#orange echo chamber of my heart

[shibaraki]

IF TIDES COULD SPEAK (THEY’D CALL YOU HOME) ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI

synopsis: an unlikely hero comes in the form of a barbarian. your stolen pelt is returned by his hand— but for a selkie that is more than simple kindness. it is a proposal.

tags: AFAB reader (referred to as a 'wife' once + 'baby' a few times), fantasy au, barbarian bakugo (+ the squad), selkie reader, brief non graphic suicide attempt, minor injuries, previous forced marriage + captivity, strangers to friends to lovers, accidental marriage + bond, magic elements, bathing together, sharing a bed, miscommunication, love as a choice, getting together, shapeshifters, angst + fluff, eventual smut, bakugo carries reader (he’s strong!!), oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex

wc: 25K+

↳ for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server ↰

The battle rages on behind as your bare feet carry you frantically toward the cliff side, incognisant to the uneven earth and jagged rocks cutting under your heels. 

A magnificent orange glow is cast across the land. Blistering heat radiates at your back and seeps through the thin robes pulled across your shoulders. Fire eats away at the canopy above, at the dry grass in the gardens, at the place you deign to call home. 

It is a sight you wish you had more time to savour. A draconic clan hailing from the north had descended upon the land and sought to reap the riches for themselves. The anguished screams of your once wretched husband still echo in your heart, dancing through its chambers like wind through chimes. 

You fled with only one destination in mind. 

Many, many moons ago, you had been stolen away by greed. A man that called himself king yet acted anything but kingly. Lord only in name. He speared your pod mate and took you, dirty calloused fingers sinking into your flesh, violently tearing the pelt from your back. Nausea churns in your stomach as you recall his grin, eyeing you greedily, desiring servitude that was not his to have. 

“You are to be my wife,” he said, drunk on tales of rare creatures who would keep a hearth burning and bear his children if only he stole their hide. “Now you belong to me”. 

Your pelt remained locked away in an armoured vault along with his other opulent treasures— goods that would now be burning, turned to ash. He had finally taken from the wrong people and must reap the consequences. 

You are so relieved to be free of his clutches that there is no time to grieve the loss. This is your chance. With or without your pelt you are a selkie, and the ocean always welcomes her children home. 

Guided by the tides' tumultuous song you sprint through the woods, treeline funnelling out on a plateau to reveal the edge of the cliff. You take a staggered breath, wincing at the pain in your chest. Now your momentum has slowed to a stop, the fatigue catches up with you. An ache seeps through your legs and your knees threaten to buckle as you shiver. 

This is it, you think. You watch the waves below roll like dark ribbon. Steeling your resolve you spread your arms as far as they go, until the sinew holding your back pulls taut. Something acrid sinks in your gut and you feel distinctly ill. It takes all of your willpower to deny the fear pounding in your body as you step forward. 

The wind billowed around you, swaying your human form towards the edge. Faux wings spread and a roar pushed to the limits of your small voice, sound whipped from your mouth and cast far asea. Eyes squeezed shut, you tip into the oncoming depths trusting your mother will catch you. 

The sound is cacophonous. Not even your pulse can be heard over the waves; elemental fingers apply sharp pressure to the north and south of your body, shaping flesh until you're nothing but a pebble caught in gravity's path.

If you should concentrate you’d hear a frantic shout through the white noise. And between the milliseconds left before bone collides with the tide, a large clawed foot encircles your forearm. A rush of air swells in your lungs as you try to scream, the abrupt disruption of your freefall forcing your shoulder from its socket, talons tearing through capillaries as if your skin were wet paper. 

Suddenly, you’re a sail without a mast, rippling over the open ocean. Dark and cloudless, not a speck on the surface. The spray is icy against your ankles, a million papercut kisses. In the mirage, you can see fleeting reflections. The silhouette of a dragon mid-flight. 

You’ve no memory of hitting the sand or being carried along the shoreline. Your consciousness dips and peaks. The few times you come to are when your body is being jostled, a blurred figure looming above and unrecognisable. In one breath they are washing your wounds with water poured from a wineskin, the next you are flinching away from salve covered fingers as they poke and prod to stem the bleeding.

Warmth is the first thing on your mind as you wake. With a sudden gasp for air, all the exhilaration and adrenaline hits you as if your soul had been caught, suspended in that moment. Phantom touches skim the length of your spine and all at once you are overwhelmingly aware of your body. 

The sharp noise startles a figure in your periphery. 

“Back in the land of the living, huh?” 

A broad, bare chested man sits at your bedside with his arms crossed tight and pillowed in his lap. There’s a single delicate braid by his ear, longer than his short-spiked hair and dangled loosely beneath his jaw. You’d find him beautiful if not for the searing glare. 

“That was a fucking stupid thing you did back there,” he snarls. Brusque and overfamiliar. When you don’t respond he continues, “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

You shrink back. 

There’s an awful pinch in his brow. Concern seems to be superseding what was a show of honest anger. Dimly lit by a few oil lamps, from what you can ascertain there is no one else in the room but you two. Inhaling the residuals of healing magic you find that your throat is unbearably dry, tongue stuck to the back of your teeth. How long have you been asleep?

You couldn’t find a voice to ask, exhaling a pathetic whine. The silence provides a window of opportunity for him to further scold you yet he doesn’t take it, fuming as he recedes into his chair. “Don’t need to act so fucking skittish. M’not here to hurt you,” he exhales hard through his nose, reaches out and leaves his hand upturned on the edge of the bed. “Alright?” 

Something draws you to this stranger. Inexorable, like the pull of the tide. You accept his proffered palm and it feels unsettlingly familiar. The skin is rough, battle worn and hot. Slowly, your fingers intertwine, and you see fair hair on the back of his knuckles. 

Disorientation, loss and anxiety err on the edge of your consciousness. The lamp above his head gives him a warm hued crown, highlighting strands of gold. You can feel sleep weighing on your eyelids but you don’t yet want to look away. “Whatever,” his mouth sets into a frown. “Get some more rest or I’ll knock you out myself”.

When you come to the sun has risen and filters into the room in thin streams of light. Dust fairies dance around the bed. You squint as your vision sharpens, a dull throb reverberating through your skull. 

