#no powers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iamstartraveller776 · 4 months

Text

THE TRUTH IN OUR HEARTS 1/?

Written for the @darklinaserver's Secret Sankta Fic Exchange for @goldcranes. I hope you enjoy it! Ack!

Summary: Seemingly on a whim, Alina is given away in marriage to the leader of Ravka's most feared warriors. Though terrified, she's prepared to make the union one he'll regret. Only, he's much more than he seems to be with hidden truths that can either bring them closer together or tear them apart.

Genre: AU (No Powers), Arranged Marriage, Romance, Slow burn

Rating: T (may or may not change)

Also on AO3

THE TRUTH IN OUR HEARTS

Alina’s attendants are silent as they dress her. The gown isn’t the bright brocade currently in fashion at court, but black with a hint of gilded embroidery in the skirts and at the collar. A fitting omen for what she’s about to do. One of the servants yanks at the corset laces, though not tight enough to quell the stir of bile in Alina’s middle or quiet the pounding in her chest. Her lungs burn with a trapped scream, but she says nothing as they pull a dark glove over her hand and up past her elbow and then the other. She doesn’t wince as they wrench her hair into an elaborate twist or when one of the hairpins gouges her scalp. Her reflection stares listlessly back at her before a thin veil of starless lace falls over her face.

The servants exit as wordlessly as they came, leaving her alone in front of the mirror. She looks like a young woman in mourning. She supposes she is. Her life—what little was left of it—ended the moment King Pyotr made that terrible declaration.

A knock on the door interrupts her bleak musings. A man stands just outside the threshold, square-shoulders with his hands clasped behind his back. With a quavering breath, she takes in his long high-collared crimson coat with dark filigree—kefta, they call it—and the obsidian mask that obscures his features. Her eyes want to slide away from the grotesque image sculpted into the false face. Despite her time in the First Army and despite her brief apprenticeship at the Grand Palace, she’s never grown accustomed to the unsettling guise that the Grisha general and his shadows favored. She grew up with the whispered tales of what hid behind those masks, men and women more creature than human. Half-mad with battle lust.

Dark as night with snarling white teeth, the specter stands holding an onyx blade, blood dripping from its tip as an inferno rages beyond. Burning, consuming, coming for her.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the old, familiar nightmare. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t have it, when she didn’t wake with a gasping breath, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. But the light of morning always chased the dream away. She won’t wake from the new horror that awaits her.

“Follow me, Miss Starkov,” the nameless shadow commands in a frosty monotone.

For a heartbeat, she toys with the idea of flinging a chair at the window, of climbing over the fractured glass and somehow scaling the rough granite walls to flee into the waning twilight. A brittle laugh bubbles in her throat at the futile plan, though. Trained practically from birth for speed and agility, the Grisha warrior will be on her before she can lift a stick of furniture. Even now, there’s a tension in his stance as though he suspects her wistful thoughts. No, there is no escape for her—not here.

With grim resignation, she nods for him to lead on. He scrutinizes her for a protracted moment as if he distrusts her but then he turns, his posture rigid as he heads into the empty corridor. She trails after him, quickening her pace to keep up with his determined strides. His boots bang against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the stairwell when they descend, and it reminds her of the army. Of marches for days in the perpetual chill next to creaking wagons. Of the boom of rifle and cannon fire. The shouting. The shrieks of pain and eyes like glass, unseeing as his life ebbs away, hand going slack in hers.

“Why me?” she asks too loudly, anxious to drown out the unwanted memories.

“Because he’s chosen you,” her escort says gruffly as if that ought to be answer enough.

She almost has to jog to keep up with him. “What could he possibly want with me? I’m nobody.”

Just a middling cartographer who lost the only friend—only family—she’s ever had. A soldier with battle shock whose commander sent to the Grand Palace to help update the war maps. Not out of pity. No one pities an orphan with the face of the enemy. No, she’d become a liability.

The Grisha snorts dismissively but doesn’t reply.

Maybe that’s the point—that she is a nobody. That she can be used and abused without consequence. The revelation turns her blood to ice.

When her companion pushes open a set of large, ornately carved doors and gestures for her to enter, fear climbs out of the pit of her stomach and claws up to squeeze her heart. Her legs are sluggish as she obeys, slippers dragging on the floor with every step down the aisle of the chapel. The Apparat waits behind a pale marble altar, his aged face pinched in a grimace. He’s dwarfed by statues of the thirteen Saints, glittering in the orange glow of candlelight.

She turns toward her escort to—to what? Plead for her life? Her freedom? She chokes on the half-formed appeal when it’s not the Grisha she sees through her veil, but him. The man who will steal the last crumb of peace she’s managed for herself with this unwanted union.

“Have you met our novice mapmaker, Kirigan?” King Pyotr says, clapping a meaty hand on Alina’s back. “I’m told Miss Starkov is getting on brilliantly in her apprenticeship. As talented as she is pretty.”

The compliment feels a touch disingenuous, too saccharine, but she blushes anyway. The king’s much taller companion, the infamous Darkling, gives her a passing glance through his sinister mask made to be the unholy spawn of wolf and boar.

“Indeed,” he replies indifferently, gaze already elsewhere.

She attempts to excuse herself, but the king holds her in place, thick fingers digging into her shoulder.

“How are you enjoying the festivities, young lady?” he asks with uncomfortable interest. He’s never spoken to her before this night, and she’s not entirely sure that she likes his sudden attention.

“It’s incredible,” she answers honestly. “There isn’t anything like it in Keramzin.”

The Darkling’s head swivels back to her, dark eyes searching her face. “Keramzin? Is that where your family is from?”

Heat rises to her cheeks. He, like everyone else, has probably mistaken her to be some Shu refugee. “If you count Duke Keramsov’s orphanage as family.” She swallows back a spike of grief and offers him a gaunt smile.

