws, you’re mad.”

At that, she turned to glare at him once more.

“Don’t call me that.”

She spat the words like they were bitter, and Dabi considered her thoughtfully.

“And what should I call you, priestess?” he asked as she urged her patient to stand and walk a bit. “Not your title, mind; the name your friends call you— the one the Great Mother gave you.”

She told him her name, and Dabi found himself immediately enthralled with the way it sounded from her lips.

“Y/N,” he echoed, and the name tasted like honey.

(Y/N) ignored him in favor of her duties. After a moment, she glanced out the window towards the burning fields, then turned her gaze to the sky.

“You’re a bastard,” she said softly, watching smoke curl up to the heavens. “The goddess must have a hell of a fate for someone like you.”

Dabi didn’t comment, but it hardly needed saying that traitors and blackguards like himself preferred not to ruminate on what fate the goddess had in store for them.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Jenny’s wails became closer and closer together, and the beginning of the birth seemed to have reached them. (Y/N)’s tone became clipped and urgent, and she commanded Dabi as if she’d done it all her life.

“Fetch me that stool,” said (Y/N) without looking up, and Dabi complied. “Come on, Jenny— push, woman, like the Seven Devils are loose from their binds!”

So interesting— this priestess had a mouth on her unlike any priestess Dabi had ever known. Not that he had ever been with a Healer who was helping someone give birth— maybe they all spoke that way under duress of this nature.

“Push, Jenny!” (Y/N) urged, and Jenny screamed. “I see the head, we’re almost there!”

At the end, Dabi was glad he’d had the foresight to look away; he’d never seen a birth before, but if his initial disgust at seeing a newborn for the first time was any indication, he wasn’t sure that he would have made it through without retching. Still, as he looked on, the depth of the moment struck him hard. That child— ugly with blood and placenta as it was— was the very image of the future Dabi was striving toward. If he had his way with the world, that babe would know nothing of the persecution his people had known, feel nothing of the suffering they’d felt. This babe would grow up worshiping the goddess without fear, without prejudice, and without being demonized by the followers of that sick, invasive parasite that was the New Religion, brought by invaders that razed the land he loved.

Invaders, whom people like Dabi’s father and this so-called High Priestess were working to compromise with for the sake of peace.

The thought made Dabi sick.

“I need a bowl,” said (Y/N) without looking up from her task of cleaning the child. “Can I trust you to bring me a fresh lump of earth— no ashes, if you can help it— and the water from the altar without touching either with your hands?”

She did look up then, and Dabi was struck by how tender her expression was, how lovely and sweet she looked even with the gore of the delivery on her hands. Looking at her was a study in opposites, he found; her face was young, but her soul was old… her deeds were noble, but her purpose was ugly. She was everything he had expected her to be, and yet somehow— not.

"No," he replied, just for the sake of denying her. "I'll have one of my men do it. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Dabi motioned to Twice— who was standing just inside the door— and the priestess’s request was fulfilled.

Once the last item necessary for the Welcoming ritual was handed over to Dabi, (Y/N) placed the newly cleaned and swaddled babe into its mother’s arms and took the bowl in her lap. Gently, she poured the sacred water— fresh, clean rain water and dew drops that were allowed to flow through a hole in the roof of the temple, untouched by human hands— into the bowl of earth, letting the one flow naturally over and into the other. Then, Dabi watched as she slowly pulled something from the pocket of her breeches.

“I have a blade,” she told him, her eyes boring into his own. “It’s for the ritual. I’ll surrender it as soon as the Welcoming is complete.”

So saying, (Y/N) cradled the blade of the knife in the palm of her hand, but before she could make a slice across her skin, Dabi’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Under different circumstances, the entire family would have surrounded this young one and would have given drops of their blood to mix with earth for the Welcoming,” said Dabi, stating the obvious, and (Y/N) looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “It is in part the fault of myself and my men that there are none here to welcome this babe, and thus we have all been promoted to the roles of husbands and fathers in the absence of any here. I would be the first to give of my blood for the Welcoming— your own and the mother’s excepted, of course— and with permission from all parties, my right hand Jin the Twice would also like to volunteer his services in this matter.”

From the corner of the room, Twice started, but Dabi didn’t acknowledge his second’s surprise. Jin was a good man, a loyal man, but not a man that was likely to ever have the opportunity to participate in a Welcoming. Dabi couldn’t give Bubaigawara Jin much in return for his service, but he could give him this.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) looked to the mother of the babe, but to the surprise of all of them, Jenny nodded.

“Very well,” said (Y/N), slicing into her palm without flinching or hesitation. “Quickly, now— and if you and your man know the Blessing, sing it with me.”

Dabi did know the blessing, as did Twice; they followed (Y/N)’s direction by chanting along with her in the Common Speech, but Dabi itched for the rolling melody of a Welcoming in the Old Tongue. Even as he struggled to hide his well-trained voice within the deep, gruff grumble of the ruffian he was supposed to be, all Dabi could think of was that he would rather be using the words of his ancestors— the words of the goddess— to Welcome this child into the world. That much, he thought, was its birthright, as it was with every mother’s son.

But, Dabi supposed, he could hardly be angry on the child’s behalf when the High Priestess herself was there to sing it into the world; that was more than most men would ever be able to boast of.

At the end of the singing-chant, (Y/N) mixed together the blood, the water, and the earth, and she painted runes all over the child that glowed a deep russet color, then dissolved as though seeping into the child’s very skin. Thus, the Welcoming was over, and the moment was ended.

“Blessed be this babe,” (Y/N) murmured, handing the child back to its mother, and Jenny took her son in her hands and whispered his name.

“Balthazar,” she said, pulling her babe to her breast. “My little boy.”

With that, Dabi supposed he had indulged his curiosities enough; the hour was growing late, and he needed to pull his men back to camp to regroup.

“Come,” he told (Y/N), his voice pitched low and his hand outstretched. “I’ve given you what I promised, but now your time is up. You’ll be coming with me.”

The hate which had been noticeably absent in (Y/N)’s eyes in those last moments returned at full force.

“You war-mongering cur,” she spat, backing away from him. “I won’t be going anywhere with you.”

Dabi fought the urge to sigh. Women were so difficult. Luckily, however, they all had the same weakness, and Dabi always took great pleasure in exploiting it.

“If you refuse to come, I’ll have my men put that baby on a spit and roast it over my campfire.”

(Y/N) bared her teeth in a snarl, but there was real fear in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Dabi raised a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Dabi didn’t want to have to prove he meant what he said, but he would if she forced his hand. The High Priestess was an incredibly powerful bargaining chip in his hands; the possibilities were endless with her in his camp, whether she went willingly or not. At the very least, she could be used for ransom— she would be easily worth a small province of land for the people of the Old Faith— and at the most, she could be used to achieve everything he wanted and more. If one little peasant bastard had to die for that, so be it, but Dabi was not a man to let something so small and insignificant as morals get in the way of his ambition.

That was, after all, how the Empire had won their war. They’d thrown out their morals and captured one (apparently) smart-mouthed priestess, and the war had been over within two weeks. Maybe Dabi would get lucky and catch a break too.

"If you touch that babe," she warned him, somehow both flinty and fierce, "I'll know— and if you do, I swear by the goddess of my mother and her mother before her that you will die screaming with my hand around your beating heart."

Dabi wondered what it meant that his cock twitched in his pants at the look in her eyes as she threatened him. She really was quite beautiful; perhaps Dabi would even like to feel her hand on his beating heart. His cock, at least, had no objections to it.

“Take her, Twice,” he said, never taking his eyes off of hers. “I’ve got to take a few men and ride over to the main camp to report to Shigaraki.”

Before he handed (Y/N) over, though, Dabi wrapped his hands around her throat once more, pulling her close enough to kiss. He looked long and deep into her eyes then, and saw that they were ancient; her skin might have been that of a young woman’s, but her inner self, he knew, was as old as the earth itself. If there was any lingering doubt that she was the vessel of the goddess, it would have been dispelled by those eyes.

“If you pull anything— and I mean anything— while I’m gone, I’ll starve you half to death, and your next meal will be human-jerky,” he told her quite seriously. “Do you understand me, priestess?”

“Too well,” she replied, her words a bit strangled as her air supply was cinched. “I understand perfectly that you’re an inbred bastard with a prick too small to behave with empathy and kindness like a real man."

He struck her then, but not with all his strength. It was a stinging slap, just enough to hurt, but not enough to make her ears ring and her teeth clack; still, for all that he held back, her expression was still murderous. There was too much bite in this little kitten, and he was beginning to suspect she was untamable by human hands.

“Keep those claws to yourself, pussy-cat,” he said, “And we won’t have any problems.”

She raised her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Dabi sighed. This was getting nowhere.

“Teach her some manners while I’m gone, Twice,” he said, his gaze still unwavering as he released her. “And show her to my tent. She’ll need to be familiar with the area.”

With that, Dabi turned on his heel and left in search of his mount. He knew those words would sound ominous to (Y/N), when in truth they were benign; Jin would more likely bring her to his tent and try to ask her what manners she needed to learn and whether or not she played cards than cause her any harm. He almost laughed at the thought.

Behave, pussy-cat, he thought as he walked off, entrusting kind, gentle Jin with the task of taking care of his plundered treasure. I’d hate to have to declaw you.

It hit him, then, as he was leaving the temple, that he might not have a choice in the matter, depending on what Shigaraki had to say about the whole ordeal. Once Dabi had made his full report— and he would make a full report— there was no telling what that mad bastard would have in store for her.

***

Dabi lied straight to Shigaraki’s face.

It hadn’t been his intention— far from it— but at the very thought of the pretty High Priestess bound and helpless on the floor of his tent, his lips glued themselves shut.

If he was asked, Dabi couldn’t have said why he lied. It wasn’t that he was afraid Shigaraki would take her away from him— for what it was worth, Shigaraki trusted him well enough to manage even so valuable an asset as (Y/N)— or even that he was worried about her treatment. Truly, it made no sense for Dabi to keep something so important from the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his superior, and yet— and yet.

I must be mad, he thought to himself as he walked back from the main camp to his own, his hands in his pockets. There's no way I can conceal her presence here for long, and when Shigaraki finds out, I’ll be a dead man walking.

Anyone with half a brain would have turned right back around and told the truth, consequences be damned. Such promptness and humility would surely have earned mercy, and being the bearer of such good news could only bring blessings— but something stopped Dabi. A small, dark, ugly part of him recoiled at the idea of deferring to anyone, and as was his wont, he let that darkness rule him, striding only ever forward as twilight settled over the land. What Shigararki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him; if Dabi could only keep (Y/N)’s presence quiet for a while, then he could time everything so that when Shigaraki did find out, it would already be too late to stop the chain of events that Dabi had been working toward since the very beginning.

Oh, if only it could have been that easy.

As Dabi entered the camp, he found an immediate complication with his master plan. A crowd had gathered around in something of a circle in the center of the camp. As Dabi came closer, he could hear shouts of protest and fear, and he soon realized that, to his horror, Twice and (Y/N) were at the center of the commotion.