You look at your body first, arm well bandaged and the rest of you bruised tender like an old peach. The wounds throb in time with your pulse when you shift, reminding you that they’re there as your thin clothing brushes against them with little movement. All you can remember is falling. How the waves had careened up the cliff side to catch you, only to have you snatched out of reach once again. 

Wherever you are now it is obviously far from your Lord’s grasp. He has never bothered to take you to a healer. You are in a private office, tucked into a bed with soft blue sheets. The shelves are stocked with various medicines, salves, and analgesics. Herbs and chopped petals are stuffed in glass jars labelled with messy penmanship you can’t decipher. A metronome sits on the nearby wooden desk, ticking back and forth, filling the silence until the door is pushed open. 

Whoever enters is trying to be careful. You can tell by how slowly they turn the handle and pause at every little complaint the hinges give. Their hair is green, richer than the later weeks in spring, with loose waves that bounce as they move. You watch wearily while they move through the space, humming under their breath and picking up a notebook from one of the desk drawers. 

The healer, you presume, pinches the end ball on the metronome and brings it to a stand still. He hushes it as though it were an unruly child before turning on his heels toward you—

And immediately screeching as your eyes meet. 

Loud enough for the entire country to hear, his abrupt shout seems to alert others in the building, causing a gaggle of people to burst their way into the room. A metallic tang fills your senses; magic ready, the man that sat brutish yet kind at your bedside wields explosive sparks in the palm of his hands, adorning chains with carved talons and beads and asymmetrical armour strapped to his left bicep beneath a red fur lined cloak. 

“What is it, Deku?!” 

You offer wordless gratitude to the final dregs of sedatives in your system. You barely flinch at the hostility in his voice, time seemingly slowed as your gaze drags to the companions at his back. First a woman doused in pink. And like the sun, her face glows the rich ochre of dawn, framed by silky salmon toned curls. There are horns protruding from the top of her head, bending like the junction of a tree branch. 

Beside her is a large man. Red, red, red. Bright eyes split with a reptilian slitted pupil. Crimson hair styled into sharp spikes. He’s built like a warrior, tall enough to swallow most of the doorway, yet you feel no true fear when you look at him. Something innate in your gut tells you this is a kindred spirit. Energies aligned, you think he must be a shifter of some kind too. He locks onto you first, his alarmed expression smoothing into a wide toothed grin. 

Last are two men who have managed to tumble to the floor amidst their rush to get into the room. Distinct gold bangs with a symbol of lightning, pale faced, an undercurrent of electricity thrumming below his skin. Dark shoulder length hair, white spools of rope wrapped around the crook of his elbow, grappling hook in hand and ready to strike. 

“Sorry, Kacchan!” the healer, Deku, spluttered. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking them in a placating motion. “Nothing, it’s nothing! All of you please calm down!” 

Deku is quite the unfortunate name, you think. At his insistence the group lower their defenses and slump forward, relieved. All but ‘Kacchan’, who only raises his hackles further. 

“Don’t fuckin’ scream like that if it’s nothing,” his upper lip curls to bear his teeth, moving fluidly as his group slinks past him to stand by your bed. “I damn near blew up the building”. 

Distantly, “I couldn’t help it…!”

The frame jostles, mattress dipping as it takes on the weight of another. Head turned into the pillow you blink dazedly at the sharp toothed shifter. Propping his chin in his hand, his elbows are braced next to your thigh. “Hi. I’m Kirishima,” he chirped, unmoving as his friends wrapped themselves around him to get a look at you, all repeating his jovial greeting with introductions of their own. 

“…Hello,” you rasp. The word grates the inside of your throat and tears well in your eyes as you fight the urge to cough. “Where am…?”

“Back up, losers,” ‘Kacchan’ forces his way to your bedside, shoving the group aside. There’s that odd sensation again as you stare up at him. Strong jaw clenched with eyes narrowed and blazing; sliding to where you lay, waning briefly. “Have some manners”. 

“Since when have you cared about manners,” the pink woman, Mina, bemoans. 

“Shut it!” 

Deku’s nervous disposition dissipates quickly and he ambles to the opposite side of your bed, his notebook flipped open to a page covered in incomprehensible scrawl. While the others squabble he leans forward and flashes a trembly smile. 

“Hi! I’m Midoriya Izuku, the one that fixed you up,” Midoriya—not Deku—lowers his voice into a more soothing tone. “It’s good to see you awake. Do you think you could tell me your name?”

You remember your name. Yours. The one given to you before human hands stole your hide. Midroiya’s pen scratches at the parchment as you recite it, his lips silently repeating it. “Great! Thank you. Now can I ask, how are you feeling?” he asks, eyes darting across your face, your body, scanning the bandages wrapped around your arm. “Any pain? Nausea? Loss of vision? Numbness in your limbs? Hallucinations?”

“Slow down, nerd,” Bakugo grunts. 

Midoriya immediately appears sheepish, “I’m sorry”. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “My mouth is dry and my arm hurts but I’m— okay, I think”. 

“That’s my bad,” Kirishima speaks up from his place next to Bakugo, lifting a hand. Despite their difference in stature it was clear who led the charge and who fell in line. “I was rushing so I wasn’t very careful when I caught you”. 

Your first thought is that he must have been the dragon. Your second thought is, ah, right. You had tried to fling yourself off the cliff. 

As though he’d read your mind, Bakugo scoffs. “Not much choice when you’re saving someone that’s trying to kill themselves”. 

Overlapping objections ring loud in your ears. “Bro, not cool,” Kirishima groans, similar sentiments sent loud and fast from the rest of his group. 

“I wasn’t trying to—” your half lie is halted by the seething look Bakugo turns to you. Same as before, beneath it all is worry and confusion, unblinking as though you might disappear between the seconds. “I just wanted to go home,” you confess weakly, tethered by the restless twisting of your fingers into the linen. 

“Home?” the electric blonde, Kaminari, murmurs. 

Tension returns to your limbs, instinctively bracing for the greed you have learned to expect. You may get away with evading questions now, but the healer—if he’s worth his salt—would already know what you are. 

“I’m a selkie,” hesitance bleeds into your tone, the confession coming quiet and small. Your chin dips as you swallow, canines sinking into your inner cheek. “The Lord whose castle you raided stole my pelt and kept me hostage for months. I figured it was long gone, so as soon as the attack gave me an opening I ran”.