He wears the same black-on-black kefta from the fete, the same unnerving mask. Somehow more than his towering height and stature, he looms over her. She glances behind him at the doors swinging closed, panic building like lightning beneath her skin. If she’s fast enough, maybe—

The Darkling takes her elbow, tugs her toward the altar. She tries to yank out of his grasp, but he’s too strong.

“Wait!” She hates the desperation cracking at the edge of her voice, the burning in her eyes. “This is a mistake.”

He pauses then, lancing gaze sweeping over her. “I don’t make mistakes.” The statement is cold, sharp steel cutting away the anemic thread of fight remaining inside of her—almost.

When he pulls on her arm again, she digs in her heels. “I won’t take your name.”

“You can keep yours,” he replies as though her demand is inconsequential.

Emboldened, she makes another: “I won’t bear your children.”

At this, he releases her arm, draws so close to her that she has to crane her neck to keep her eyes on his. She remembers then that he’s no mere man. He’s killed dozens—hundreds, even—some with his bare hands, if the stories are true. He could snap her in two with hardly any effort at all. But she stands firm despite her racing pulse and the quiver in her knees.

The Apparat clears his throat.

“If that is your wish.” There’s a finality in the Darkling’s tone, as if the concession used up his short supply of goodwill.

She doesn’t resist when he ushers her the final few steps to the altar. As she sinks to her knees before it, she looks up at the stony-faced Saints and almost begs them for a miracle. But when had they ever answered her prayers? Ana Kuya used to say that it was because Alina lacked faith.

“General Kirigan,” the Apparat says, “I worry that the king will be most displeased to be excluded. Perhaps we can postpone until the royal family can attend. A week, maybe two at most. Surely a man of your standing should have a proper ceremony.”

Alina looks up, a germ of hope taking root in her chest.

“There have been festivities enough,” the Darkling bites out. “I will not delay any longer.”

“And if I would delay?” She tries to infuse the question with as much backbone as she can muster, but her trembling voice gives away the truth. She’s afraid. Angry, but terrified.

The Darkling looks at her, and she wishes he would take off that abominable mask, bare whatever savage face he’s hidden beneath so she can read his expression. “Begin,” is all he says.

The Apparat opens his mouth as if to object further, but then closes it as quickly. Alina catches movement from the corner of her eye, traces it to the man in the red kefta. He stands near where his general kneels, hand casually resting on the hilt of the long dagger at his waist in unspoken warning.

And with that, the seedling is irrevocably crushed.

She turns back to the altar, only half-hearing the Apparat as he begins the marriage rites. A pair of flower crowns lay before her. The buds are dried, the greenery yellowed. She wonders who lent their keepsakes for these rushed nuptials. Did they know that, instead of a love match, the unwitting bride has been given away as a prize for ending the decades-long conflict with Shu Han?

She very nearly had it once—love. Dreamt of it. Of a farm far away from war where they would raise sheep and goats. A beautiful picture shattered by a bullet.

“Miss Starkov?” The Apparat stares down at her. “Your vows.”

She blinks back tears and glares at her wretched groom, willing him to see through her veil the vows she wishes she could speak. Promises to hate him. To make their marriage so difficult that he’ll regret ever demanding her as his boon from the crown. Aloud, though, she spits the traditional words with gritted teeth, swears herself to him but makes it clear that she doesn’t mean any of it.

His vows are different. Not a covenant of undying love and devotion, but one of protection. The weapon in her hand, the fighter at her side. To march with her in times of war, to rest with her in times of peace. The speech has a disturbing air of authenticity to it, at odds with the impersonal act they were engaged in, and it stokes her building fury.

The Apparat picks up the crowns, chants in old Ravkan as he places them on their heads. Though light as a feather, the crude circlet might as well be an iron shackle, forever binding her to the man known as the monster of all monsters. As the last phrase echoes out into the empty chapel, she steels herself, prepared to turn away should her new husband attempt to seal their union with an unwelcome kiss.

“It’s done,” he says, rising to his feet and holding a hand out to her. When she doesn’t take it, he pulls off his crown, nodding to the other Grisha. “Bring her to the Little Palace.”

He leaves without another word to her.

“This way,” her escort says.

She drops her crown on the altar, tears off her veil as they exit through an exterior door. It’s full dark outside, the night air chill, and she hugs herself. The journey to the Little Palace—her prison—isn’t far enough to require horse or carriage. She casts furtive glances at her torchlit surroundings as they walk, fantasizing about hitching up her skirts and dashing off. But there are a few guards milling about and a handful of Grisha in black masks and colorful keftas. The latter watch her pass with tactile curiosity, and she turns away. Do they know what she is? A young deer to be sacrificed to their god? Have there been others before her?

Blessedly, they arrive at the doors. Once inside, she’s passed off to the care of a young woman hardly older than her. Alina doesn’t catch her name, doesn’t care to, and when it becomes clear that she’s not interested in making idle conversation, the girl leads her quietly to her rooms. His rooms.

She notices little of the outer areas, but the bed chamber she sees with stark clarity. It’s smaller than she expects—bigger than every place she’s called home in her short life, but terribly simple for the general of the Second Army. A bureau with a small mirror, a wardrobe, and a desk match the four poster bed that she tries not to look at, tries not to think about.

The girl undoes the laces of Alina’s dress, says something about the general having her things brought over from the Grand Palace in the morning. Nods to the night gown laid out on the back of the desk chair. It’s made of soft white fabric with delicate lace at the cuffs and neck. Trepidation coils in Alina’s stomach, makes her ill.

Too soon, her companion finishes her work and is gone. Alina pads to the door, cracks it open and sucks in a hissing breath when she finds the same Grisha in red sitting in a chair across the way. He stares back at her as if daring her to make the attempt. She slams the door shut, locks it, though she knows it won’t keep the Darkling out.