The scar that split Twice’s forehead was open and bleeding, and (Y/N) was standing face-to face with him, dancing around his sword with quicker feet than Dabi would have credited her with. All the while, she was shouting something that Dabi couldn’t hear— and, curiously, there was no fear or anger on her face that he could see; there was only concern, and a healthy amount of caution.

Surely, she didn’t strike him? Dabi wondered, pushing through the crowd as quickly as he could. Looking at the facts— Twice’s split forehead, his aggression towards her— it was a likely explanation, but when Dabi grew closer, he saw the dead bodies of two men, and a more plausible alternative presented itself.

Having a woman who wasn’t a whore in the camp was rare enough, and even when there was, the woman in question was almost unfailingly Toga, who wasn’t much better, bless her sweet, slaggy heart; the presence of fresh meat— pretty, feisty fresh meat— was usually enough to start a fight in and of itself, even if it meant going up against someone as skilled as Twice. If someone had been foolish enough to attempt such a thing, and had somehow hit Twice hard enough to make him lose control of the killer in him… it would be an unmitigated disaster, an utter slaughter. No man alive could beat Jin the Twice when he went berserk. He would kill everything within sight if he wasn’t stopped.

And yet there was (Y/N), dancing around him as nimble as a fairy, with bound hands and bare feet, screaming sense at him like a woman half-mad.

“Put down the sword!” (Y/N) was shouting, leaping in front of him as he lunged at one of the onlookers. “You’re no longer in danger! You’re safe!”

Dabi finally broke through the crowd, but neither Twice nor (Y/N) saw him, each of them too involved in their struggle to notice anything around them.

"Foolish girl!” called Dabi, a strange mix of respect and frustration welling in his chest. “Get away from him!”

That turned out to be the wrong thing to do. (Y/N) turned at the sound of his voice, distracted, and Dabi knew she would never be able to dodge the blow that Twice was about to deliver.

Well, at least I won’t have to explain to Shigaraki that I lied if she dies here, he thought a bit hysterically as Jin raised his sword above his head for what might be a killing blow. Dead is dead is dead, and that’s hardly my fault one way or the other.

But then (Y/N) surprised him.

As quick as a cat, she pivoted on the balls of her feet to face Twice, and saw his sword raised above his head. Then, in a desperate motion, she threw herself to her knees, her bound hands outstretched as Twice’s sword came down. Dabi’s heart leapt into his throat, but by some miracle, the razor-sharp blade passed just between her arms, severing the rope that bound her without cleaving into her flesh. Now free, (Y/N) launched herself at Twice’s legs, and with one mighty heave, she locked her arms around his knees and pulled backwards, toppling him to the ground with her beneath him. That bought Dabi just enough time to grab his right-hand man by the collar and drag him away before he could do any more damage— with a punch to the jaw from Dabi’s gauntleted fist, Twice was down for the count.

“Who started this?” growled Dabi, furious when he saw that Twice’s head wound looked worse than he’d thought. “If I don’t get an answer I like, I’ll give every man in this camp a face to match mine.”

Before anyone could muster a reply, Dabi felt a hand press against his bicep, and he turned to find (Y/N) looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“They’re dead,” she said simply. “There’s no need for any more blood to be spilled today.”

Dabi wanted to argue— he was in the mood to burn someone, to hear hoarse screams and watch the death throes of a man who no longer had a face— but something in her eyes stopped him.

“No one here is to lay a finger on this woman,” he announced darkly, choosing his words carefully. “She is my prisoner, and mine alone.”

So saying, he turned away, grabbing (Y/N)’s arm and none-too-gently dragging her along to his tent. Twice, he knew, would be just fine— after that display, no one would come close enough to him to do him any harm, and with decent luck, the poor bastard would wake and not remember a thing— but (Y/N) needed to be pulled from public view as quickly as possible.

"Unhand me," said (Y/N), trying to jerk her arm away from him as he strode forward. "You're hurting me, you brute, let go—"

She dug her heels in then, and Dabi rounded on her with a fury.

"Jerk against me one more time," he told her, squeezing the soft flesh of her arm painfully tight. "Give me a reason to bare your arse in front of all these men and paddle you like a child, I dare you."

"Unhand me," she repeated fiercely, "And I'll walk beside you like a good little prisoner."

She spat the word like it was a curse, and Dabi gripped her face, smashing her cheeks almost comically inward.

"Let's make one thing clear, pussy-cat— you don't give the orders around here," he said, staring into those age-old eyes with dark, steady certainty. "Watch your mouth when you speak to me, or I'll make sure you regret it. I'm not like the little serving boys or the drooling knights you're used to ordering around with that poniard of a tongue; goddess incarnate or not, I'm only one snotty comment away from putting you over my knee and tanning your hide with the flat of my sword. Am I clear?"

"Oh, certainly," she replied with a sneer, her words mangled with the pressure of his fingers on her face. "I’ve been made well aware of my place by big, bad Dabi. I'm terrified of a man who slaughters frail old women and helpless children— you must be so strong and brave to take on such worthy opponents!"

Dabi's patience snapped. He backhanded her, and she crumpled, collapsing to the ground with an indelicate thump.

"I warned you, woman," he growled, pushing a boot into her chest when she tried to get up. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" she challenged, and Dabi grabbed her by the hair, his fist snug against her scalp. She let out a scream that rivaled that of a bobcat's, but he paid her no heed as he dragged her along with him the rest of the way to his tent. She would learn to respect his authority, even if he had to beat that respect into her.

"You are troublesome," he told her in the privacy of his tent, throwing her down on his furs so that he could remove his belt. (Y/N) scrambled backwards, suddenly appropriately wary, but it was far too late for that to save her. "If it weren't for your station, I'd slit your throat and leave you in a gutter— but as it is, that's hardly the best use I have for you."

(Y/N) looked around as though searching for an escape route, but Dabi loomed over her— taller, bigger, stronger, faster— his belt now folded in half and held like the whip he intended to use it as.

"Even so," he continued, "You're going to have to learn to behave. I have men to lead and a reputation to uphold, and I cannot and will not sacrifice the respect of my comrades by bowing and scraping to a woman. Let today be a lesson to you; in order for me to use you, I have to keep you alive, but I'm not above bruising my peach before I eat it."

So saying, he descended on her like a hawk might a rabbit in a field, intent on making his point clear. She fought him tooth and nail, screaming curses that would have made Shigaraki stifle a smile, but eventually— after some nasty scratches to his face, one very memorable bite to his forearm that cost him a chunk of flesh, and (Y/N)'s spit in his eyes— Dabi was able to pin her down properly, one hand fisted in her hair to shove her face into the furs as he pulled her breeches down to expose her ass with the other. Even restrained, however, (Y/N) still refused to suffer her punishment with dignity; as he whipped her, she howled and thrashed like one possessed, and it wouldn't shock Dabi if half the camp heard her call him a thrice-damned son of a motherless whore.

"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me," he grunted smugly, thrashing her even harder. "Go on, insult my lineage more; I hate my fucking parents."

And wasn't that the truth?

"Go to hell!" she screeched, and Dabi wondered briefly if that was an actual goddess-ordained curse or if it was just the regular kind. Not that it mattered— Dabi was certainly hell-bound anyway— but he was curious nonetheless.

When Dabi finally finished with (Y/N), they were both tired. Her arse was a horrific shade of crimson, and Dabi might even have felt a little bad for going so hard on her if his arm didn't hurt so bloody much where she'd bitten him. He probably should have stopped earlier to have it cleaned out— he was missing at least half an inch deep of flesh over a three-inch surface area— but when she refused to gratify him by crying and pleading with him to stop, he'd simply continued to whip her until he couldn't anymore.

"I hope you learned something," he said, withdrawing his hand from her hair and rising stiffly from where he'd been kneeling over her. "If you don't want a repeat performance, I'd suggest that you behave yourself."

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were daggers.

"I hate you," she said, though she trembled like a newborn foal. "You bastard."

Dabi tutted. "I assure you that I'm perfectly legitimate, pussy-cat. Now, be a good kitty and stay put while I go fetch some refreshments. If you so much as poke your head out of this tent, one of my men will throw you over his shoulder and toss you right back here, and I'll be sure to replace my belt with a freshly-cut switch when I tear your arse up again."

So saying, Dabi left to scare up some food from Spinner— the camp's most cold-blooded cook— and was met with stares and snickering as he passed.

"What's all that about?" he asked Spinner as he fixed a platter, watching as a couple of goons laughed in his direction. "Did I do something funny?"

Spinner gave him a wry look.

"Well, since you asked… by the looks of you, none of us can tell who got the worse thrashing, you or the girl."

Dabi huffed, affronted, but when Spinner thrust a freshly-cleaned platter in front of him, Dabi understood. He looked as though he'd had the worst day ever, with his jaw swelling from where (Y/N) had kicked him to try and escape, his cheek deeply scratched and still bleeding sluggishly, and his hair even more disheveled than usual.

"I gave as good as I got," Dabi replied with a shrug, exchanging the empty platter for a full one. "Her arse looks like an overripe tomato."

Spinner grinned. "Oh, I bet she hates you."

"I believe she might have said so a time or two."

"Was that before or after the 'son of a motherless whore' bit?"

Dabi rolled his eyes.

"Both. Thanks for the food. Wish me luck in eating it— she's going to be glaring at me, hoping I choke."

At that, Spinner laughed and wished him well, and Dabi was on his way back to his tent.

She'll learn one day, he thought, making his way back to his tent. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not then, the next week or the next. Even the meanest dog can be trained, given the right master.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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lustrousgh0st · 3 years

Text

~⛓About me⛓~

~{edited 7th feb 2024}~

Call me ghost! I’m 25, female. I used to be on tumblr a few years back as Cherrykwrites which I abandoned due to personal reasons at the time.

You can find all my old and new content on my Ao3! - here!!!

~⛓About my blog⛓~

I write 18+ content for adults, minors do not interact or I will block you! This blog contains dark content, if that’s a problem for you I suggest blocking me and moving on, I literally don’t care about your opinion.

I write for mainly jjk, COD, Trigun and chainsawman at the moment but will include other fandoms if i feel like it. Basically any sexy man that I’m hyper-fixing on that month.

Ask box is always open! You’re free to send whatever you want, thirsts, random thoughts, drabbles. No requests please!

~⛓rules⛓~

If you come at me over fictional characters you’ll be blocked, I couldn’t give a fuck

I only write for fem reader x male characters (there may be some fem character thirst, I’m bi but have a strong male lean) my writing is entirely self indulgent so I don’t write for anything that’s not my gender or sexuality.

Equally, while I write from a y/n pov i do use personal descriptors (pale skin, long hair, short, slim, soft skin, eye colour ect) my fics are more written as like an unnamed character pov rather than meant to be completely self inserts so the character descriptions can change depending on the theme. For example if I do a milf reader x character I’ll make y/n fit that theme.

writings will include: degrading, dirty talk, impact play, choking, anal, spit, piss, blood, cum play, creampie, knives/guns, bdsm, age gaps, size dif, pet play, 3 somes (or more), implied/step incest, slight foot fetish, breeding, fem Dom, somnophilia, dub con/ cnc, voyeurism, exhibitionism

~⛓master list⛓~

I don’t have a masterlist and don’t plan to make one, all fics are uploaded to my AO3 (link above)! Any other posts that are too short for AO3 will be under the tag #ghostysthoughts

#rules #introducing myself #writer intro #thirst blogging #blog info #helloooo #writers on tumblr #fanfic writing

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vtoriacore · 4 years

Text

hiatus era (again)

don't contact/message or @ me please, don't ask if im fine because i am going to be and asks are gonna be disabled anyways. if whatever you need from me is absolutely urgent you can dm but please only if it's absolutely URGENT. if you wanna break mutual because of my constant mood shifts, soft block or hard block or unfollow and dni, you choose whatever works for you.