The atmosphere is stifling. Silence befalls the group, equally stunned. Midoriya is the only one that does not react, kind eyes closely observing you.

A litany of emotions weave through Bakugo’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, regret. “Sick bastards,” he mutters heatedly from behind gritted teeth. 

A head of pink hair rests by your knee. You’re taken aback by how informally they all behave towards you. “You still would have died though,” she says, bottom lip jutted, sadness colouring her features. 

“I would have become seafoam,” you rectify passively. “It doesn’t mean death, not to my kind. It’s a sort of rebirth. My pelt is with the ashes now. I thought… it was my only option”. 

“Wait. It got burned up in the fire?!” Kirishima straightens worriedly, eyes wide and apologetic. His fingers twitch as though he wanted to reach for you but thinks the better of it. 

“Surely. I mean, I assume it was,” your mouth thins into a strained, rueful smile. “He kept it in the vault with all his other treasures. I watched his quarters go up in flames”. 

Recognition passes over Bakugo’s expression but Midoriya is already stepping forward with his outstretched hands waving dismissively. “Okay, guys! No more stressing my, uh… patient,” he says, allowing some strength into his instruction. “Give us some space. You can ask more questions later. Please?”

Your new guests surrender with a chorus of groans. Bakugo squints pointedly at you over his shoulder as Sero ushers him out into the hallway. You feel rooted by its significance somehow. An unspoken instruction that you can’t decipher. 

“Are you really feeling okay? No wooziness?”

Drawn to the gentle cadence your gaze meets Midoriya’s. He has set the notebook back onto his desk and rolled up his cuffs. “I’m okay,” you reply after a moment of consideration. “Thank you. You fixed me up, right?” 

Rubbing at his nape, Midoriya shoots you a sheepish grin. “To the best of my ability, yeah,” he says. “I’m just a researcher and I don’t have an affinity for healing magic, but Kacchan insisted that I help”. 

“You’re not a healer?” it’s then that you notice how untraditional his dress is for a doctor. A bishop sleeved shirt, six buttoned green waistcoat and dark pants. There’s a belt strapped tight around his hips, small satchels hooked into the leather, and an empty waist sheath clearly meant for a sword. “Ah. You really aren’t a healer,” you repeat blithely. 

Midoriya giggles, nervous. “No— I mean, this is my office! And I guess I am an apothecary of sorts, but that’s only a small part of what I do,” he explains, gesturing to his various  shelves and cabinets. “Kacchan could’ve taken you to the next town over on Kirishima’s back but I think he was panicking— oh, please don’t tell him I said that. He just doesn’t trust other people much. So you got shafted with me”. 

When he leans down to untuck your bedsheets you bend your unharmed arm, propping your upper body onto your elbow and working in sync with him as he fluffs the pillows behind your back. Sat upright you hold your bandages out to him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, delicate as he slides his hand around your forearm, patting around his belt and satchels with the other. 

Finding a small pair of scissors he tucks it beneath the top of the bandage and carefully cuts down the length of your arm. Your chest constricts as the inflamed skin is slowly revealed to the tepid air. There are ribbons of sutures running from your inner elbow to your wrist, puckered but thin and largely healed, sinew clumsily fused together. 

“Sorry about my poor suturing,” Midoriya says as he overturns your arm in his palm, checking from root to stem. “Everything looks good, though. No infection or fever,” he continues muttering, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. “Your immune response was pretty quick. I wonder if it has something to do with your selkie blood…”

You barely register his apology, stuck on the jagged scar tissue decorating his own hand. The cautious call of your name breaks your reverie. Midoriya’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide in genuine concern that wanes when you try to smile at him. “Got lost in my head there, sorry”. 

“I get it,” he breathes, glancing over to the largest cabinet in the room. Reaching the ceiling, stained dark wood, and looks slightly out of place alongside his other furniture. Misaligned, you realise. It is on four small wheels and placed an inch away from the wall. Odd. 

You watch Midoriya stroll over with a bounce in his step. His biceps strain under the pale sleeve fabric as he grabs either side of his cabinet and pulls. The wheels squeak and it rolls away with some exertion to uncover a hidden door. Dust cascades through the air; he coughs into his shoulder, shaking out his hair. 

“I’ve got a private washroom through here if you’d like to use it,” he explains after catching your questioning frown. The room is barely bigger than a closet. There’s a toilet, a tiny sink, and a tub that, given the width and depth, would require you to sit with your knees beneath your chin. A mere speck compared to home. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, maybe you could pretend you were resting in a tide pool along the shallows of a beach. 

You stand for the first time in who knows how long. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawls the length of your legs as the phantom turns solid and blood rushes to your toes. You grip at your bare thighs where the hem of your robe falls, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and you gasp through the pain. It’s as if you’re growing a new limb all together. 

“Careful,” Midoriya murmurs kindly, hovering at your side in case you need assistance. You hobble over to the washroom, each step like treading on seaglass. He moves away once he is happy with your progress. 

“It’ll take a while to warm up,” he warns. “But there are various medicinal soaps and salts under the sink that I’ve made, so you’re free to use them”. 

The door is closed behind you. 

Left to your own devices the first thing you do is fill the tub with water. You find that the bathroom has no lamp, illuminated only by the cool light flooding in from the main room. His warning had not been exaggeration — fingertips touching the bottom of the basin, the water comes slowly and remains cold up until your second knuckle. Then it warms, warmer than the sea, and with no salt at all. 

Bare knees against the floor and skin pimpling under the thin robes, your breaths come quick, stumbling over the erratic jumping of your diaphragm. Indentations between each tile press uncomfortably into your skin, the initial pain dulling into numbness as you sit back on your heels. Beneath the sink behind you are the medicinal soaps and salts. You delicately take a small pot, squinting to decipher the handwritten labels in the dark. 

Pulling back one of the lids you’re overwhelmed by an unfamiliar floral aroma. Inside are rocks— tiny, tiny pink rocks, with dried white petals. You pinch some with your already damp fingers, feeling as they immediately dissolve in the moisture, and sprinkle them into your bathwater. 

Once full enough, you strip yourself of the robe and fold it neatly, left by the closed doorway. The cold air prickles, your nipples pebbling and the soft hair across your body standing on end, but the water is hot. 