She checks the windows to no avail, then goes in search of something to defend herself. There is little in the wardrobe and bureau. Small clothes, shirts, and trousers, though surprisingly few. She finds pens, ink, and parchment in the desk. Candles and boot black and—thank the Saints—a knife. The blade is hardly longer than her thumb, but it will do.

He may have forced her into marriage, but she will not be forced into his bed.

She props the chair against the door, climbs onto it, drawing her knees to her chest. Knife clutched firmly in hand, she finally lets herself weep.

Exhaustion eventually darkens her vision and takes her to a field of long grass bowing in the wind.

TBC

#darklina secret sankta 2023 #darklina #darklina ff #darklina fic #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #alina starkov x aleksander morozova #au #no powers #my fic

24 notes · View notes

bloody-bee-tea · 6 months

Text

BeeTober 2023 Day 17 - Auction

“Hey, Geto, your stalker is here,” Yuji loudly calls out and Suguru stiffens before he slowly turns around, dread already forming in his gut.

To his immense relieve he spots a mop of fluffy white hair, which means it’s not Mahito. Satoru might be a stalker as well, but at least he’s less of the worrying and more of the annoying kind.

Satoru doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before Suguru says “No.”

“Aw, come on,” Satoru immediately pleads, flopping down over the counter as if he’s made out of water instead of flesh and bones. “Please?”

“I am not going to make your damn concoction,” Suguru says because the thing that Satoru orders on the regular is revolting and honestly a little bit worrying.

He’s going to die of diabetes one day, and he can’t be older than twenty two. He’s too young to die.

“How else am I going to survive then?” Satoru whines out, blinking up at Suguru who tries his best not to get lost in those damn blue eyes.

“Find another coffee shop?” he suggests and busies himself with wiping down the counter, pushing Satoru off in the process.

“And make you lose your best customer? I think not,” Satoru shoots back to which Suguru only rolls his eyes.

“Worst customer, you mean,” he replies and Satoru pouts at him.

“If you don’t make my coffee, I’ll stay here until your shift ends and then I’ll accompany you home,” Satoru finally says—threatens more like—and after giving him the flattest stare Suguru can muster, he turns around and gets started on Satoru’s concoction.

He pointedly doesn’t think about the fact that he has the monstrosity memorised, which is actually quite the feat considering that Satoru uses almost all their toppings in it.

“Aw, I knew you loved me,” Satoru sighs out when he puts it down in front of him and there is something entirely too pleased on his face.

“Now get out of my face,” Suguru tells him, not having much hope that Satoru will leave immediately.

He usually likes to stick around for a while, at least until his drink is empty, and Suguru knows that he’s quite friendly with all of the staff. It’s just Suguru who he seems to annoy to no end; even Shoko had a nice thing to say about him even though she only comes in to pester their manager Utahime and Suguru doesn’t even want to think about that.

“If it isn’t my favourite barista,” a new voice jolts Suguru out of his thoughts and this time, a cold shudder runs down his back.

He curses the day Mahito found out where he works and coming face to face with him now, it’s not the first time that Suguru debates if quitting his job here wouldn’t be easier.

The only thing stopping him is the fact that Mahito will find him again sooner or later and Suguru is not a job hopper.

“Go fuck yourself,” Suguru says, not even pretending to be nice to him and he can feel Yuji’s eyes on him.

It’s a badly kept secret that he and Mahito have a history and it’s even a worse kept secret that Mahito is an unhinged creep who is probably going to try something sooner or later.

Suguru is just waiting for the other shoe to drop and it’s making him sick to his stomach.

“I’d rather you do it,” Mahito drawls out and Suguru sneers at him.

“Not a chance in hell,” he presses out, even though he knows he shouldn’t engage with him more than he has to but he can’t help himself.

“We’ll see about that,” Mahito ominously says and Suguru clenches his teeth so hard together he fears they are going to crack.

There’s a tense silence for a few moments before Yuji butts in.

“A customer, how nice. Geto, you’re needed elsewhere,” he says and nudges him out of the way. “What can I get you?” he then asks Mahito and there’s only cheer in his voice but Suguru caught a glimpse of his expression and it’s pretty jarring to see easy going Yuji glare at someone like that.

Still, Suguru is thankful for it and shuffles to the side, as far away from Mahito as he can be. He didn’t notice that it put him close to Satoru though.

“You okay?” Satoru asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and even he is giving Mahito a considering glance.

“Fine,” Suguru shortly gives back though he softens a bit when Satoru frowns at his response. “Promise, I’m fine. He’s just—”

He doesn’t actually know how to finish that sentence but Satoru hums.

“Unhinged and dangerous?” he finally asks and Suguru huffs out an unamused laugh.

“Probably, yeah,” he admits, eyeing Mahito.

He’s scrawny as hell, but Suguru knows that he’s sturdy and lithe. He couldn’t take Suguru in a fight, not ever, but that’s not always the most dangerous thing anyway. He knows Mahito is fast, and crazy enough to carry weapons with him. Plus, he has no regard for his own well-being and Suguru would really rather not clash with him.

He might have to, though, if Mahito keeps up his stalking tendencies because Suguru will not allow him to find out where he lives.

“You staying safe?” Satoru asks, eying Mahito up and down as if he’s seizing him up.

“Trying to,” Suguru shortly gives back and then turns away from Mahito. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Fair,” Satoru agrees and then smiles at Suguru. “Now, here’s the movie I saw last night,” he then says and Suguru immediately groans.

Satoru has the extremely annoying habit to retell a movie in excruciating detail and Suguru already feels his brain leak out of his ears.

“Not a chance,” he interrupts Satoru before he can even really start, which makes him pout again and Suguru sighs, almost immediately giving in. “You have ten sentences to describe the movie,” he relents and immediately regrets his every life choice when Satoru’s eyes start to sparkle.