✧ dni if,

racist/xenophobic/neo-nazi

homophobic/transphobic/lgbtqphobic

misogynistic/sexist

ableist [incl. using terms such as narcissistic or bipolar or psycho in a negative way, think people w cluster B disorders aren't worthy of love/friendship etc.]

islamophobic/anti-semitic [disrespectful to other religions - don't use religion to excuse homophobia + transphobia though]

anti-palestine / support israel's genocide regime

under 16 years old and interacting w n$fw [if you are under 16 and interact w my n$fw works, i can't stop you but be aware some of it can be dark and i'd prefer you didn't read or engage w/it for your own well-being]

interact w incest or support pedophilia

are a HP fan or excuse JKR

✧ vitória | 18 | agender [any pronouns], refer to me as a cryptid or don't refer to me at all | sapphic + aroaceflux | bpd - please be mindful

✧ i post whenever i want, no schedule lmao. asks may take a day, a week or a year (/hj, it has happened before tho) because i'm picky asf and always lack motivation but if you send me enough "write this damn req already wtf" i'll cave in.

✧ requests closed <3

✧ i have an unhinged side-blog, @vtoriacore-rbs where i am often delusional in my own habitat!

✧ fandoms:

hetalia

twst

danganronpa [no longer writing but happy to talk about]

attack on titan

genshin impact

jojo's bizzare adventure [up to part 7]

death note

hazbin hotel [not writing but happy to talk about]

cookie run kingdom [not writing but happy to talk about]

✧ will write:

yandere [will give a warning]

angst/heavy angst and topics such as depression, major character death, mild gore or violence [will give a warning]

character x reader [always gn!reader unless fem!reader requested]

LGBTQ+ ; asexual/aromatic, lesbian/sapphic, bisexual, pansexual, non-binary etc. reader

✧ won’t write:

p*dophilia/inc*st/l*li-con/sh*ta-con etc.

character x character/character x OC

overly detailed/overly self-indulgent asks

clear opinions of religion/politics

amab reader [this applies to nsfw bc i'm afab]

✧ nsfw rules:

no nsfw requests for characters that are 18 below

non-con/dub-con only allowed if the ask is yandere [i do not support this irl as it's toxic, unhealthy and illegal so it will only be written under yandere and unhealthy relationships only unless it's part of cnc roleplay] -> writing as a survivor, not your cup of tea? don't bitch in my dms or asks and block instead of not understanding coping mechanisms for trauma

no requests for kinks that involve urine, spit play, sc*t etc.

no age play, threesomes/orgies, pet play, slave/master relationships

anything that's nsfw will have a #✧toria.n$fw, warning of topics will be given under the title

✧ character limit is 5 unless you're requesting specific groups for eg. [hetalia - axis & allies] or [twst - pomefiore & heartslabyul] but please do not request more than 2 groups at a time

✧ i might interpret characters differently and decide on my own headcanons for them [without diminishing important character traits and personality]

✧ as for requests, you are welcome to send in an ask any time you want! as long as it follows the aforementioned rules, it should be okay to do so :)

✧ no masterlist [aka someone get on my ass to get me to make one please]

✧ anything tagged #✧toria answers is answering gen questions and not requests/writing asks - feel free to block. anything tagged with #✧toria thoughts is just thoughts - feel free to block those tags if you want

#hetalia x reader #twst x reader #danganronpa x reader #aot x reader #genshin impact x reader #theme is best viewed in dark 💞

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t-lostinworlds · 4 years

Text

Clumsy (Tom Holland)

A/N: This one is short but sweet. Also, I made some minor changes anon I hope you don’t mind <3 and to the others who sent in an ask, I’m working on em! just patience lovelies. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Requested:

Warnings: Nada and maybe typos

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

It's very remarkable how you've managed to make the public believe you weren't together. Seeming friends in the eyes of strangers when in reality, 'in love' is all you see in the gaze of one another the moment you're alone.

Granted there are a few who are still speculating, that never does go away. But the majority of his fans do think you're nothing more than just a part of Tom's close circle of friends, one of the boys as some would say.

An unwritten rule was established when you two got together, only going out in public with the group all while making sure that public displays of affection were kept at a minimal. By default, people thought that you weren't dating Tom as you two where never seen alone together.

Unless it was a remote area where no one would be able to see or recognize you, then you and Tom can take all the alone-time and stroll around as much as you want, as close as you desire to be.

It was peaceful like that, no unwanted eyes peering through your relationship like it's some reality show, throwing their two cents as if they're opinions matter. It truly doesn't because by the end of it all, you and Tom are the ones who are in a relationship, not you, Tom and the world.

However, you can't always hide the truth for eternity, someday, in whatever way, it will slowly come out whether you like it or not.

You and Tom knew that of course, it was just the case of when you're ready to share it with the world. But no matter how many times you've discussed on how you were going to come clean, neither you nor Tom expected your relationship to be revealed in such an unexpected and odd way.

It was another day, another comic con in the life of Spider-Man.

You've been traveling with Tom for most of the press tour, and having that you had no better way to spend the day other than rot in a hotel room, you decided to tag along. Harry was with you as always – to lessen any suspicion – with a camera hanging on his neck to photograph every moment.

You were now walking towards the backstage of the last panel, tailing just behind Tom with Harry by your right, big burly bodyguards surrounding all corners to make sure no one gets trampled.

Thomas was being clingy. He regularly is, but this time more than usual. It was obvious how he's itching to get a hold of you as he kept looking over his shoulder, hand swinging a little too much to the back for him to just brush yours.

It was so adorable that you couldn't even try to hide your giggles.

"Stop being so cute or else." You hear him mumble, just under his breath, your eyes meeting as he turns his head to shoot you another glance, pout in full play.

You flashed him an innocent smile, shrugging your shoulders as you clearly haven't done anything. Tom sighed as he tore his eyes off you to look back ahead.

He was dying to just hold you, to have your warmth coat him as he snuggles close to your skin. Your cuddles and kisses, he was in dire need of those at the moment.

Maybe it's because he was a bit knackered, having done a meet and greet with the countless interviews to add beforehand. And when he's tired, he just wants to snuggle with you right after, to be in each other's arms, for you to ground him back as you are his anchor through all this chaos of a lifestyle.

But alas, the numerous eyes around you was making it hard to sneak a loving embrace, he'll have to wait until everything is all over.

Finally reaching backstage and inside these long black curtains, your eyes were constricted by how dim it was. It wasn't dark by all means, but the only sources of light were the once placed on the floor. Clumsiness being part of your blood — not by choice — you were busy trying to not trip over something that you didn't realize that someone was approaching.

You felt a gentle hand wrap around your wrist, making you look up to see Tom with a certain curve on his lips and a gloss over his eyes which usually means he needed something. Before you could even ask him what it was, he turned to his brother.

"Cover for us for a sec Harry."

Leaving a confused looking Harry, Tom dragged you behind these tall and big black boxes, completely hidden from plain sight unless someone would peak their head in fully through the gap.

"What's up?"

Tom didn't even bother to answer your question. He just wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to sweetly capture your lips in his with a satisfied sigh. You giggled as you kissed him back, arms taking home over his shoulders as you pulled him close.

"I really needed that, needed a recharge." Tom breathed out, withdrawing from the kiss for some air, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft, content smile on his lips.

You felt your heart burst at that, a soft coo escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair right on the nape of his neck.

"As much as I would love to kiss you some more, we can't be gone for too long." You gave him a sympathetic smile. He's a very important person in this comic con, so when he goes missing — even for just a little bit — people tend to notice.

Tom nodded with a sigh. "I know, but just one more please." With those adorable puppy eyes and the cutest pout he could muster, how could you say no to that?

You got back just in time for Tom to be given a microphone and then ushered on stage, the crowd roaring in delight at the sight of their favorite superhero.

You could only watch on the sidelines with a smug grin on your lips, utter pride and genuine happiness coursing through your bones at the sight of Tom's wide smile as he waves at the crowd.

***

Everything was all wrapped up and you were finally on your way back to the hotel. If only it was as quick and easy as getting out of the venue and inside the car in a snap, but you're with Tom Holland, what did you expect?

There were a few fans on your way out, Tom walking ahead again to take a couple photos with them and sign a few stuff too.

You were laughing at something stupid Harry had said that by sheer dumb luck, you managed to hook your foot on a protruding cable wire, your whole body falling forward in one swift motion and landing on the floor with a hard thump.

The loud yelp you let out was enough for all eyes to be on you, especially Tom's.

You ignored the stares and tried to get up quickly with the help of Harry, but the slight movement only made you wince, a sharp pain coursing through your leg that made you grit your teeth with a hiss. You only managed to turn and sit on your bum, after that, you weren't able to make another move, eyes screwing shut at the constant throb on your foot.

Forgetting all the rules you've set when you're in public, Tom was by your side in an instant, eyes swimming with concern as he crouched down in front of you, cupping your face with both hands to check what was wrong.

"What hurts love?"

"Ankle." You muttered under your breath, head leaning forward to land on his chest reluctantly, the pain just too much for you to stay upright.

Whispers of the people and the clicking of phones were soon heard not long after, but Tom could careless as all his was attention on you, too worried to give a damn at the moment. He knows well enough just how much it hurts to twist your ankle; he's been there before a couple of times. But when it's you who's hurting, Tom's worry always comes tenfold.

He needed to get you off the floor, away from the snooping eyes, and get you to a hospital fast. You never know just by one look if it's just a light sprain or something serious, better safe than sorry.

"I'm going to carry you okay darling? It's going to hurt but just for a second." Tom whispered, brushing your hair away from your face delicately. As soon as you gave him a small nod, Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead before wrapping an arm around your body as the other hooked right under your knees, hoisting you up bridal style.

You whimpered in agony as you buried your face on his shirt, your arms going around his neck for support, Tom muttering sweet 'I'm sorry's over and over against your hair for causing you the discomfort.

Sure, Tom could've just let one of his bodyguards carry you but he doesn't trust them well enough to know if they'd be gentle with you. Of course there was a voice inside his head on how there was no way you'd go back to hiding this relationship anymore, but Tom tuned it out, more focused on you than anything else. He'll worry about that later.

Tom was saying something to Harry and his agent that you couldn't quite comprehend, the throbbing pain making you feel lightheaded that you weren't fully aware of what's happening around you.

"I've got you my love." You hear Tom whisper as he walks out of the venue with you in his arms, ignoring all the questioning looks and the countless of photos being taken just to get you some much needed medical attention fast.

***

"Well, the internet is definitely buzzing." Tom joked, gently scooting closer beside where you sat on the hotel bed, ankle all wrapped up in a cast while being elevated by a pillow.