You dip your foot in and breathe a sigh of relief as the temperature suffused through your skin, swaddling you in warmth. You submerge yourself completely. As suspected the space is remarkably cramped. Your legs are bent, tucked against your chest with knees below your chin, arms folded around your shins to keep yourself together. 

Enclosed in four walls again, shrouded in little to no light, you feel lonely. The type of quiet that makes you whisper. Your mind drifts to the stranger that had saved you, wondering where you might’ve met him before. You smile ruefully, cupping the scented water between your hands. He’s strong for a human. Imposing, you muse, staring back at the reflection held in your palms. Not only in his stature, but even his presence is difficult to ignore. 

You bathe, scrub away the blood and grime until you’re a flesh wound. The temperature is cold by the time you’ve turned focus to your fingernails, neurotically picking away the flecks of blood dried beneath them. Drain the murky water, refill, repeat. No matter how harshly you pinch and pull, the feeling of being dirty does not go away, but you stay in the water at least until you feel like yourself again.

The towel you find is coarse to the touch. Sitting in the heated water has tended well to the knots in your muscles. Ungainly as you re-enter Midoriya’s empty office, you flop back onto the freshly made sheets with little guilt. You sit there for a while and let the air dry your body. 

There is a pile of spare clothes on the end of the bed; neatly folded shirts, tunics, skirts and pants. You throw on a sleeved shirt and come across a simple beige kirtle as you parse through, the skirt falling just above the ankle, delicately sewn buttons lining the back. The fabric is very soft, though fitting and naturally cutting at the waist. 

After putting on some thick knitted socks and a pair of hardy brown boots left by the desk you run both hands down your sides and spin on your heel, causing the free flowing skirt to plume. Satisfied, you slip out the door and creep toward the gathering voices at the far end of the hall. Phantom fingertips walk the length of your spine. Odd, but you put it down to the apprehension churning in your stomach. Gradually you are able to make out what they’re saying. 

“Get your filthy hands off it,” Bakugo growls venomously. 

“I just wanna feel,” another whines. You recognise it to be Kaminari. “Why is Kacchan the only one allowed to touch it?”

“Stop calling me that, fucker!”

You round the corner and the bickering halts with a harsh shushing sound. They’re all in the centre of a cramped lobby, few chairs lining the walls, woven tapestry hung from the ceilings. Kirishima stands in front of you wearing a pleased grin, comically large. The armoured plates on his naked shoulders clink as he moves. “Hey! You clean up nice,” he tells you. “Feeling better?” 

“Much better,” you affirm, perking up at his sincerity. “I’m grateful to you all for watching over me”. 

“Our Bakugo did most of the work, really. Got a little protective,” Mina, the one kissed by dusk, leans into your space with her plump mouth curled into a smile. The thin gold jewellery hung from her lobe to ear cuff glints in the late afternoon light. “Barely let us in the room”. 

“Cause you idiots are too loud,” Bakugo grumbles, stepping forward holding a shiny garb. The fond undertones belied his annoyance, and everyone heard it loud and clear. Your skin prickled as he drags his eyes over your clothed body, evoking a sense of insecurity that is foreign to you. You aren’t sure what, but you wanted him to see something in you worth coveting. 

Then your gaze falls to the fabrics folded over his forearm. Your heartbeat ricochets through your ribcage. A tide of emotion wells at the base of your throat. He handles the pelt with purposeful care. Shivers break out across your skin as he smooths a hand over it. Holding it out, he says your name as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

“Here,” he thrusts the pelt into your arms. You scramble and clutch it to your front. Something deep inside you shifts. “This is yours, right? We took it during the raid”. 

You’re frozen to the spot, mouth gaping around words that won’t come. Bakugo frowns, the group members behind him glancing at each other and shrugging when they find no answer to your silence. 

“Well?” he demands, embarrassment staining his ears pink. 

“Yes,” you choke, bringing the hide up to your face and rubbing your cheek against it. So warm and alive. Brine fills your senses, overwhelmed by the smell of home. The relief is short lived. “Thank you for returning it, but…”

Losing strength, you try to convince yourself that he needn’t know— that the old ritual would not be binding if done with a human. If the Gods were merciful there would be no condition that tied you together for the rest of your lives. Yet you felt it the moment your pelt was handed back to you. You’ve been feeling his touch all this time, even before the bond had solidified. Heat rose to your cheeks at the realisation; such an intimate act, and it had been accidental. 

From one prison to another. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Bakugo seemed good, in his own rugged way, and he was handsome even by faerie standards. 

You wet your lips, breath shaken. “Bakugo. Do you understand the significance of what you just did?” 

Bakugo’s expression darkens and he becomes rigid. You get the impression he hates being left in the dark. “What is it?” 

“To…” your nails sink into the short velvety fur. “To a selkie their pelt is like an extension of their soul. In our culture, to find and return it is viewed as a…marriage proposal”. 

Sero catches Kaminari and Mina as they grapple one another in a dramatic fashion, swaying on their feet. Kirishima puts a hesitant hand on his friend’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the barbarian and your slouched form. “Bro… don’t do anything hasty,” he faltered. 

“Bakugo is married now?” Mina shrilled, promptly shut up by the hand covering her mouth. Sero sends you an apologetic grimace. 

“Like hell I am”. 

Hackles raised, voice sharp and commanding, Bakugo is staring you down like an enemy. Your knees threaten to buckle but you stand your ground, shielding your body with your thick hide. His hands remain by his hips, sparking as the tang of magic bleeds into the air. Despite making no move to attack you still feel his rejection strike you. 

“Break whatever vow I just made,” he demanded. “Now”. 

“I can’t,” you admit helplessly. “It’s more than a legal contract or a declaration of love. We’ve— it binds us together”.

The barbarian starts forward, upper lip curled into a beastly snarl, held back by the dragon shifter’s grip. Stumbling as you dodge, two familiar scarred arms catch you before your fall. “Kacchan, what are you—?!” Bakugo darts out to grab you and Midoriya immediately pushes you behind his back, shielding you with his body. “Stop it!” 

“Midoriya,” Kaminari wheezes, tears beading along his lash line. “Kacchan accidentally got married. Can you believe it?” 