They really are incredibly blue, Suguru finds himself thinking right before Satoru assaults him with endless run-on sentences. Suguru is not even sure he pauses to take a breath and by the time Satoru finally falls silent again, a good fifteen minutes have passed.

“You’re insane,” is all Suguru can say to the onslaught he just had to withstand and Satoru grins at him.

“It worked though, so worth it,” Satoru declares and it’s only then that Suguru remembers Mahito.

He whips around but he only sees Yuji who gives him a thumbs up.

“He left like ten minutes ago!”

Suguru lets out a breath of relief and even manages a smile for Satoru.

“Thanks, I guess,” he awkwardly says because he has to admit that it did kind of work and that it was incredibly kind of Satoru to distract him like that.

“Thank me by giving me my next drink for free,” Satoru says, batting his eyes at him.

“Absolutely not,” Suguru immediately replies because one, he made that drink often enough to know that it costs a small fortune and two, he’s not going to enable Satoru’s sugar intake.

“You meanie,” Satoru grumbles but he keeps smiling at Suguru. “Anyway, see you next time I guess,” he then calls out, dumping his cup in the trash and waving at Suguru.

“Not too soon, please,” Suguru calls after him but he knows that Satoru will be back two days later because he always comes in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, just like clockwork.

“He’s really nice,” Yuji suddenly says from behind him and Suguru does not jump.

“He’s an annoying, arrogant brat.” He knows that because he spent enough time chatting with him when Satoru comes in to pick up his drink.

He’s also incredibly intelligent, self-aware, passionate about the things he enjoys, kind and somewhat of a nerd. Suguru has no idea what to make of him, if he’s being honest.

“Better than that other guy,” Yuji says with a shrug and Suguru has to agree with him.

Satoru is way better than Mahito.

~*~*~

Suguru doesn’t know why he didn’t protest harder when the promotion idea for the shop came up the first time, but when his name is being called out he regrets his every life choice that brought him here.

Auctioning each of their staff off for an hour had seemed like a great idea on paper—especially with how popular they all were—until Suguru has to stand in the spotlight and he spots Mahito in the crowd.

He really should have known better.

Mahito gives him a grin that makes goose bumps break out all over his body and he wonders if he can fake being sick to get out of this.

“The starting bid is 1.500¥,” Utahime calls out to the crowd and immediately there are plates being lifted.

Suguru thinks he’d be equal parts flattered and embarrassed when the bids go up to 15.000¥ in almost no time, but the fact that Mahito is still bidding as well makes cold sweat break out on his forehead.

He’ll only have to spend an hour with him, and they will stay in the shop so there is not really something that could happen but with Mahito everything is possible, and not in a good way.

If this goes on, Suguru doesn’t have to fake being sick.

“I see 20.000¥,” Utahime says and Suguru doesn’t even have to check to know that it’s Mahito’s bid. “Going once, twice and—”

“150.000¥,” a new voice calls out and silence falls over the room.

“What the fuck,” Yuji mutters out next to Suguru and Suguru wants to agree.

That’s an incredible amount of money and he thinks he knows who the voice belongs to.

“150.000¥ going once, going twice,” Utahime gets back into the swing after a short, surprised silence, “and sold to the guy with the number 8!”

Suguru would love to confirm if it really is Satoru who just spent an obscene amount of money to spend one hour with him, but before he can Mahito is leaning in way too close.

“You’ll regret that,” he whispers before he’s bodily shoved out of the way by a smiling Satoru.

“Suguru! I do believe this hour is mine,” he says with a nasty look at Mahito and Suguru can only mutely nod. “Wonderful, I ordered food and drinks, so if you would, please,” he sing-songs and offers Suguru his arm as if he’s a damsel.

Suguru takes it, because what else is he going to do after Satoru paid for this and then he’s being led away to a table that is covered entirely with the baked goods they offer in the shop.

“Who is going to eat all of that?” Suguru asks as he slides into the booth and Satoru grins at him.

“You. Well, us really, but you haven’t eaten today, right? So most of it goes to you.”

“How do you know that?” Suguru asks and Satoru’s grin softens.

“You were too busy preparing everything to stop and eat, right?” he asks and Suguru flushes with how accurate it is. “So eat up.”

“Thank you,” Suguru mumbles and picks one of the cones. “But you—really shouldn’t have spent that much money.”

“I really should have,” Satoru says and glares at Mahito, who is still standing in the middle of the shop, glaring at Satoru in return. “No way in hell was he going to get that hour with you.”

“That’s—nice, but it’s not really a long-term solution,” Suguru mutters, before he bites into the cone. “He’ll only be worse after this,” he adds once he swallowed and Satoru turns back around to him.

“No, he won’t,” he says as if he knows something Suguru doesn’t and Suguru slowly lowers the cone.

“What did you do?” he carefully asks and the grin he receives now is sharp and dangerous.

“I have some connections,” he cryptically says and Suguru stares at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” A horrifying thought occurs to Suguru. “Are you with the mafia?”

Satoru bursts into laughter at that and Suguru feels that is entirely unfounded. It’s a valid thing to ask after someone said such a line after all.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” Satoru asks him once he calmed down, still way too amused for Suguru’s liking but the flush that is now on his face suits him wonderfully Suguru thinks.

“Should I?”

He’s Satoru. There’s hardly more Suguru needs to know.

“My family name is Gojo,” he says and Suguru almost drops the cone. “I’m the heir to the Gojo Group.”

“Holy fuck,” Suguru whispers out because everyone knows the Gojo Group.

“So you really didn’t know,” Satoru says, and he sounds pleased.

Him being the heir to such a family would explain how he can spend that much money on Suguru, but it still doesn’t explain his comment about Mahito.

“What did you do to Mahito?” he asks and Satoru’s eyes flicker back to the man in question.