Numerous headlines were already popping up by the minute due to that little mishap earlier, a picture of you on the floor with Tom and then of you in his arms circling the internet to match.

Some fans were saying they knew it, and some totally not expecting it, even though neither of you have confirmed anything whatsoever. But the media, they tend to draw a conclusion without having much to go about.

"I'm sorry." You frowned at him. Despite his playful tone, you can see it in his face how troubled he was, you can practically see those gears turning inside his head.

Yes, Tom was worried, but not because the secret was finally out, it was mainly about how the fans were going to treat you. The internet can be cruel at times, and you weren't trained for that kind of attention. Tom is the public figure, not you. He signed up for this, you didn't.

Throwing an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him gently, Tom shook his head at you. "Hey, you did absolutely nothing wrong."

"If I wasn't clumsy this wouldn't have happened." You said shamefully, the embarrassment from your little stunt still there, and of course, the disheartened feeling being that you took the choice away from the both of you, the choice of when you were going to go public.

"But I love you and your clumsiness darling. And it's alright. We're going to be fine." Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead, hand rubbing your arm comfortingly, lovingly that has you sighing with gratitude that there was no ill-will in his voice, even in the slightest.

"I think we should say something." You pulled away from his arms slightly to be able to look at him fully. Tom knitted his eyebrows at you in question. "About what?"

"Us." You stated simply, and Tom didn't need any further explanation, he already knows that you meant officially confirming that you two were in fact together.

Tom stared at you for a full second, brown orbs searching yours if you were genuinely certain about the decision. "Are you sure angel?"

You nodded at him with a sincere smile, ready for all the things that come with it, but also excited to be able to hold him, to cherish him without having to worry every second if someone was watching. "Yeah, plus I'm kind of tired of hiding."

Tom chuckled, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your lips, a kiss full of gratitude, adoration and pure love for such an amazing woman like you before pulling away to get a hold of his phone.

"Okay. But what should I post?" He asked, frankly having no clue as to what to say or do.

"Up to you Tom." As if there was a hidden message in your words — there wasn't — Tom's whole face lit up, an 'aha!' moment crossing his features before he went tapping away on his phone in concentration.

You let him be as you paid your attention back on the television screen, but it didn't take too long until Tom handed the device to you.

"You do the honors my love." Tom grinned smugly as he showed you the post he's created on Instagram, you letting out a hearty laugh at how dorky yet adorable it was.

It was a collaged photo of you and him. The upper half was of him in his trailer on the set of Cherry, sporting the US military uniform as he leaned back on the couch, a towel covering his face while the medic patched up his ankle. The bottom half was a photo of you earlier — that Harry took without your knowledge — almost in the same predicament.

The only difference was that you were on a hospital bed as the doctor wrapped your ankle up, and instead of a towel, you had your arm over to cover your face, Tom right by your side for moral support.

The caption only had two words: Relationship Goals.

After pressing the blue-colored Share button on the upper-right corner, you handed Tom his phone back, both of you mirroring wide and satisfied smiles.

Granted, there will be challenges with having your relationship out there, and maybe you were going to face most of it even. But with just one look at him, the feeling of being wrapped in his warm embrace, the pure happiness that courses through you whenever you're with him, just being with the absolute love of your life...

It was all worth it.

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog & Leave a Comment if you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! <3

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands

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ultimate-ranger · 3 years

Text

Welcome!

Hey! I'm Dame, and this is my Danganronpa blog! Come visit my main blog here if you want other dumb stuff from me lmao

Mostly a place for me to rb/post my own DR content, but please feel free to interact w/ me! Once I pick up a little more visibility, I'll likely clean this pinned post up and make separate posts for my tag list and such

I'm open for character and character x S/O headcanon requests! Rules and such for that are posted under the cut. However, this blog won't be entirely focused on that, just fyi!

If you ask me about my OCs I'll fall in love with you

Requests [0/5]

[Upcoming works]

─────────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────────

Important notes || DNI || Masterlists || Taglist || Request Rules under cut:

Important things to note:

I don't automatically use tone indicators, but I'm willing to, so just let me know if you need them!

I don't tag spoilers, so be cautious

I'm a full time college student, so apologies if I don't get to your ask/request/chat!

If you are a minor, proceed at your own risk. This blog won't be always be sfw, but I'm not going to police anyone obvi. Just know I'm not liable for what you choose to expose yourself to

I use they/them pronouns for Chihiro [But if you use other pronouns for them, thats ok!]

I swear a lot, and I also type in caps a lot, so fair warning. No I will not change these habits

I automatically tag certain things like long posts, or specific triggers/peeves. Let me know if you need something tagged!

I'm obsessed with my own OCs/OC x Canon, so I'm sorry if I get annoying about them lmao

I typically talk in all lowercase with barely any punctuation; but my writing has more proper grammar

I have ADHD so I'm sorry if I don't make sense all the time :')

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DNI:

Racists

Homophobes, biphobes, transphobes, TERFs, etc

Ablests

P/edos, MAPs

Kink/fetish blogs

Proshippers

If you believe wildlife can be pets

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Masterlists

[coming soon!]

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Taglist

Asks/Chats/Etc:

[Dame Answers] - Answers to asks

[Dame Replies] - Replies to tags/mentions/etc

[Dame Responds] - Reblogs with my responses

[Dame Rambles] - Various ramblings of whatevers on my mind

My content:

[My art] - Art that I've drawn; from full pieces, to dumb jokes, to shitty doodles

[My writing] - Various written works of mine; from fics to drabbles

[Trailblazers] - Posts about my own Fanganronpa game idea, Danganronpa: Trailblazers

[My original posts] - Posts that I made myself that are neither art nor writing, from either here or my main blog

Other:

[Discourse] - Should I ever find the need to reblog something thats within the topic of discourse, callouts, etc

[Not DR] - Non-Danganronpa related content

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Request Rules

Will write:

All three main games characters, I'll do my best to write for all of them!

Headcanons

Fem, male, and GN (AFAB or AMAB) S/O

Character x S/O [NO use of x reader or x y/n, for personal reasons]

Poly ships

Character x Character, but ONLY: - Taka x Mondo - Taka x Chihiro x Mondo - Shuichi x Kaito - Kaito x Shuichi x Maki - Makoto x Byakuya - Kyoko x Makoto x Byakuya - Hajime x Nagito - Izuru x Nagito - Hajime x Nagito x Chiaki - Gundham x Kazuichi x Sonia

AUs - Non-Despair - Masterminds - Remnants of Despair - All killing games were in the Neo-World Program - Non-Ultimates

Some sensitive topics - Depression/anxiety/ADHD - Su/icide - S/elf h/arm - Weight insecurity

NS/FW

Specific Ultimates for S/O

Will NOT write:

Anime/manga-only characters [If they don't appear in the main games, then I don't know how to properly portray them]

Fanganronpa characters [I've never played and have no desire to play, sorry!]

Ultra Despair Girls characters [Besides Toko and Nagito, obvi]

Underage characters romantically

Non-con/Dub-con

Fetishes involving piss/scat

DDLG / Agere / Age-regressing fetishes or scenarios

Uncomfortable scenarios [I'll let you know if I'm uncomfy with it]

Trans S/O [I'm cis, so I don't feel like I can accurately portray the experience, sorry!!]

#pinned post #danganronpa #dr2 #sdr2 #drv3 #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #drv3 x reader

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years

Text

Desire

A/N: SMUT ON THE BRAIN, I REPEAT SMUT ON THE BRAIN.

Angel Reyes x Reader

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1705k

Language: Smut, mention of blow-job, language, SMUT

*****************************************************************

Y/N leaned dangerously lower finding herself eye level with none other than Angel and the guys. She smirked; “You have five minutes to meet me in the storage closet Angel Reyes or I��m starting without you.” Y/N whispered licking the shell of his ear seductively. “And I don’t like waiting…”

Her converse shoes squeaked ever so slightly against the wood floors beneath them as he ogled her ass swaying farther from his reach. Her form fitting shirt was leaving little to his active imagination. Her denim cutoffs taunted him with the simple sway of her luscious hips. She was a fucking deity and Y/N knew he was eating out of the palm of her enticing hand.

Under his breath, Angel finally exhaled the compressed air lodged in his chest; “Fuck.” Popping the ‘k’ overtly. It wasn’t until Coco coughed attempting to clear away any residual sexual tension that Angel peeled his stare from Y/N looking around the table innocently.

“Yo, I say this with mad love but if you don’t leave this table to fuck her, I will homie.” Gilly and Riz laughed wholeheartedly alongside Coco. The fire in Angel’s orbs blared to life, anger gripping ahold of him. His fist clenched ripping one of his cards clean down the middle trying to refocus his pent-up frustration.

“I’d watch that mouth of yours, man. Anyone who dares to touch Y/N nonetheless solicit my girl will definitely be meeting me in the fucking ring. Got it, hermano?”

Coco cheeks blushingly glowed chuckling at his best friend. They were in the middle of a poker game and Y/N knew to not bother him during these times. But, looks like Y/N didn’t want to play fair tonight and he’d have to remind of the rules. Angel licked his wet lips as saliva pooled within him.

“I only do it because you’re so easy to get a reaction out of…probably why Y/N loves seeing that pissed look on your face. Bitch knows how to play the damn game; I’ll give her that.”

He threw his cards down to the table signaling his defeat; “Boys, I gotta girl that needs tendin to. Don’t come searching for us.” Angel raised his left eyebrow wiggling it to the best of his ability. His boots scuttled as the chair legs screeched backwards. Angel leisurely rose from his seat chugging the rest of his whiskey. The liquor was bitter, malty, and burned in all the right places. With his nerves afire and his belly ablaze, Angel sought out the one thing that could calm and simultaneously bait him.

The rumblings of his brothers didn’t jog past him as he walked towards the empty storage room. The soft voice of Gilly made its way to him; “Fucking Reyes and Y/N. How the hell did he score her again?” Coco chimed in; “Cabrón con suerte.”

Ez watched from the bar top inspecting his brother’s hungry glare scouring the room for Y/N. To say he was jealous wouldn’t be his choice of words but there was something about his best friend and brother boning that provided a weird energy of comfort.

“Avert your gaze, Prospect. That’s an order.” Angel raised his hand saluting him breaking into a fit of laughter. Ez merely nodded focusing his attention back to demeaning cleaning chores and collecting miscellaneous bottles. The older Reyes walked through the door in search of the hidden room approaching on his left. He so enjoyed these games especially when it included Y/N.

“Oh sweetheart, where ya hiding? Papi is getting impatient.” His questioning tone vibrated off the bare walls as Angel observed the nooks and crannies surrounding him.

“Querida, you’re being a damn tease…”

Out of the blue, Angel heard the teasing tone of his girlfriend; “Marco….”

“So, you want to play games, Y/N? Bring it on darling. Polo.”

His ears perked up as his arm hairs stood straight looking for identifiable clues. Angel whipped around hearing a broom clash against the cold concrete. Y/N shuffled covering her mouth in hopes of keeping her laughs muffled. Her heart was practically beating outside of her rib cage as his signature cologne invaded her nostrils. Ever so quietly, Angel instinctively sauntered obscenely silent towards a corner of the abandoned room.