Midoriya observes their exchange with a look of confusion. In the seconds that follow you see his eyes fall to the pelt folded against your chest, eyes brightening in understanding. Incognisant to this, Bakugo continues his verbal barrage. “Oi, Deku. You’ve got brain cells. Figure out a way to fix this”. 

Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, Midoriya pins Bakugo with a pleading look. “Kacchan. Please tell me you didn’t personally give back the selkie pelt”. 

“You knew and didn’t think to say anything?!”

“Why would I?” Midoriya returns, equally irritated. You press your face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the vibrations of his voice as they argue. “It’s common folklore!”

“You know I don’t listen to fucking fairytales, Izuku”. 

Midoriya reaches back to brush your wrist and offer a comforting touch. You knock your knuckles to his own, grateful for his consideration but unneeding of it. While Bakugo’s furious refusal hurts, and his volume is harsh on the ears, you aren’t truly scared of him. More than anything your body remembers those warm palms— how he had held your hand, even as a stranger, and how he meticulously groomed your hide only knowing that it was of importance to you. 

“There’s nothing I can do to fix this,” lowering his tone into something more apologetic, Midoriya’s shoulders slump in defeat. You step to the side, coming into view. Head bowed, weight shifting between each foot. You refuse to be subservient any longer but cannot ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach. 

Bakugo sees you. Something flickers in his features; a brief glance, a rough exhale, it flies across his face like the shadow of an albatross and disappears, equally fleeting. Never taking his vermilion eyes off you he argued, “What about cheeks?” 

The golden hour spreads her hands all over the room, air cooling when his spitting frustration dwindles to uncertainty. 

“Uraraka?” Midoriya mused aloud. His softer countenance tempers your anxiety. “It’s possible she could do something… Let me go see if I have her recent coordinates written somewhere…”

Midoriya scurries back down the hallway, leaving you defenseless. Without thinking you ask the group, “Uh. Who’s Uraraka?” 

Everyone’s attention falls to you and you resist the reflexive urge to cower. “She’s a witch,” Kaminari supplies happily, arms wrapped around Sero’s neck like a scarf. “An old friend of ours, but she’s pretty hard to find now. I heard her place is always moving”. 

A building that could move with magic. The human world never ceased to be fascinating. 

Mina nudges her elbow into his side and a shock of electricity sparks from his crown. “That’s outdated, dummy! You’re supposed to say occultist”. 

Kaminari whines, rubbing at his ribs. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” he enunciated, pouting. “Same thing”. 

Bakugo growls, ignoring their exchange in favour of pacing the room. Your pelt is a comforting weight as you follow the back and forth motions, taking the chance to really look at him. The fur lined cloak across his shoulders billows obnoxiously as he turns, jewels and talons strung around his neck knocking against his clavicle. Doused in sunlight, the markings painted across his bare chest are highlighted, and you notice the uneven skin beneath them— more scars. 

He combs his fingers aggressively through his hair and his arm bulges beneath the armour strapped to his bicep. Kirishima tires of watching and cuts into his path, hands open in surrender. 

“Stressing won’t do you any good, man,” the shifter reasoned. “We’ve all got your back. I’m sure Uraraka will know what to do”. 

Bakugo huffs. You think there should be steam coming out of his nose. “I know, shithead. I just,” he takes a quick look at where you are awkwardly standing. “I don’t like this”. 

There’s an abrupt yelp in the distance. Midoriya’s cry is followed by a crash, the sound of books tumbling from shelves onto the wooden floor. He stumbles out into the hallway slightly dishevelled, patting off the dust on his waistcoat and proffering a sheet of paper. Tucked under his arm is a rolled up map. 

“Kacchan,” comes his breathless chime. “Here’s where she was last. But I remembered that she was planning on taking a short trip to the valleys near the coast to find more idiran leaves since they’re in season now. I mapped out all the areas where they usually grow, in case you—”

Bakugo snatches the coordinates and the map without ceremony. “Thanks,” he grunts, turning on his heel and making for the exit. “Come on, losers. We only got a few hours until it’s too dark to fly”. 

The group works in perfect synchrony. Sero reaches under one of the nearby chairs and drags out a large bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. Mina does the same, pulling back the draping tapestry by the doorway and taking back a concealed sack. You watch as they walk leisurely behind Bakugo, in no real rush despite his demands, Kaminari lamenting how little they trusted him with their cargo. 

Kirishima lingers behind, clapping Midoriya soundly on the back. “Thanks for everything as usual, man. We appreciate it,” he emphasised his gratitude with a strong squeeze. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” you’re impressed by Midoriya’s reaction; a smile from ear to ear, sturdy and unaffected by Kirishima’s obvious force, his smaller frame belying his strength. “Just promise not to shift too close to the building. I don’t have time to re-thatch my roof”. 

“I promise!” Kirishima traces a cross over his heart with his fingers. Their focus turns to you. You tense, feeling entirely out of place. “Sure you’re feeling alright? Have you ever flown before?”

“No,” you admit, needlessly smoothing the fabric of your kirtle down. “I’ve probably never been this far inland, nevermind flying”. 

Midoriya’s eyes widened, though not unkindly. They’re sparkling, as if he were excited on your behalf. “Then you’re in for a real treat,” he beams, the intensity dimming within the next breath, sadness hemming his smile. “Just know you’re in good hands. Kacchan is a little abrasive but he means well”. 

“And I swear I’ll fly carefully,” Kirishima interjects. It’s funny, a man so large exuding such gentility. “I’m a dragon shifter, if you hadn’t already guessed”. 

You had sensed it immediately. Shifter energies were palpable and animated things. They hung in the air like a humid fog. Despite your similarities you are still so uniquely different. While you were tied to the pelt in your arms, Kirishima had no such restriction. You envied his freedom. 

“You caught me…?” you say. He nods at your words. “Thank you, then. Again”. 

“That was all Bakubro. He saw you before anyone else did,” as though on cue, Bakugo’s voice penetrated impatiently through the walls, demanding that you both get outside. Kirishima’s lips uptick affectionately. 

“If I don’t get to see you again, well…” Midoriya begins to corral the pair of you to the door as he speaks. “I hope you make it home. And I’m really happy I could meet you”. 