“Turns out he’s wanted in several other countries. You really do not keep good company, Suguru.”

“It’s not company I choose,” he gruffly gives back, because he moved here to get away from him. “So he’s going to be arrested?”

“Hopefully today,” Satoru agrees and then turns a blinding smile at Suguru. “And until then, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Satoru, you really shouldn’t have spent that much money on me,” Suguru says again though he can’t deny that he’s flattered.

“How else was I going to stick it to him and get a date with you?” Satoru easily asks and Suguru chokes on his cone.

Satoru wordlessly pushes Suguru’s coffee closer to him, and Suguru takes a few desperate sips of it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he finally wheezes out and Satoru seems almost affronted.

“Well, my flirting didn’t seem to work that well, so I had to resort to this,” he says with a shrug and Suguru is glad that this time he didn’t have anything in his mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Come on, Suguru, you think I spent half an hour talking to the others? I only ever come in during your shifts anyway.”

Suguru wants to say that he didn’t know that, but he stops himself. He did know the days Satoru comes in, he just refused to make that connection in fear of what he’d read into that.

“You’re kind of famous,” is what he says to that and Satoru taps his finger on the table.

“I kind of don’t care,” he replies, clearly impatient and when Suguru doesn’t say something to that—still too busy processing everything he learned in the last five minutes—Satoru leans back with a sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, just think about this as me helping the shop out, alright? You’ll spend this hour eating and when this is over, I won’t come by again. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“No!” Suguru blurts out and reaches out to take Satoru’s hand in his, fearing he’ll get up and leave right this second. “Just give me a moment to wrap my head around this,” he pleads and Satoru slumps in his seat.

“Fine,” he mutters but he doesn’t hesitate to close his fingers around Suguru’s.

It’s a lot to take in, Suguru can’t deny that, but the most important part right now is that he doesn’t let Satoru leave. Well, actually, the most important part is that he gives Satoru an answer.

“You could have just asked, you know,” Suguru softly says, moving his hand to thread their fingers together.

“You don’t ask people who work in the service industry out for a date while they are on their job,” Satoru gives back. “That’s just rude and puts you in a bad spot.”

It’s incredibly considerate of him and Suguru can feel himself soften.

“So you tried to flirt.”

“Hey, my flirting is great!”

“Except for the part where I didn’t even pick up on it,” Suguru shoots back and Satoru narrows his eyes at him.

“Well, maybe that’s a problem with you,” he considers and Suguru laughs.

“I’m technically not on the clock now. You gonna ask, or what?” he then challenges Satoru, who immediately straightens up in his seat.

“Suguru, I really like you. Would you go on a date with me?”

“You mean other than this?” Suguru can’t help but to tease and he fights the urge to kiss the stupid pout off Satoru’s face.

“You’re so mean to me,” Satoru whines and Suguru gently squeezes his hand.

“Did you miss the part where this is already a date?” he asks him and watches how Satoru’s face lights up.

“You could have just said yes,” he still complaints and Suguru laughs.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he shoots back and he can’t deny that there is something incredibly comforting about this banter.

“I’m going to take you out on at least two more dates, for the emotional stress you caused me,” Satoru mutters under his breath and Suguru lifts their still clasped hands to his lips, so he can press a kiss to Satoru’s knuckles.

“Deal,” he breathes out and enjoys the dumbfounded look on Satoru’s face, which quickly gets replaced by a vibrant blush.

“You can’t just do that!”

“Watch me,” Suguru shrugs and gets back to his cone, pretending to be entirely unfazed, even though his heart is beating away incredibly fast in his chest.

“Oh, I am,” he hears Satoru say and he refuses to acknowledge his own blush at that, though going by the way Satoru snickers, he definitely notices it.

They spend their time bantering like that, keeping their fingers threaded together and neither of them notices when the hour passes, both secure in the knowledge that they don’t have to keep track of that.

There will be many more hours ahead of them, after all.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #coffee shop au #no powers #getting together #hurt/comfort #mahito #is a creep #stalking #protective gojo satoru #fluff

25 notes · View notes

evilhorse · 8 months

Text

Heather McNeil Hudson may not possess any superpowers of her own, but she has a fighting heart that more than compensates!

#alpha flight #heather hudson #hulk #the incredible hulk #fight #no powers #uh oh #crossover #team up #bill mantlo #mike mignola #marvel comics #comics #80s comics #dat rack

36 notes · View notes

evermorehqs · 3 months

Text

CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW

Abby Park is based on Abby from Turning Red. She is a 24 year old human, Neverland employee, and uses she/her pronouns. She has no powers. Abby is portrayed by Kwon Young Eun and she is open.

CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE

Passionate, that was a word that often came to mind when people spoke about Abby. A gentle, nicer way of phrasing her most dominant personality trait. As a child it was brushed off as development, when she furiously yelled at boys who were mean to her friends, or took things way too far in gym class. Yes, no one would dare say a bad thing to Abby and her friends, so long as she was around to hear it and for the longest time she was okay with that. Okay with the unrelenting loyalty and need to protect that spilled from her chest. Fine with the reputation she'd gained as a guard amongst her best friends, shielding them from the cruel whispers of middle schoolers. Yes, Abby was just about okay with being labeled passionate by her peers and teachers, it didn't bother her as long as she had her best friends. But as she started to get older Abby began to realize that her loud, bubbly and brash personality might be her biggest flaw. Abby didn't care much about what people thought of her, she had never been a self conscious person, but then something changed. A light switch in their friend group, like overnight they stopped being kids, being fun and wild, and succumbed to the inevitable; growing up. As the girls started to drift Abby found it more and more difficult to strike up conversations with new people. Like her infectious laugh was an infectious disease that sent them running, like her loyalty was a target on their backs they didn't want. Like all those wonderful pieces that made her unique were jagged and didn't fit in everyone else, and she hated it. Hated that feeling of rejection, of not being good enough, of being too much of one thing but not enough of the other. It took sometime for Abby to stitch herself back together, with help from Miriam, Meilin and Priya, the three people in this world who never judged her, who always loved her. Who didn't see her passion as a burden but only strength, as she fought for them whether they needed her to or not. And Abby had decided that she wouldn't let anyone make her feel any less than what she deserved, that her passion was her power and she would wield it against anyone who dared to think otherwise.