Angel was swift on his feet jumping around the corner scaring the living shit out of Y/N; “Gotcha!”

Y/N jumped as Angel watched her eyes bulge in momentary fear; “Shit, Angel! Well, looks like you found me. Now time to claim your prize?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, baby.” Angel’s grip on her smooth hips tightened gluing her between the wall and his frame. Y/N huffed pressing her breasts firmly against him in retaliation.

“Well now that I’ve got you exactly where I want you…what are you gonna do with me?” Angel nipped at her exposed cleavage moaning loudly.

“Jesus Angel. You’re driving me crazy.” With little vigor, Y/N’s hands shoved him giving her a sliver of distance. Grabbing by the collar of his pristine shirt, she pressed him into her former place. Immediately, Y/N reached for the bulky belt buckle currently blockading her path, pulling hard admiring it slipped through the loops. She kept one hand securely on his chest as the other dropped the offensive item to the ground.

“You’ve been very naughty Angel. I’m here to deliver your penance.” Her flirtatious manner was beginning to get the best of her, her patience was truly being tested. She sunk down to her knees staring up at his bashful brown eyes and quivering Adam’s apple. Contemplating every sinful thought riddling his thoughts Angel tried to find the words garbled in his throat.

Her hands moved faster than his brain undoing the button of his jeans before Angel was graced with the delicious sound of a zipper lowering. A minor tug of his pants revealed his striped boxers as Y/N slipped beneath the pesky layer. Her doe eyes gawked towards him in a demanding yet submissive approach.

“Looks like you’re in for a treat, Reyes…Of course if you’re not interested, I bet I could find---”

“No more fucking around baby.” Y/N bobbed in innocent agreement; “As you wish.”

She enveloped his hard cock stroking him the entire length, squeezing just enough at the tip as a groan slipped from him. “I can’t wait to taste you. I’ve missed you.”

Y/N continued her perfected movements fondling his dick faster causing his breath to hitch.

“Damnit, baby! What’re you doin—?”

Before he could finish his sentence, Angel was engulfed in her heat, the warmth of her flawless mouth. Y/N sucked harder compelling Angel’s head knocking the white wall holding him.

“You are too good at that. Too fucking good.”

Drool oozed from the corner of her salacious mouth as Y/N hummed forcing the vibrations to take Angel to the next level of pleasure. She sucked him off like her life depended on it. He was a half second away from losing it when she deep throated him to her limit. The suction noise was enough to turn him on enormously, but watching his girl go full force was about to make him lose his load. Pre-cum leaked down her chin before Y/N made quick work of licking it away, tidying up her mess.

She proceeded to remove herself, popping her lips loudly in effect; “Mm hmm, two minutes and you’re a goner.”

Angel was stunned into submission at the attractive girl on her knees and it turned him on to no surmountable end. He guided her back to where he craved her most cleverly placing his hand on the back of her head. He hated controlling her mannerisms but strictly stayed in place for future guidance. Angel added the smallest of pressure as more of his length guided down her throat. So warm and welcoming, Angel had to think of literally anything else to stop himself from cumming. The lustful look, her hands locked behind his buttocks, it was all too much for a simple Mayan to take in.

“Ahh, ahh shit. If you get doin that, I’m gonna explode.”

So, Y/N kicked into overdrive taking him as deep as her body would allow. She loved watching his eyes roll into the back of his head and the part of his lips waiting to cry out. So close, Y/N knew he was teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm so she initiated into full force.

The squelching noises coming from Y/N sent Angel overboard. Y/N sloppily slurped vying with every energetic thrust. The ache within him involuntarily released driving Angel to cum ferociously into Y/N’s sweet, hot mouth. Ribbons of cum filtrated the back of her throat welcomingly.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’ was the only explicit word in Angel’s mind as lustful chaos stormed throughout his body. Hot cum simmered down her throat as she so freely swallowed every gulp with dignified pleasure. She moaned around his length allowing his orgasm to linger. Angel lovingly held her in place as she sucked every last drop from the tip of his cock.

“God damn. God damn woman.”

Y/N’s fingers edged along the corners making sure to clean up any remnants remaining surveying Angel candidly. Y/N removed herself from the floor tucking him gently back into the folds of his boxers as his body turned to gelatin.

“You taste sweet. A hint of strawberry and pineapple?” Her devious tone enticed him wanting to bend her over and make her scream. But they’d been preoccupied for longer than anticipated. Angel knew he couldn’t fuck her quite yet but the night was young and the devilish grin on Y/N’s face told him he was in for a night of fucking and love making.

“Babe, that was fucking mind-blowing.” Angel cupped her cheeks kissing her excitedly. His cock twitched wishing to be buried inside Y/N but he knew better.

“Damnit, one hour and we’re out of here. Got it?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Reyes. I’m in dire need of an orgasm or two especially with my sexy as fuck Mayan to ride reverse cowgirl.”

“You have to idea what you’re askin for….”