Surrounding Midoriya’s residence is a dense forest. The trees are tall, older than any you’ve seen, their branches reaching out and intertwining with one another to conceal your group under a canopy shrouded in gold. Further ahead it thins out onto a winding road. Built on a steep hill it dips in the distance, opening up to the many plots of land below. 

The earth is soft under your boots. There are wildflowers at your feet. You try to step around each one carefully while Kirishima advances forward to the group with vigour. 

Bakugo is saying something but you barely hear it, lost in your thoughts, besotted by the vast canvas around you; a sense of harmony as the pigments blend together. It is like a dream in which you can’t tell one side of the veil from the other, and nothing like the dreary castle you were once stowed away in. 

Your moment in lucidity is soon interrupted. You instinctively pull the pelt closer to your chest before realising who had approached. “You listening or what?” Bakugo calls quietly, an attempt at being reposeful. Amidst your daydreaming Kirishima has disappeared into the overgrowth and the others are watching your interaction with poorly veiled interest. 

“Uh, sure,” you blurt uselessly. He raises a brow and you feel ridiculous. 

“Kirishima said it’s your first time,” he pauses and you nod in affirmation. A hand comes to rest on your back, breath caught in your throat, pressure pulling you close to his side. “Then you’ll sit up front with me”. 

Your head bobs again, unrolling the pelt and knotting it tight to your waist, skin prickling under his close scrutiny. Bakugo brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, “Red!”

‘Red’ answered the call with a low room and a rustle of wings. The dragon’s head lifts, towering above the treeline, his body following as he steps out into the open. Amber eyes gleamed in the early evening light as he bobbed his head on a serpentine neck. His deep red scales shimmered with a faint golden sheen as he flashed his teeth in greeting. 

You err on the side of reticence while Mina and Kaminari sprint toward the dragon whooping excitedly. Various lines of thick rope trails behind them and Sero picks up the slack, looping it thrice through their bags. He spins the cut end, undulating as the momentum builds, and throws it over Kirishima’s back to be caught by Kaminari and pulled taut. 

“C’mon,” Bakugo leads you forward. He is surprisingly patient with you now. You’ve faced young whales and sharks yet still you feel dwarfed by the sheer size of the dragon, heart all pitter patter behind your ribs. It is the prey animal in you. 

Kirishima snorts, lowering to the ground. The earth trembles, a gust of wind dancing through the grass. Another rope is flung around his neck, threaded through the horns protruding from his skull like a set of reins, dropping in front of you. 

The hand by your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm securing around your waist. “On three I want you to climb,” he commands, giving you no time to think. “One… two…”

Bakugo takes the weight like it’s nothing, lifting you higher so you can grab the rope. Molten heat. You pull yourself up, scrambling to straddle Kirishima’s upper back. The others are further down his spine, playing around at the base of his tail without a care in the world, as though they were not about to be thousands of feet in the air. Kirishima’s lungs expand for breath and you cling to a spike protruding from the dragon’s nape, grip flexing at the warmth that settles behind you. 

Bakugo frames your body with his thighs, thick by the skirt bunching above your knees, and pulls the rest of the rope up to wrap it around your pelt. In an instant you are all too conscious of him as a man, the proximity plucking at your centre of gravity, a cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. “Sorry,” he mutters unprompted, so quiet you aren’t sure you were meant to hear it. You get the impression he doesn’t say it often. “For dragging you into more shit”. 

You mull the words over as you relax into his hold. With that one sentence you think you understand him a little more than before.

Sero’s voice travels through the silence, “Good to go!”

Fastening his arm across your middle, solid and steady, Bakugo brings his boot hard down onto Kirishima’s shoulder. “Get moving, Red!” he roars. 

The dragon’s movements are heavy, slow. Aligned with the winding road, he builds up speed. As though he’d shaken off his own mass Kirishima is suddenly quick on his feet and breaking into a run; forced back in the momentum your stomach swoops, upheld by inertia as your body follows the broad bounding movements. 

Leathery wings snap open into the clearing. Your hands clutch at Bakugo’s forearm and he digs his fingers in harder, his lips warm against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, but all you can hear is the thundering wind and the blood rushing in your ears. You watch the steep edge approach and take a reflexive breath as it abruptly disappears. 

Air pours into your lungs and then out again in a ragged, exhilarated gasp. The ground falls—and then you are gliding.  

The cool air whips against your cheeks. Smooth and steady as a horse’s canter, Kirishima soars through the open skies, his magnificent wingspan bearing the weight of five riders. Below, the fields coalesce into one land. Towns and villages become an inscrutable speck. Incredulous laughter bursts from your throat, nerves evolving into excitement in the climb towards the clouds. 

Bakugo mellows by the second, tension ironed down by gravity. There’s a particular satisfaction to his expression, contentment you’ve only ever experienced in the ocean’s depths, and yet, as he squeezes around you intermittently to remind you he is there, you can feel it too. 

“You with me?” he shouts. “Not scared?”

You lock eyes and try to show him a tremulous smile, answering at the top of your lungs, “I’m good”. 

Then he bares his teeth, grinning proudly. Over you comes the sense of being praised. Your smile widens.

Time moves differently in the skies. Closer to the sun, you thought perhaps things naturally moved slower. Change is always less apparent when you are walking alongside it. Instead, you measure the hour by the shadows cast chasing Kirishima’s tail, and eventually the skies darken. 

Lowering his head, tilting a wing to swing out in a broad arc, Kirishima angles toward the earth. Bakugo raises up a battle worn hand, the lineaments of his face irradiated by streams of dim light threading through his fingers. He makes a specific gesture, signalling to the others of the incoming descent. Like the sun, you can’t look away from his raw brilliance. 

Kirishima lands at the base of a mountain valley. It sends a gust of wind across the clearing. Through the dark you make out a familiar reflection of light in the distance. The lake is hardly an ocean, but you’re extremely comforted to be by a body of water. 

Chest pressed flat to your back Bakugo’s natural heat spreads through your shirt. Helped down much in the same way you were boosted up, he seems determined to keep you near. You can’t say you mind it— a quiet attraction comes and goes as he steadies you on your feet. He clicks his tongue, muttering clipped insults that he doesn’t mean. 