I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR

❀ Winnie Howling: It's not like Abby loves to party, but on nights when she stays out late it's always fun to dance with Winnie and forget her troubles. ❀ Mamoru Chiba: Abby had long since thought she was over school girl crushes, but something about Mamoru's silky hair and kind eyes has her blushing like a teenager! ❀ Taura Butter: Tauras take no shit attitude against Abbys internal fire should be a match made in hell. But somehow it works, and Evermore should be thankful for it.

THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE

#turning red #abby park #kwon young eun #disney skeleton rp #no powers #female bio #open female #open bio

11 notes · View notes

dominimoonbeam · 8 months

Text

The Truth in Your Skin - 9

The tattoo au! David/Darlin, Milo/Sweetheart, Asher/Huxley

tags: explicit content, nightmare about past abuse, hurt/comfort

The Truth in Your Skin - 9

They walked sloppy lines home on the sidewalk, the night glowing with snowfall and streetlights. Milo laughed, breath forming in the air when Sweetheart unfolded from under his arm, skipping a few steps forward and twirling, arms out. He snagged one wrist, pulling them into a dance.

The street was theirs.

Sometimes, with Sweetheart, it felt like the whole world was theirs. Just theirs.

“I’m sorry about Lasko,” Sweetheart said, a dreamy sigh on their voice as they pulled him along, still dancing but toward their apartment building.

Milo pushed his face into the side of their neck, breathing them in. “S’okay,” he admitted. “He looked so cute blushing between Gav and his friend.”

Sweetheart nodded agreement, turning in his arms just in time to lean back against the front door to their building. They blinked back at him, tipsy and smiling. “I hope you won’t be bored with just my company tonight.”

Milo studied their face like that, bathed in late night lamp glow and flecked with snowflakes. His hand found their hip, squeezing it before sliding up, under their coat and their shirt, to feel their skin. They gasped at his cold fingers, arching but not pushing him away. He grinned. “I could never get bored with you, Sweetheart. There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

They blinked back at him, so clearly surprised by his words that he had to wonder what he’d said.

He went over them. No, nothing wrong there. Nothing they shouldn’t already know. He leaned in and captured their lips in a kiss. Their piercings clicked softly. Sweetheart grabbed at the front of his jacket, twisting the fabric in their hands and pulling as if they could possibly get any closer.

No, he was never going to get bored of them. Not ever.

Milo grabbed their thighs and they jumped up at the touch, reading his mind and wrapping their legs around his hips so that he could maneuver them into the building. They didn’t know it, but those little acts of trust drove him wild. The way they just blindly hung onto him, kissing and nibbling, while he got them inside and to the elevator, made his heart soar.

“I’m going to strip you down as soon as we’re inside the apartment,” he said in the elevator, feeling them squirm against him. “I’m going to take you apart, Sweetheart.”

The doors opened and he squeezed their ass, carrying them out into the hall.

They licked his ear, breathing against it in a way that made him almost drop his keys. “Not if I take you apart first.”

He groaned, unlocking the door.

Sweetheart unlatched from him, almost falling over when their legs weren’t as sober as their intentions, but quickly backpedaling into the apartment.

Milo laughed, tossing the keys and missing the bowl. He kicked the door shut and managed to get out of his jacket and lock the door without taking his eyes off them. They pulled off their sweater and their top in one move, tossing it into the living room before rushing him again, pushing his back against the door and kissing him hard. Their hands were at the front of his pants, working his belt open.

He shivered, hands on their naked arms, one gliding up to the side of their neck. They kissed him like they were hungry, nipping his bottom lip, and he groaned, a jolt riding down his spine to pelvis, rolling his hips forward to bump into them. They grinned against that kiss and his mind swam from more than just the liquor. Sweetheart wasn’t usually pushy. Mischievous, yes, absolutely. And they loved when he wound them up—when he got them to beg for more, for release—but this was different. This was them winding him up.

Milo surrendered to it gladly, breath hitching when they pushed his jeans down his hips and wrapped a hand around his aching erection. “Fuck…” he exhaled, rolling his hips again, thrusting into their grip and wishing it was their body. They bit his lip again and then broke the kiss. He caught the sharp edges of their grin in the near-dark apartment before they slid down to their knees.

Milo held his breath, hand in their hair, watching the shadows of their face near his sex and feeling their breath roll against his sensitive skin just before their hot tongue stroked him. He gasped and dropped his head back with a thump against the door when they rolled their tongue against piercings.

They’d gotten sound complaints before, from just about every apartment over, under, and beside them. They had a collection of passive aggressive notes left on the door or in their mailbox or even pinned to the lobby message board—all now stuck to their refrigerator with magnets.

Milo always felt a twinge of shame when he got the notes, but they were quickly washed away in the tidal wave of pride at having made Sweetheart shout in pleasure.

They swallowed him and he moaned deep in his chest, palming the back of their head and rocking his hips, fucking them. Their fingers pressed into his hip, holding on.

Sweetheart wasn’t the only one who made sounds. Milo grunted and gasped, already so close to release. He was usually better at holding out, at edging until they were both exhausted and shaking, but tonight he felt like he’d been riding that edge since they left work. He’d been thinking about getting home with his Sweetheart all day.

“Oh shit… fuck…” he gasped, so close.

Their hand pushed his hip and he immediately let go of their head, his chin dropping down to watch them jerk back. They released his cock, coughing.