Winking in Angel’s direction, Y/N knew precisely what she desired; “One hour or I’m starting without you.”

~~~~~~

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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9. Itches to Scratch

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 8.8k

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Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: only two more chapters left! what the actual FUCK!!!!! thank you so much for all the love on OE, they. are my little babies and i love them so much. slide into my DMs and tell me what you think!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

“H?”

Harry was in his dressing room while Y/N showers before his show in Bologna. She was leaving in a week and he spent every waking moment trying not to think about it. He had loved having her on tour with him—waking up with her in his bed, seeing her belly grow and her body change right in front of him, being able to sing to her. Bounding off the stage and directly into her arms was his favorite part of the night. They had also gotten really good at having sex in his dressing room without anyone hearing them, something he was going to miss. Desperately.

At the moment, he was on his phone texting Gemma, checking in on what she was up to at work. But at the sound of Y/N’s voice he perked up, on his feet immediately. He beelined for the shower and then paused in the doorway of the bathroom. “What is it, love?”

She shoved open the shower curtain and Harry was met by a wet Y/N looking flustered, a razor in her hand and soapy legs. “I can’t reach my fucking legs, Harry.”

Oh. He toed off his shoes, then his clothes, and walked straight into the shower with her, despite her protests that he really didn’t need to get all the way in the shower. But Harry would walk through fire for her, the water didn’t really do much. “Why are you shaving in the first place?” He asked, turning down the intensity of the shower. “I really don’t care if you’ve got hair on your legs, baby.”

“But I do,” she pouted. “Makes me more…attractive, I guess.”

His head bounced up from where he was studying her dainty ankles. “Why would you be less attractive?” She had brought up to him only once or twice before her insecurities about her appearance since she’d gotten pregnant and he flat out didn’t understand her concern. He didn’t think he’d ever been more attracted to her—she fucking glowed, she constantly wanted to touch him, she let him do things for her, and she was carrying his child. (And her tits were utter perfection.) So when she said things like that, he just didn’t know how to reassure her more.

She pushed her wet hair out of her face and avoided his eye contact, much to his dismay. It was hard to read her when she didn’t look at him, although he was getting better and better at telling from her body language as they spent more time together. “I just feel so…not like myself.”

“Hey,” he murmured, rubbing the skin at her thighs. “You’re still you. You’re my Y/N. Same person, same utterly drop-dead gorgeous person.” Her eyes finally met his, a blush on her cheeks he adored. He loved that he still made her blush. She didn’t reply, didn’t fight him on his words, so he started to run the razor down her legs, the hairs collecting on the blades before he rinsed them in the water. They were quiet as he worked, delicate strokes on her skin so he didn’t knick her. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her bleed. “Feel nice and soft,” he informed her as he moved to her other leg, making short strokes on her knee since the skin was thinner and harder to shave.

She mumbled something he didn’t catch, but he didn’t ask her to clarify, knowing it was probably some snide remark about his work. Instead, he massaged her calf, smiling at the gasp he heard over the shower. “Harry…” She said, voice in a warning.

“I know, I know.” They didn’t have much time—he was due for hair and makeup in probably a few short minutes, and after that there wouldn’t be time until after the show. “Just let me mess around, huh?” She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t protest, so he continued his actions. He shaved her hair and massaged at her skin, peppering kisses on the bits closest to him. The precise swipes of the razor were leaving her hairless and glistening under the florescent lighting in the bathroom, and Harry surveyed his work with pride. “Think I’m done,” he said, leaning back and letting her rinse off her leg under the water. “Can touch it up later if it’s not up to your standards.”

He stood up and captured her lips in a quick kiss before she pushed him away, telling him to dry off before Ayae got there and had his ass for being all wet and drippy. He chuckled and left her to her own devices, finishing the shower while he got ready for the stage.

Harry gripped Y/N’s hand the minute he was off the stage, pulling her behind him all the way to the dressing room, ignoring her questions entirely. He was a man on a mission, and when he shut the door behind him and pushed her against it, his lips capturing hers, she knew what for. Hands covered every free inch of her skin, his ring-clad fingers desperate to touch her.

“Thought about you when I was on stage,” he said, wrenching the neck of her top to the side, exposing her bare collarbone. “About fucking you, about your wet hole, about hearing you moan for me.”

Her hips bucked into his without trying to, his words stirring a fire in her. “Couch,” she breathed out when he sucked into her skin. “Need to feel you properly, H.” Because of her belly, her seven-month pregnant belly, she couldn’t touch him the way she wanted to.

“Yeah, baby?” He walked them backwards to the couch, him sitting down with her on top of him. He leaned back deep into the cushions, the angle allowing her to grip his thighs behind her and grind, her clothed center brushing against him. The rings of his fingers dug into her thighs when he rucked up her dress, one of the many Harry Lambert had found and ordered for her, loving the opportunity to explore maternity fashions. The cold metal made you gasp and you looked from the ceiling to his eyes, loving the devilish look in his eyes. “Can I make you come?” He asked, nose nudging hers.

She nodded, the prospect making her desperate. He could feel it in the way she shuddered at the idea, the way her eyes fell to his mouth and watched him lick his lips, something he did just to taunt her. Delicately, he rolled her, her back hitting the couch cushions and Harry dropped to the floor in front of her, not minding that his hot pink pants were going to get ruined from the rug. Her hands pushed at his matching suit jacket and he shrugged it off, letting her untie the bow tie around her neck that she had helped him with only a few hours before. And when he was free, he bent down, not wanting to waste a second of time.

He dove into her without warning, without prep, knowing she wouldn’t need it. She was already dripping for him, the effect of his words driving her wild, but the feeling of his tongue inside of her had her squirming against him, hands pulling on his hair and his name falling from her mouth in a chant. He loved going down on Y/N because it was when he loved how she responded to it—how she pulled on him, touched him everywhere she could, held his head close to her.

“H,” she breathed, “need your fingers.”

Her wish was his command. He slid two fingers in, the sound of her groan as she adjusted making him smile. As he slid his digits in and out of her, curling them deep inside, he rested his cheek against her thigh, watching what he was doing to her. And then he looked up at her, only to find her watching him, breathless. “I know you wish you could see,” he said softly, because she had told him more than a few times, “but can you hear what I’m doing to you?”

It was loud in the room, the sound of her juices as he moved in and out of her, the slick of her skin against his fingers. She nodded, licking her lips as they dried from her pants. “Feels so good,” she whispered, head lolling as he kissed her clit tenderly before sucking on it. “Gonna come,” she breathed out as he stroked her clit with his tongue over and over again, a brutal course set on her skin.

“Want to feel you come on my fingers,” he told her, knowing that his words were what she needed now. “Can you do that for me, love? Come around me, squeeze me tight like you do my dick? Hmm? Know you can, want to feel it though.”

“Fuck,” she said, drawling on the word as she bucked into him, his fingers brushing her back wall just the way she needed. That was what made her come, squeezing around in a vice grip, thighs clamping around his head as he watched her drip onto him, juices dripping around his fingers.

He lapped at you, tongue picking up every last drop, not wanting a single bit to go to waste when he pulled his fingers from you. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the rise of her bell as he lifted his head. “Can I have you, baby? Need you so bad.”

“Please.”

It took some logistics to figure out a position that was comfortable for both of them, but finally they found it. He was lying down on the couch, her in reverse cowgirl perched on top of him. He hated not being able to see her, but whatever was most comfortable for her was what he wanted. And if he couldn’t see her face at least he could see her ass, her back, her hair cascading down her back, the curve of her spine and her shoulder blades when she moved. He dug his finger into her ass, her head tipping back at the feeling of his rings on her skin.

Knowing she was sensitive already and how ready he was for her, he didn’t wait. He pushed at her hips, urging them up, and pumped his dick twice before nudging against her slit, the sensation drawing moan after moan from both of them. When she sat down on him, she didn’t hesitate—she took him fully, sitting against his hips so deep he had resist the urge to buck up into her, knowing she was adjusting around him. He loved it when she was in control, loved letting her set the rhythm and bounce on him at her own pace, basically using him as she needed. It never ceased to make him want her more, and he sat up slightly, changing the angle and making her squeal, so he could hold her belly. He knew it made it easier for her, and he didn’t want her to be in pain.

“You doing okay, angel?” He asked, sucking harshly on her shoulder.

Her head rolled back and found his lips, mouths fighting for dominance as she rose and fell on his cock, his hands holding her up. When she rolled her hips against his her head fell back onto his shoulder behind her and he was essentially fully supporting her. He loved it though, the feeling of her sweaty back on his chest. He pushed his hips up into her slightly, making his dick brush her walls in the way she loved and his name a prayer in her throat.

He swept her hair over her shoulder so he could nibble at her neck, murmuring praises to her skin. “So good for me, baby, huh? Love feelin’ you all around me, squeezin’ me just like that. God, you feel like heaven, love, know that? Made for one another.” It had her squeezing around him tightly, her hands scrabbling for the couch cushions at her side for support as she rose and fell. She was chasing her orgasm and he wanted her to find it, knowing that her orgasm was what he needed to come. “Need you,” he said, suckling on her earlobe, swiping a circle underneath the tender skin. “Need to feel you come around me for me to finish.”

“Oh my god,” she whimpered. “Can you touch me, H? Can’t reach.”

His movements were immediate, moving one hand from her stretched skin to her clit, thumbing rapid circles over her clit. She shuddered in his arms, back curling into him as she bent forward. It was crushing his hand but he didn’t care, loved the reminder that she had his baby inside of her, that she was the mother of his child. “C’mon love, want you to come for me.”

The feeling of her clenching around him, her thighs threatening to shut as pleasure rocked through her body had Harry coming right behind her. She slid up and down him a few more times, movements shaky, but it was just what he needed as he finished, his lips sucking into the back of her neck as she rode him. His ring-clad hands gripped her hips, holding her to him as they both caught their breath, not ready to let go of her yet.

Then, Y/N rose up, his dick slipping out of her, and turned around so that she was sitting in Harry’s lap, but facing him. His fingers brushed across her stretched skin, and pressed a kiss to the rise of her belly. “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured as she ran her hands through his hair, sweaty from the stage and then sex.

Harry looked up at her, the sad expression on her face, and his heart broke. “Wish you didn’t have to go. Wish I could go with you.”

They’d spoken about it last night at length, about how if Harry could, he would cancel the rest of tour and go home with her. He loved laying down with her and talking to little Peanut or doing vocal warmups aimed directly at their child growing inside of her. Watching her body change, talking about how she was doing, calling their parents together to check-in. He didn’t want to experience it all from thousands of miles away through the tiny screen of his iPhone.

She kissed the top of his head, and then his nose, then the corner of his lips. “I know. But this is how it is, hmm?” Harry nestled his head onto her chest, sitting right above her breasts. They had taken her dress off earlier, but her bra still held them up, and he pushed at the strap gingerly, pushing it off her shoulder and exposing the flesh to him He nibbled at the skin, Y/N whining at the feeling and pulling at his head.

“Harry…”

“What?” He asked, licking at the sensitive skin and smiling as she squeaked.

“You need to shower and we need to get going,” she reminded him. It was approaching time for them to head out, let people finish cleaning up and for them to get to the hotel. Y/N was exhausted and she had an important meeting tomorrow that she needed to be awake for.

“I’m only showering if you come too,” he said, resting his chin on her sternum and looking up at her. He made his puppy dog eyes at her, which he knew were her weakness, but the thought of not having her skin next to him was torture. “Please, baby.”

“Fine,” she said, pushing at his head. “But no funny business.”

“Me? Funny business?” He scoffed as she pulled off of him. She rolled her eyes and walked towards the attached bathroom, the same one he’d shaved her legs in hours earlier. The sight of her, naked except for expensive underwear set he had bought for her because her old bras were too small and he wanted her to feel gorgeous, made him hard all over again.

She was literally going to kill him, he thought to himself, before pushing himself off the couch and following after her into the shower.

Y/N was only two weeks into being in Harry’s house alone and it was already hell.

She missed him like crazy. She would wake up in the morning, back aching and desperately having to pee, her hand stretched out to his side of the bed, which was empty. Every night she slept in an old shirt of his, one of the few that still fit her, but it had long lost his smell, so she kept spraying it with his cologne so she could pretend he was there with her. The one night she hadn’t because she ran through the leftover bottle he had at home she hadn’t been able to sleep, and when she’d mentioned it to Harry he had overnighted her a new one. Told her he didn’t want her to be without a piece of him. He threatened to make a custom dildo for her of his dick, knowing how horny she was, but she had refused, telling him it was dangerous for him to make a mold of his dick and send it off somewhere, to which he burst out laughing. “What are they going to do love, start making Harry Styles dildos?” She wasn’t too sure it wouldn’t happen, though.

She filled the void by worrying herself sick over the pregnancy and being a mom. When she had been with Harry they did it together—the learning, the late-night Googling, the questions to her doctor. But now she did it alone, or to Harry in texts. Questions like: Do we need another bib? To which he would reply that No, love, already got four, right? He was always correct, somehow keeping an inventory of every purchase they had made for the nursery logged in his head despite being on another continent. She had started calling her mom when Harry was asleep, just to have someone tell her Yes, you’re going to be a great mom, Y/N.

The worst part was that she and Harry hadn’t even settled on names yet. The gender was going to be a surprise, but she wanted to have names picked out at the very least, but they hadn’t been able to settle on any. They had a long-running list in the Notes app on her phone, a strikethrough over the ones they had decided against. Harry for some reason was obsessed with the name Rose, but Y/N had a bully in school named Rose and she just couldn’t get over it. They’d played around with gender neutral names, but quite honestly neither of them really liked the options they could think of all that much.