It’s decided you’ll remain there for the night. “You can bet your ass we’re having an early start,” Bakugo says, pointing at each of you with stubborn intent, squinted glare lingering on the less than enthusiastic members. Kaminari slumps forward dramatically and you worry his knees might buckle. 

Kirishima leaves again, briefly, to circle the area in his full form while Bakugo starts on the pit. It’s lit by a whisper of fire from the returning dragon’s mouth, setting the tinder ablaze over the nest of branches; the dry, withered pine slowly releases years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground, keeping the camp brightly lit. 

Smoke swirls above and dissipates into the atmosphere. You are far enough from any large human settlement that you see the night sky in all its clarity. Around you now are the soft voices of acquaintances filtered between conversations; none you could hear properly, but the sounds were still soothing, coming in hushed tones that add to the intimate atmosphere. 

Flames dance on their cheeks, illuminating the prominent parts of their faces. You’re sitting beside the water’s edge with your pelt strewn across your lap, close enough to feel the warmth as it crackles and spits, watching the way they love each other. 

Kaminari has fished out a big bottle from his bag, dramatically popping the cork, and is steadily passing it around. Alcohol, you guessed. Sero took a heavy swig without flinching. Mina had tried to do the same and now has her head pillowed by Kirishima’s thigh, thick and sturdy as a human, and his fingers stroked through the curly by her temple aimlessly as he lost himself in discussion. Sensing your gaze, she meets your eyes and smiles dazedly, lids fluttering. 

You look away, take a breath and notice the air tastes like sake and smoke. Darkness covers the lake. Under the waxing moon your face stares back at you, swimming among minnows and echoes of stars. It ripples where you dip your fingertips, mind empty, anaesthetised by the chill.  

“You idiots never pace yourselves,” Bakugo’s voice rumbled over the flames and rolled over your skin. He is sitting closest to you, legs loosely crossed in the dirt . “If you throw up on Red tomorrow I’m not cleaning it up”. 

Kaminari shakes the bottle in his direction. The bubbles fizz upward, some spilling out. “Such a stick in the mud, Kacchan. We gotta celebrate your marriage somehow!” 

Sero cackles as the other two chime in agreement.  You stroke your pelt, restless at the mention of your union, and it soaks up the water from your fingers. Surprisingly, Bakugo lets it slide, though not before scooping the loose earth into his hand and throwing it at an oncoming Kaminari. 

Eyes of amber briefly flicker over your form in his approach. Kaminari drops into the empty space beside you and pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a wet sheen, and tilts it forward. “You too,” he grinned. “Congrats. Our boy is quite the catch, y’know”. 

“So I can see,” you smile, letting the gloom be pulled right out of you, your fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck. They grazing his own and spark static. Neither of you comment on it, his squinted stare fixed curiously on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips. 

The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh. 

“Too strong?” Sero teases lightheartedly from across the campfire. 

Your expression twists, “It’s good. But it burns. Is that normal?”

“That’s why it’s good,” Kaminari snickers. You clear your throat, handing the bottle back, attention drawn back to the lake in a beat of comfortable silence. “Oh, hey. I did want to say— you can swim if you need to, y’know”. 

“Hm?”

“Kiri has all sorts of weird urges if he doesn’t shift for a while. Gets all restless and snappy,” Kaminari gives a knowing look to the man in question. Kirishima nods at you, his features taut with sincerity. “So if you want to swim for a while or something we totally get it”. 

You’re flustered by their earnestness, gripping at your pelt, all too aware of it. Slipping into your other form feels far too personal; well meaning as they are, they’re still strangers to you. “That’s— I’m alright,” you politely decline, “my needs as a seal aren’t really felt while I’m like this”. 

A surprised noise resonates from Kirishima, Mina unmoving from her place in his lap but watching with rapt curiosity. “You’re practically human right now, then?” he asks. 

“Practically,” you give a self conscious shrug. Somehow admitting it felt like stripping yourself. Confessing to a weakness. Unsettled, you deflect the subject back. “Do you keep your dragon traits as a human?”

“Nah, not while I’m in this form. I don’t even have my hydrogen glands— look,” Kirishima hooks his fingers into his cheeks to spread them wider. You lean in for a closer look. The glow from the campfire illuminates the back of his throat— barely, and ironically. His tongue wiggles as he tries to lay it flat. You’re not sure what he’s trying to show you. You’ve  never seen a dragon’s maw before, but aside from the shark-like teeth his mouth really does seem the same as any other man’s. 

“Pretty boring, right?” his words come garbled around his fingers and so he pulls them out, wiping the spit on his pants. “But even though I can’t breathe fire right now, I can do this!”

You stare in surprise as the skin along his forearm hardens into tough scales. He holds it out to you in permission to touch; they feel jagged under your fingertips, tough like the bark of an ancient tree. “That’s amazing. You have your own shield,” you breathe, awed. 

“Damn right,” Bakugo interjects. There’s that unfettered pride again. Kirishima’s cheeks redden and you sympathise with him. In your short time with them you knew receiving praise from Bakugo felt like standing under the sun. “Should‘ve seen him as a kid,” he continues, eyes alight and mirthful. “Had scales like wet paper. Even cried when he first shifted”. 

“D’you have to bring that up,” Kirishima groans, though not upset by it. He shares in the amusement, uplifted by the sound of his friends' laughter, and pouts playfully in your direction. “It was scary!” 

Mina giggles. Her movements are sluggish and dopey as she waves her arm in Kaminari’s direction, who then stretches around the pit to Sero, who then passes it off to her. She takes a quick sip, free hand pinching Kirishima’s cheek. “Wasn't your first time an accident, too? That’s so cute”. 

“He sneezed actually,” Sero supplies, smirk crooked, foot tapping Kirishima’s ankle in a preemptive apology. “Destroyed half his house”. 

Kaminari slaps his knee, “Man, you were stumbling around like a newborn foal. It was hilarious”. 

Bakugo grinned as the others bickered, a fond, radiant thing that lit up his whole face. He’s softer like this, drenched in warmth. Cloak tucked behind his shoulders you are given the view of his broad chest. And when he finally looks at you, his half lidded gaze has been softened by his third swig; though he remained considerably sober compared to his companions. 

“What’re you starin’ at?” he mutters.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, then, quieter, “It’s just nice that you’ve all been together for so long”. 