Panic rushed up through his body like a million needles on his skin. “Sweetheart? Are you—”

They were on their feet, smiling and breathy, lips glossy from spit. They licked their lower lip, taking a step back from him and into the dark room.

Milo shivered, watching them unbutton their jeans and slide them off, kicking them away. Sweetheart stood there, naked in his apartment—in their apartment—staring right back at him with that twist of their mouth that told him everything he needed to know. Had he really thought he was getting off first? Had he really thought the night would be over that soon?

He pushed his own pants all the way down and stepped out of them. Sweetheart bit their lip, taking another step back, swaying. They were going to turn and run, down the dark hall toward the bedroom. They were going to run, just as soon as they were sure he knew to chase.

He palmed his erection, his whole body aching to touch them again.

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first. Sweetheart turned with a high, nervous laugh and he bolted after them. It was a short run but his heart was pounding when he caught them up and tackled them onto the bed, buried in darkness and pinning them to the mattress. They laughed and squirmed and he kissed and nipped his way down their neck, to their shoulder, grinding against their ass until their breathy laughs had turned into breathy moans.

Darlin’s head smacked the hardwood. It echoed in their skull, echoed in every punch that came after. They couldn’t see anymore, couldn’t open their eyes or will themself to move, but they weren’t unconscious either. His breathing was ragged and loud. He hadn’t left. He wouldn’t leave, not this time, not after everything. This fight had been different. It had been worse and it had been final. Darlin had broken up with him. Oh god, if only it had been that simple. If only they hadn’t seen the horrible truth the moment the words came flying out of their mouth. He wasn’t going to let them go with words and knuckles.

Their mouth tasted like blood, their lip swollen where he’d ripped out the piercing. They shivered at the sound of his teeth clicking around the stud. It echoed too. Their body was a sounding chamber of violence now and they wondered if the sounds would ever escape—would ever stop.

The needle buzzed.

No.

He pulled them along the floor, into position.

Nonono.

Darlin woke with a jolt, like a shot had gone off and they were on their feet, only they hadn’t quite made it to their feet. They’d stumbled blind, hands up to protect their face like it hadn’t been ruined already.

Even when they opened their eyes, they squinted with one, body expecting it to be swollen shut.

Someone was in front of them. Someone big and reaching for them.

Darlin jerked back with a grunt, their shoulders hitting a wall and stopping their escape.

They swallowed, tasting blood that wasn’t there.

They heard his teeth on their long-gone lip stud and shuddered.

“Darlin,” he said, and it sounded like he’d said it a few times already. Another echo. God, why couldn’t that be one of the echoes in their head. His voice. So steady and deep. They dragged a deep breath, realizing then that they were gasping, heart slamming their ribs.

His hands were still out but not reaching anymore, a little to the sides now, like proof that they weren’t. Darlin blinked, vision focusing on his face. They realized he was shorter. He was bent, not just trying to be eye level but lower. There was a crease in his brow, the one he got when he was worried or going over the books.

Darlin exhaled hard, realizing what had happened. They were in his apartment. They looked at the couch and the mess of pillows and throw blankets they had dragged off the cushions when the scrambled to their feet. They tried to apologize but it came out thin and garbled. They pressed a fist against their side, hating the tears that pricked their eyes as the adrenaline buzzed through their skin, turning sick.

He shook his head slowly, another step closer but crouching lower. “You’re okay,” he said, like it was true. It sounded true when he said it in that voice. But they didn’t feel okay.

“I…” they tried to explain or lie or apologize but it came out strangled and weak. Darlin winced, closing their eyes and pressing a fist into their side. Why did this have to happen tonight? Here? In front of David? Their eyes burned behind their lids.

“You had a nightmare,” he offered them the explanation they were trying and failing to get out.

Darlin made a choking sound of agreement, forcing down and out another breath before opening their eyes again. He was still there. David.

“What do you need?” he asked, still so steady even when they could see the worry in his face—in that crease in his brow.

Darlin swallowed, looking away, looking around, looking anywhere but right at him because this was a completely different sort of nightmare.

His arm moved, his hand closer now, and they stared at it in confusion before they realized they’d moved first. Their own hand was hovering between their chest and his, like it was caught between reaching and pulling back. They didn’t remember doing that. They hadn’t meant to. His hand was closer to theirs, reaching back? Offering?

Fuck.

Darlin grabbed his arm, their fingers pressing against the perfect edges of tattooed peonies on his skin. He was solid and he was steady and their vision blurred with tears. “Fuck,” they ground out but pushed a step forward and into his chest.

David’s arms wrapped around them. Before this weekend, they would have been hard pressed to come up with the last time they’d been hugged. Now they were two days in a row.

“You’re making a habit out of this…” they whispered against his collar, breaths still shaky.

He palmed the back of their head, fingers rubbing at their scalp. “I can live with that.”

Darlin sighed. He made it so easy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

They shook their head. They definitely did not. They would rather forget it if possible.

When the adrenaline flagged, their body realized it had been sleeping and exhaustion rolled back in.

They unraveled from him before they could fall asleep standing and scrubbed a hand over their face. “I’m sorry. What time is it? I should go.”

David frowned, that worried crease in his brow. “It’s like four in the morning.” He still had one of their hands in his, his thumb stroking across the back of their knuckles. “Stay.”

Darlin hesitated, heart heaving at the idea. Could they really?

He nodded like he sensed the thought. He looked tired too. “We’ll sleep in and then I’ll make us food. Stay.”

Darlin squeezed his hand. They were still holding hands. If they didn’t know better, they might think this was more than friendly. It couldn’t be.

A handful of years ago, Darlin would have made a move. They would have kissed this man, maybe pushed him up against a wall, or pulled him along into the bedroom. They knew it, but that didn’t change anything about the way things were now. They weren’t the same person. They didn’t smile the same or feel the same. And David was definitely just being nice. He cared about them. They were friends.