So they just texted each other names that popped into their heads, and Y/N added the ones that they both liked to the list. They decided they would pick once he got home, wanting to decide in person rather than over the phone. He would be flying home on June 1st, right after his last show in Mexico City. It was cutting it close, but it was the best they could do, and she was just praying that she wasn’t early.

Although she was very much was done with being pregnant, that was for sure.

The constant back aches, having to pee constantly, her feet getting swollen to the point where she was about ready to wear Harry’s slippers to work. All she wanted was to have her baby in her arms and out of her body, but at the same time, the prospect of the baby actually being there was frightening at the same time. Sometimes she would find herself looking in on the nursery, the crib and rocking chair staring her in the face, almost mocking her. As if to say, yeah, we know you’re freaked out, but guess what? No backing out now!

The truth was she was fucking petrified. And she didn’t know how to tell Harry, because he was so over the moon about becoming a Dad. When they’d FaceTime he would tell her about how big little Peanut was (who wasn’t quite so little anymore) and say he was reading some pregnancy books while they were on the road and he’d learned about some supplement he wanted her take. At first, she didn’t buy them, but then Harry could ask her about how they were and she was caught in a lie, so she started doing it. Some of them tasted awful, but she did it for him, because she knew it made him feel like he was involved, despite the distance.

So telling him that she was so scared to be a mom that she had a panic attack last night? It would just send him into a tizzy, and she didn’t want him to worry about her from so far away. She knew it would do nothing except make him feel like shit, and she didn’t want that. He was so good to her, far better than anything she could’ve hoped for, and the last thing she wanted was for him to feel inadequate, or that it was his fault.

She moaned about it to Hanna over decaffeinated tea, but Hanna had nothing to add but telling her she was going to be a good mother. Which did nothing for her at this point.

“It’s just, what if I fuck my kid up?” She said, twirling the cup in her hands. They were sitting on a park bench, coffee mugs in their hands and a long-forgotten lemon poppyseed scone between them. “I don’t want to be the reason they’re in therapy for the rest of their lives.”

“Y/N,” Hanna said, setting her cup on the bench, “we’re all in therapy at some point. We all get shit from our parents, okay? There’s no way to avoid that. You’re just going to do the best you can, and you’re going to do amazing.”

“But what if I don’t?” She could feel tears rising in her throat as she picked at the hem of her dress, a summer dress that her mom had sent her.

Hanna wrapped her arms around Y/N and pulled her in, holding her best friend close as the sobs broke through. A hand rubbed up and down her back, just like Harry would do, and Y/N suddenly missed him even more. She wanted him to be comforting her. But he was in Singapore or something. “I need you to listen to me, okay?” Hanna said, arms still around her. “You’re one of the kindest, most caring and generous people I know. You think through every single thing you do, you work harder than anyone I know, and you love more loyally than anyone else. And you’ve got Harry, who I think is literally meant to be a father. It’s insane how much of an amazing father he’s going to be to your baby. So you two as a team? Unbeatable.”

“What if we’re not a team?” The thought tumbled from Y/N’s lips before she could catch it, the fear that had been niggling in the back of her head breaking through.

Hanna pulled away, looking her in the eye. “What?”

“I just...What if having a kid pulls us apart? It’s all fine now, but what if after nights with no sleep and diapers and bottles, he gets…bored? And doesn’t want us anymore?”

“Harry is not going to get bored,” Hanna told her, voice firm. “He forced you to let him be in your child’s life, remember? Fought you on it. Fought to be here, to know his child. There’s no way in hell he’s going to let the opportunity to raise a child with you slip through his fingers. But, if things go south, you’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.”

The thought made her stomach turn—the idea of breaking up with Harry at some point. Because having a child with him, it meant he would always be in her life, even if they weren’t together. It made her want to vomit. “I don’t want to be a single mom,” she mumbled, voice soft. “I want my baby to have two parents who are together. I didn’t get that.”

“Then you need to make sure it doesn’t happen,” Hanna said. “Talk to him about all this, Y/N. He needs to know about your fears and worries—deserves to. He tells you, right?”

All the time, she thought to herself. He was so open about how he was feeling, texting her about when concerts didn’t go how he wanted or if the crowd wasn’t as good, or when he messed up on a note. When he responded to a text too harshly and beat himself up about it, or was pissed off he wasn’t with her. It was his default state, somehow. But it was anything but hers. She was trying—fuck, she was trying so hard to get it right with him, but this was the part she kept tripping up on. The part where she expected him to fuck up and ended up convincing herself it would be horrible before she even got a chance to talk to him about it.

“I’ll tell him,” she decided, picking up her tea cup. “You’re right.”

Hanna nodded. “Know I am. Always am.” The reply made her laugh, something she desperately needed.

A few nights later, Y/N finally plucked up the courage to have the conversation with Harry. He was in Tokyo and it was the late morning for him. He had the day off and was spending the day talking to her instead of doing sightseeing like he normally might. He was curled up in a hotel bed, hair still messy from sleep, chest bare and duvet covers up to his shoulders. Meanwhile, Y/N was on their couch, a blanket around her legs and a bowl of ice cream on her lap.

They were talking about his tour, but he could tell something was amiss. Y/N wasn’t focusing well, her eyes darting all over the place, short answers to his questions and comments. Finally, he asked, “Y/N? Everything okay, angel?”

She gave a sharp exhale, fear curling in her stomach. But it was now or never. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something that’s been worrying me,” she said softly.

On her phone screen, Harry sat up, running a hand through his hair before replying. “What is it?”

“I’ve been feeling really…anxious lately,” she explained slowly, searching for the right words. “Had a panic attack about a week ago.”

“What? Are you okay?” Harry’s face changed immediately, concern ripping through his features. “Fuck, love, why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N ducked her head down, trying to pull her emotions together. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh baby,” he murmured. “Can you look at me?” She looked back at him and he’d smushed his face closer to the screen, as if he couldn’t look closely enough at her. “Hey you. It’s okay,. I just want to know what you’ve been so anxious about.”

“It’s the baby,” she replied, watching Harry nod, understanding in his expression. “What if I’m a shit mom? Completely screw our kid up and then they’re in therapy for the rest of their lives, talking about how their mom messed them up?”

“You’re not going to be a shit mom,” Harry said, “and you’re not going to screw our kid up. If we screw our kid up, we’re going to be doing it together—no way I’d let you take all the credit for that.” It made her chuckle, and Harry gave her a small smile, happy to know he had cut through her stress a bit. “But I’m serious, love. We’re going to figure it out together. Neither of us really know what we’re doing, but that’s okay. No one really does, right?”

“Guess not.”

“Exactly. Is there something else that’s been bothering that pretty head of yours?”

It was as if he could read her mind, even thousands of miles away. “I…I was thinking about how both our parents are divorced,” she said finally. “Does that mean we’re destined for the same thing?”

Harry’s face dropped, and she could tell the prospect of it hurt him in the same way it hurt her. “No,” he said, voice soft in her ears. “No, it doesn’t, baby. We’re going to give it our all, okay? You, me, little Peanut.”

“We’re not damaged goods?”

“No,” he said, choking on his words at the sight of Y/N brushing at her teary eyes. “Not at all. Listen to me, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You and our little one come first, always, no matter what anyone else wants. If that means no more music, no more touring, no more press, moving to fucking Antartica, I don’t care. I’ll do anything for you. For Peanut. For us, for our family.”

At some point in his speech, she started to cry, a combination of her emotions and Harry’s words sending her over the edge. It was in moments like this that she wondered how she had found such an incredible man, how she had gotten so lucky in life for him to be at a Christmas party and make her break her rules. “I love you,” she told him, sniffling. “I’d do the same.”

Harry gave her a smile, a tear of his own streaking down his face. “See? That’s why we’re going to be okay. Both too damn stubborn, too.”

She laughed, and then looked down at her ice cream. “My ice cream’s melted.”

“Go get some more then, and tell me about work.” Harry settled back into his spot on his hotel bed and Y/N got up, her heart settling now that she had told Harry about what she’d been worrying about. He always managed to put her at ease, even from far away.

Harry usually loved touring, but right now, he fucking hated it. Usually he would be all excitement and energy, but with Y/N halfway across the world with his child growing inside of her, his mind was elsewhere constantly. Couldn’t focus during interviews, the whole time he was on stage he was thinking about when he’d get off stage so he could call Y/N, since it was the daytime for her. He’d stay up late talking to her or wake up early, his sleep schedule fucked not only from touring but also from waking up at all hours of the night just because he wanted to hear her voice.

The band loved that Harry was excited about the baby, but he could tell they were getting tired of him showing them photos of Y/N’s adorable pregnant belly multiple times a day or him jabbering on about some new thing he had learned in the parenting books he carried everywhere. He was listening to a podcast, too, wanting to fill his every free moment with either talking to Y/N or learning about how to be the best dad he could be.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should be putting in more of an effort to be present, if not for the fans than for the band. But he also just frankly…didn’t care as much as he cared about Y/N and little Peanut. It filled his every thought, awake and asleep. He had dreams of Peanut and he’d send her voice memos explaining them, still half asleep and unable to coherent type. Most of the time she was awake and would send a voice memo or text back, and he’d end up staying awake talking to her until she chastised him for not sleeping.

When he couldn’t talk to Y/N about how excited he was to be a dad, he talked to his mum. Anne was his second favorite person to blab to about his approaching fatherhood, because she was just as excited to be a grandma and was full of advice and good thoughts. She’d suggested a few books, even, the classics she had used while pregnant with him and Gemma. It was nice to have someone to share his fears with too, someone other than Y/N. They’d been better about sharing, being more open, even while he was touring but he also didn’t want to overwhelm her. She had plenty going on with her job and preparing for her maternity leave, getting ready for the baby, and just being generally pregnant. His biggest regret was that he couldn’t be there to take some of the load off. He tried from afar, checking in, ordering her groceries when she was too busy and having them delivered, got her a massage or two to help with her back pain, but it just wasn’t enough. He wanted to be the one giving her massages, picking up the groceries, dropping her lunch off to her at the office when she was too busy to meet him.

For one of the first times in his career, he was so homesick it was almost painful.

When it was just the two of them, it was manageable—he’d done it before, been in a relationship while touring. It was never pleasant, but he could do it. But his girlfriend being pregnant while he was on tour? It was something Harry never wanted to experience again. The thoughts swirling through his head of would he tour once the baby arrived? never seemed to cease, but he didn’t have the answer. He had talked to Anne about it, Mitch and Adam and Sarah even, but none of them had answers or him. He’d even talked to the therapist he had while he toured about it, to no avail. Everyone kept telling him it was his decision, his and Y/N’s decision, but the issue was he didn’t want to even have the problem in the first place. He didn’t want to have to choose.

And he knew it was selfish to not want to choose, to ignore the problem and let it fester, but the thought of it stressed him out to no end.

So those were the thoughts swirling through his head when he was sat on the couch in the dressing room, dressed in the suit of the night, and his phone buzzed. It was Y/N, telling him she was on her lunch break, asking if he was free to chat before the show. He called her without even looking at the time, knowing someone would come get him when it was time to go. His extensive pre-show ritual was a thing of the past, forgotten in lieu of conversations with Y/N that did a better job of calming him down than any meditation or mantra could.

“Hi babe,” she said when she picked up, her sweet voice floating through his phone. It instantly had him relaxing into the couch, the stress in his shoulders lifting.

“Hi you. What are you having for lunch?”

He heard the click of a microwave, the beep of buttons being pressed. “Leftover pasta. Made that spicy one you like.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, the thought of a homemade dinner with Y/N suddenly the most glorious thing he could imagine. “Sounds delicious. How’s work going? Had that presentation this morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, went well I think. They seemed to like the direction we’ve chosen, said some good things about the design mockups. Supposed to let us know by the end of the week, all things going well.”

He smiled, the prospect of a success at work for her a win for them both. “I’m sending good vibes into the world for you,” he said and she giggled, the sound making his heart swell. “How about little Peanut? They doing okay?”

A beep went off—her pasta—and she paused, before saying, “Sorry, had to grab the pasta. Peanut’s good though. I had some wild dream last night, but apparently that’s normal?”

He had read about this the other night in his book and he beamed, excited he could offer some insight. “Yeah, that’s normal for the third trimester. Do you have varicose veins at all? Any clumsiness?”

Y/N chuckled and he heard a drawer open and close. “Yes to clumsiness, no to varicose veins, thank you Dr. Styles.” She said hello to one of her co-workers and Harry listened to the sounds of her in the office, going out to the patio where she ate her lunches and spoke to him most days.

“What about leaky breasts?”

The sound of Y/N sputtering had him smirking, loving that he could still get a rise out of her from afar. “No, Harry, my breasts are not leaking. What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“Apparently it happens in the third trimester,” he replied. “Sorry, angel.”

“Fucking hell. Now I’ve got that to look forward to, I guess.”

“I’ll still love you when your breasts are leaking.”

She scoffed. “You better, it’s all your sperm’s fault we’re in this position anyway.”

“Hey!” They’d had this joke running for so long it no longer got him all moody and annoyed, instead just making him laugh. “You’re beautiful all the time, lovey.”

She was quiet for a moment. Harry knew that compliments made her uncomfortable, especially now, which was exactly why he showered her with them. “Thank you, H.”

“Harry?” He looked up and saw one of the stage managers standing in the door. “Time to go.”

“Okay,” he replied. Then, to Y/N, he said, “Sorry, love, time to go on stage. Give Peanut a kiss for me?”