“Darlin?” he asked, concern in his voice.

Darlin nodded, hoping it was too dark for him to see them blushing. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds cool. Thanks.”

He visibly relaxed and turned, leading them down the hall.

Darlin looked at their hand in his. Skin and ink.

He led them into his bedroom but didn’t bother with the lights. He let go of their hand to drop onto the big bed, stretching out and already looking half-asleep. Darlin hesitated but he scooted over and blindly reached out for them. They were too tired to think clearly—too tired to overthink at all—so they took his hand and climbed onto the bed, dropping next to him and sighing at the perfect weight of his arm settling across them.

#redactedverse #tattoo shop au #no powers #david/darlin #milo/sweetheart #asher/huxley #slow burnish #past abuse #hurt/comfort #angst #romance #<3 #dominimoonbeam

22 notes · View notes

pinkykats-place · 1 year

Text

BakuDeku Cafe AU

No Quirks AU

AO3 Fanfic Recommendations

Disclaimers!

Stories linked below are not mine.

Some contain mature content.

Read tags. Check Ratings.

Art work by @artisticookie.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

How to swoon a little bunny?

Summary: Katsuki often brought his work to the café, normally to do paper work or go over on-going cases that were until recently, Katsuki made eye contact with the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, a little curly bunny, forest green hair which reminded of when he goes mountain hiking, freckles that reminded him of the stars in a clear nights sky, a cute little button nose he wanted to bite, those eyes bright and beautiful like a freshly polished emerald, Katsuki was swooned right away, he wasn’t aware he was even capable of such feelings he always wasn’t aware how pathetic he is, he couldn’t even muster more than 5 words to the bunny, he was ashamed.

How will Katsuki ever get a date if he keeps choking every time he saw Izuku?

Complete | 2 Chapters | Hybrid AU

Rated - Explicit

Rain, rain, don't go away by Okieitsfine

Summary: An annoying regular keeps on coming to the cafe Katsuki works at. Every time he comes, he brings in a pile of slush along with his rain filled boots and matted green curls.

It’s April, you know- rainy weather. But that doesn’t excuse the absolute mess that his guy always brings in.

What gives?

— — —

Or: The generic Cafe AU no one asked for with college student Izuku and angry barista Katsuki.

Incomplete | 4/? CH | College AU

Rated - Mature

Mocha by dumbbottomenergy

Summary: "What coffee are you today, Kacchan?"

Deku asks the same question every day and maybe Katsuki wishes he gave him an answer when he still had the chance.

{One Shot}

Rated - General Audiences

Decaffeinated by Cloudsu

Summary: “Café latte for Momo!” he exclaims. He waits for the pretty brunette to come to claim her drink before he turns to Katsuki again, resting a hip on the counter with his arms crossed. “I said, all you have to do is ask. You think I won’t take you in the back room and fuck you?”

The angry red blush on Katsuki’s cheeks darkens, and he has the sudden need to pinch himself.

“I-I…what?” Katsuki says in confusion, his eyes unable to look anywhere but Izuku’s face as the man smirks down at him.

Or the one where Katsuki thirsts over his coworker until they've both had quite enough of pining in silence.

One Shot | Trans Bakugo

Rated - Explicit

Cupid Cafe by kjuzera

Summary: Around four o'clock in the afternoon, the Cupid Cafe was crowded. Bakugou's attention turned to the most annoying cupid of all: Deku. The bastard did not take the smile off his face, he served all customers as if they were the best people in the fucking world. He did not miss orders and served everything perfectly. Irritating to say the least.

One Shot | College AU

Rated - Explicit

Salted Caramel by OnyxDragons

Summary: Student Katsuki runs into a nerdy Deku at a local coffee shop. First impressions aren’t always the best...

Complete | 3 Chapters

College AU | Art Students AU

Rated - Explicit

I Just Like You Kacchan! by Rainymilktea

Summary: Izuku is a clumsy, virgin, barista. After a few embarrassing run-ins with a big, sexy blonde, Izuku decides he wants to be in a relationship. But does the flirty blonde want to? Eventual smut

One Shot | College AU

Rated - Explicit

Fixations by Hachimitsuun

Summary: “Oh you are on, name the terms.” Sero grins wide, white teeth gleaming and black eyes shining. How they can both look so confident is beyond Izuku.

“If I win and you lose, which you will, Midoriya has to get his tongue pierced,” Kaminari states, and Izuku’s head snaps over to him.

“Wait, what?!”

“Okay, then when I win and you lose, Midoriya has to get a tattoo saying ‘Kaminari sucks’ on his ass.”

“Hold on just a second, what on earth does this have to do with me?!”

Izuku just wants to continue going through his ordinary life while keeping his oral fixation a secret, but his friends are idiots, and now his secret is up in the air.

One Shot | Tattoo Parlor AU

Rated - Explicit

The Bunny's Burrow by RadPax

Summary: At 14 years old Izuku came out to his mother as transgender and a week later she pulled him from school and transferred him somewhere else and started him on testosterone. She wasn't about to have her only son be bullied relentlessly and misgendered.Since then its been over a decade since Izuku has seen anyone from his childhood neighborhood, that is until his old bully Katsuki Bakugou wanders into his cafe one morning and the two are forced to meet again.But it almost seems like Katsuki doesn't remember who Izuku is? And his face keeps getting red for some reason!?

(AU where Izuku owns a cafe and is trans, and Katsuki attempts to court the little guy while being terrible at it.)

Incomplete | 11/? CH | Trans Deku

Rated - Mature

i want to scream but i can't by lordyuuri

Summary: Reunions aren't always happy nor always welcomed.

{One Shot}

Rated - Teen & Up

60 notes · View notes