He listened to her smooch her fingers with a smile, a tradition they’d started where she kissed her fingers and ran them along her belly, sharing his kiss with their child. “Good luck, babe. You’ll do amazing.”

With another I love you, he hung up, tossing his phone to couch before standing, checking his hair in the mirror. As expected, it was a bit messier, but at least his nerves were settled and his mind clear. Talking to her always brought him down a couple notches, even if it was just this and that. Any time he could talk to her was time well spent, in his book.

“Y/N, you’ve got to have a shower,” Hanna said, leaning onto the counter. She and Jamie were over for dinner and a movie night, having declared that Y/N needed more fun times. They claimed she was working too hard, but the truth was that it was about all that distracted her from missing Harry all the fucking time. Plus, she had her maternity leave to prepare for—she was training her replacement, a girl fresh out of college who she prayed wouldn’t steal her job.

Hanna and Jamie were trying to convince her she needed to have a baby shower, but she was unconvinced. She didn’t need people bringing her a bunch of gifts for her kid when they didn’t need them—Harry had made it clear that he could afford anything they needed and she didn’t want her friends and family to feel like they had to get them anything at all.

Plus, the idea of people all fawning over her pregnant belly made her uncomfortable as hell. “No,” she insisted again, turning off the oven. “Not only do I think they’re stupid, Harry would want to be there and he’s not home until two weeks before the due date.” She opened the oven door and pulled out the lasagna she had made, waving the oven mitt over the top to help cool it down. She was starving, although she had been in a perpetual state of hunger for eight months at this point.

“Harry doesn’t have to be there,” Jamie said, taking a sip of sparkling water. Her friends had promised not to drink around her in solidarity, which meant they were resigned to sparkling water in wine glasses and pretending there was liquor in it. “But if it’s important to you that he is, it can be right when he gets home. There’s no time stamp on when you need to do it. I think you might regret it if you don’t do it, Y/N.”

She sighed before pulling down plates for dinner. “I just—you both know I hate being the center of attention. A shower sounds awful.”

“Think of all the cute baby clothes you’ll get, though!” Hanna said, bustling over to your side to help cut the lasagna and serve.

“There’s also the privacy thing,” you reminded them. “I don’t know how Harry will feel about it.”

“Keep it small then.” Jamie grabbed his plate and followed you to the couch. You had given up on eating at a table where your belly didn’t fit comfortably quite a long time ago. “You’re both pretty private people—just invite your closest friends, your parents. It doesn’t have to be a big to-do.”

You took of a bite of the lasagna—fuck it was good—and then said, “But then what’s the point? If it’s just our close friends?”

“The point,” Hanna said with the roll of her eyes and a poke to your knee, “is that your pregnancy is a reason for celebration, not shame. You’re happy you’re having this baby, yeah?” You nodded. “And so is Harry?” You nodded again. “Then why not celebrate the little Styles kiddo with everyone you both love?”

There was some truth to what she was saying. Somewhere between the unexpectedness of it and the fact that you and Harry wanted to keep quiet about it, avoiding paparazzi photos and staying mostly inside, that you had felt like you were hiding it. That you should be ashamed to be the Girl Who Made Harry Styles Cancel Tour and the Girl Who Is Having Harry Styles’s Baby! Both of the headlines were real and they had sent you into more of a tizzy than you liked to admit. So many subconsciously the thoughts had festered, creating a shame that you hadn’t really spent the time to think about.

“I’ll talk to Harry,” you conceded, and Hanna beamed. “No promises. But if I do it, you two are planning it because I have no patience for that shit.” They both immediately began to jabber about themes and games and attired and Y/N sighed, resting back into the couch, her plate balanced on the rise of her stomach.

The next day, Y/N called Harry, who was on a short break between Japan and Argentina. He was spending the time in Italy doing a shoot for Gucci, which she was jealous of—under normal circumstances, she would’ve forced him to let her come along, but she was unfortunately not allowed to fly. He would be home in about two weeks, and she was itching the time to arrive. It had been too long within him in her bed, joining her in the shower, coming back sweaty from runs and rubbing his sweaty skin all over hers just to annoy her.

When she broached the subject of a baby shower, Harry immediately squealed, a sound she rarely heard from her boyfriend’s mouth. “A shower? Yes! Of course! Can I be there? Can you wait until I’m home?”

Of course he was over the moon at the idea. Now that she had asked him, she was confused how she had ever thought he wouldn’t be. “Yeah, I can wait, babe. Are you sure you want to? I didn’t know if it was too much, I know how private you’ve wanted to be about this all.”

“I appreciate that, love, but having a small one is completely okay. I don’t want my fear of people getting all up in our business preventing us from having a life, yeah?”

“Are you sure? Absolutely positive?”

“Yes angel, I’m sure.” She could heard shuffling in the background.

“H?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice garbled, “spilled some water on my pants and now it’s all over the floor, fuck.”

She giggled, the thought of Harry balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear, on the floor wiping up some spilled water. “Which pants are you wearing?”

“Just some linen ones,” he answered.

“…want to show me?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, and then a sigh came through her phone. “You’re such a little minx, Y/N.”

“And? You gonna show me?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured. “Of course I will. Can’t refuse you anything, you know that.”

Y/N laid back on their shared bed, knowing that he was going to rile her up just how she needed. Two weeks couldn’t pass soon enough.

Harry pushed open the door to his house with a sigh of relief, the air conditioning hitting his skin immediately and the smell of Y/N and home wrapping through his body like a blanket of comfort. Usually when he got home she was downstairs waiting for him, a smile on her face, ready to pull him into her arms. But this time, she was nowhere to be found. He called her name through the house, setting down his duffel and letting his suitcase rest against the wall. The rest of his luggage was in the trunk of the car, but it could wait—he wanted to know where Y/N was.

However, he got no response. He dropped his keys to the counter and toed off his shoes before making his way through the house. The living room was empty, and porch lights were all off, so she was probably upstairs somewhere. He climbed the stairs, the floorboard creaking slightly under his weight, and he smiled. He had missed those sounds of home. When he crested the top of the stairs, he called her name, but still no response. The door to the nursery was shut tightly, as were the other doors, all except for the one to their room.

Once he reached it, he immediately knew where Y/N was. The sound of Phoebe Bridgers floated through the room, and under it was the sound of running water, Y/N’s voice singing along. She was having a shower and hadn’t even realized he was home.

The thought of surprising her was too enticing, even though he knew she would hate him for it. He pulled his hoodie over his head, his sunglasses resting on the dresser, and pushed his trousers and boxers down his legs. Being naked in a shower with his girl? A dream. He padded over to the open door of the ensuite bathroom, smiling at the sight of her body swaying to the music, eyes shut. They had a clear shower door along with a rain shower head that they both treasured deeply. It made their bathroom one of the best rooms in the house, the massive tub on the other end of the room making it even better.

When he pushed open the door to the shower, Y/N screamed, her eyes fluttering open immediately. “Harry! What the fuck!”

But his arms were already held out to her, laughing at her reaction. She gave him an annoyed glare, but then gave up. It had been too long since she had seen him to stay mad for long. “Hi, baby.” He mumbled into her hair when she folded into him. His hands ran up and down her spine, sighing into the feeling of closeness.

“Scared me half to death,” she told him, her head resting on his chest. “You know I hate it when you sneak up on me.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He pressed an open mouthed smooch to her forehead and she smiled into his skin.

“I didn’t expect you back for another hour,” she said, lifting her head so her chin rested on his sternum, her eyes meeting his.

He nodded, another kiss to her forehead. He couldn’t stop putting his lips on her. “Plane left early, shockingly enough. Texted you when I was on my way, but I guess you didn’t see.”

She blushed. “I’ve been in here for a while, I guess.”

“Runnin’ up the water bill, huh?”

“Hush up.”

He laughed, before letting her move away. He grabbed their shampoo from the caddy and squeezed some into his palm, but then she caught his hand. Slowly she swiped the shampoo from his hand and massaged it between hers, twirling a finger for him to turn around. Harry followed her directions willingly, tipping his head back so she could wash his locks, the curls having long since relaxed after hours of him running his hands through them from the stress of traveling. His eyes closed easily, giving himself over completely to her control.

He was putty in her hands and didn’t mind one bit.

She pulled him a few steps back so the water hit his hair, and she ran her fingers through them, getting all the soap out. Then, she squeezed conditioner out, scrunching it into his ends before patting his shoulder. “You’re supposed to keep it in for a while, you know.”

“I did know that,” he informed her. Some stylist told him years ago, he just chose not to care. “Just annoying so I don’t.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him. “For someone in the public eye, you’d think you gave a shit about what your hair looked like, and yet you’re either pinning it up with one of my clips or forgetting to wash it for days on end.”

He grabbed at her hips, desperate to touch her again. Fingers danced over her stretched skin, his eyes absorbing how her body had changed since he had last seen her in person. She had sent pictures, but they didn’t capture the sight of her belly hanging lower, her belly button popped out and her breasts heavy in his hands. Beauty in every way, he thought to himself. “Good thing you don’t mind.”

“Can you scrub my back?” She asked, changing the subject and handing him the loofah.

“‘course. Turn around for me, love.” He rubbed some soap onto her skin before rubbing the loofah over her sky, humming at her soft moans of pleasure at the sensation. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” she murmured. “Had this spot that’s itched for ages and couldn’t reach.”

He chuckled, brushing at her lower back. “Thankfully I’m back so I can scratch all your itches,” he teased, and she slapped at the hand that was wrapped around her waist playfully.

“I know of another itch you can scratch,” she said, tipping her head back to look him in the eye.

Harry could feel his dick plumping immediately. The sight of her naked and wet in front of him had done plenty to get him going, but when she suggested sex herself it always made him need her immediately. And on their bed, not some hotel sheets or a couch? A dream. “Yeah?”

“Missed your cock,” she whispered into his ear and Harry groaned, her hand coming down to wrap around him. The loofah was long forgotten on the floor of the shower when Harry turned them around, letting the water run through his conditioned hair before hauling her out of the shower. She squealed and he didn’t care. Wrapped her in a towel, just enough so she wasn’t dripping wet, and then was hoisting her into his arms, thankful for the extra time he had spent working out so he could lift his beautiful pregnant girlfriend.

Then, he carried her to the bed and hit all the spots that itched, clawing at the sheets and marking up her skin, reclaiming her as his, her name on his tongue the song he loved to sing most.

Afterwards, they laid curled up in bed, Y/N playing with the ends of Harry’s hair. They were tossing around baby names, as they often did in moments like this. She had brought out her phone list and they’d crossed through some more. It was coming down to the wire and they both were anxious, not having found the perfect name. Harry wanted something gender neutral, as did she, and they had decided long ago that if it was a girl, the middle name would be Anne, and Peter for a boy. So the name had to work with those names, and with Styles, which wasn’t an easy last name to work with.

Harry hummed as she scratched at his scalp, his thumb resting on her phone screen as he surveyed the list. Then, suddenly as if out of a dream, it came to him. “Emerson,” he said. His eyes lifted to hers, wide and waiting for her reply.

It was if the air knocked out of her chest, hands still in his hair. It was perfect. Simple, yet elegant, nick namable, and worked with the middle names. “Emerson Styles.”

The grin that spread across Harry’s face settled it immediately. “That’s our little Peanut,” he murmured, a tear pricking at the corner of his eye. “Emerson.”

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

Text

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

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

ao3 link here / art here and here

One month later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dabi sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man that she loved.

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

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

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

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

"I mean my best friend."

Dabi scowled, but did not turn away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diatraction.

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dabi gave her a look.

"And what would I do with a wife?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

"Dabi?"

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

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

She fidgeted a little, looked away.

"I think we need to talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, later— afterwards, it had said—

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

(Y/N) stared at him, bewildered.

“What?”

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

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

Now it was Dabi’s turn to be confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dabi’s expression darkened at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) shrugged, frowning.

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

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

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

(Y/N) chewed her lip, considering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jin looked askance, as if unsure of himself.

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

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

“Of course— come in, come in.”

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

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

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

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

“You won’t tell Dabi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) went very still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell Dabi what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dabi huffed a laugh.

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

(Y/N) laughed in spite of herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that was surprising.

“Really?” She turned, eyeing him warily.

He shrugged. "Yeah."

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

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

Oh, but wasn’t it?

(Y/N) swallowed thickly.

“There are ways.”

Dabi stiffened, straightening his posture.

“Ways to what?”

“Reverse it,” she replied simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for loving me back.

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

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

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

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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