“Since we were snot-nosed brats. We hail from the same clan. Deku too,” he replies, elbow propped on his knee, chin cupped in his palm. “Getting sick of seeing their faces at every turn”. 

“Liar,” you hum amusedly. “What do humans call it…? Emotionally constipated”. 

His eyes slide over you, brow quirked. With his friends distracted he is more emboldened giving you attention. “Got some liquor down your neck and suddenly you’re givin’ me cheek?” 

“Guess so,” you feel yourself endeared by your not-husband. The pleasant honeyed sensation shrouding your body must’ve loosened your tongue. “Anyone can see they’re like family to you”. 

The barbarian kisses his teeth and shifts himself toward you, an ugly look on his face. You catch his peek at your pelt. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Bakugo grunts. “Yeah. You got family?” 

If not for the alcohol that question might’ve sucked all the joy from the air. You settle on a sad smile, dragging your fingertip through the dirt to draw a vague seal shape. “That’s hard to answer,” you intoned gently, barely audible over the crackling fire. “My memories of them are vague. The longer I stay human the more I forget”. He frowns, but you continue, unperturbed, “Usually it would be the same thing in reverse, if we weren’t bonded I would likely forget all of this”. 

“And you’re okay with that?” he says, some edge to his tone. “You’re okay with being stuck here?” 

The ‘with me’ goes unspoken but you hear it, and you fall silent. Because you have no answer. You’d had months to reconcile a pallid future— at one point you thought you would never again see the ocean, least of all your family. It was probable that they’d already moved on without you. 

“I don’t feel stuck,” you admit. His actions and his words, albeit harsh, proved that to be true. Aside from the obvious differences from your previous capture, the biggest is that you are equally in possession of Bakugo’s individual liberty— you’re married, you mentally amend, not in possession. While it is true you wouldn’t be able to stray far from him with the bond established, you held your pelt, independence, control. 

A near imperceptible tension seeps from him at your answer. “What about you?”

He scoffs, stretching out his legs. The soles of his boots drag in the dirt. “Do I look fuckin’ stuck?” 

“No,” you murmur with amusement, turning to gaze at the flickering pyre. “A man that can fly hundreds of miles on dragonback in a single day certainly isn’t stuck”. 

“Now you’re getting it”.

The other conversation has worn into soft murmurings. Kirishima drunkenly hands off the last of the alcohol to Bakugo, gesturing to the three who’ve surrounded him and fallen asleep. As the dragon shifter repositions himself to join them, curled together like a pack of seal pups, Bakugo takes a sip. 

There’s probably only a mouthful left and you accept it when he offers. “You should sleep, too”. 

You heed his instruction and lie down on your side, your pelt pillowed under your head. The smell of home swaddles you. “Early rise, right?” he nods, leaning back onto his arms. “How long do you think it’ll take to find the—uh, occultist?” 

“A week if she’s where she’s supposed to be,” he scowls. You’re not sure what draws the heat to your face; the drink or his voice, now gravelly with fatigue. “Three at most”. 

“Okay,” you exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Bakugo”. 

A soft breeze dances through the brush. Your skin pebbles, shivers slipping down your spine. Something heavy drapes over you and encases you in a warm cocoon. Fluff tickles at your nose. Your fingers curl into the familiar red fabric of Bakugo’s cloak. He has pointedly angled away from you, ready to ignore any attempt at interrogation. The gruff act of kindness makes your heartbeat faster. Fondness settles in your chest, so big that it aches. His natural scent mixes with yours and it’s like being laid on the shoreline, stitching sea and land together. 

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me yet,” the muscles in his back ripple as he tends to the dwindling fire, declaring with conviction, “Just follow me. I’ll fix this and get you home”. 

You lick your lips, mouth dry from the alcohol. In that very moment you want to tell him that the ocean and the sky are like a two way mirror; that when you were up there with him, strangely, your body thought it was at home. 

Instead, you close your eyes and watch the embers paint yellow and orange kaleidoscopes behind your eyelids. 

Instead, you sleep. 

The weeks that follow are arduous. Uraraka is nowhere to be found, and your group resorted to searching the areas of iridian growth Midoriya circled. 

You weren’t used to hiking up mountainous lands, navigating forests or scaling dragons, not in the beginning. Rising with the sun, enduring unpredictable changes in weather, wincing through the ache that grew in your weaker human muscles, Bakugo found your crankiness amusing and irritating all at once; never missing an opportunity to comment on your lack of stamina, then using it as an excuse to assist where assistance is not truly needed. 

But you saw through him, and let him. You did not need help climbing, yet your hands weaved together so he could pull you up. You’re soon practiced in saddling Kirishima, yet you always wait for Bakugo to put his arm around your lower back every ride. Your inner voice sings whenever he brings you food— begrudgingly, he throws it into your lap and grunts like the barbarian he is— or hangs his cloak over your head without a word as though you were a rack. It’s a little more charged every time you interact, and you found you liked being taken care of in those subtle ways that did not undermine your independence. 

The others noticed and teased accordingly. They call him a dutiful husband and his aggravated explosions saw you driven out of two small settlements for startling livestock. You become closer to each of them. Their patchwork family makes room for you quicker than you know what to do with. And you enjoy it; learning about the people around you, peeling back the rind of their lives piece by piece with mundane questions, seeing what they’re made up of.

You learn Kaminari enjoys literature, dramatically reciting love tales in the night, referencing poems you’ve never heard. He’s charming but never with actual intention. It is somehow more endearing that he doesn’t know his own allure, finding comfort in the role of a jester. Mina is pure joy wrapped in flesh. Apologetically overbearing and well meaning. Like an older sister she showed you how to securely fashion your pelt—over one shoulder, a belt fastened around the waist, keeping it in place— and let you use her combs. She speaks fast when she’s happy, hits hard when she laughs and gossips avidly, picking up new information wherever she goes. 

Kirishima looked at you with kindness and iron surety in his eyes from the start. Good natured and feeling— he has a heart so big that he apologises to a flower bed after he steps on it. There’s a natural fraternal air about him that sets you at ease and the group’s clear affection and appreciation for him diminished any worry about your own treatment as a shifter.

But of everyone else in the group you found Sero the most easygoing. Conversation came fluidly and your initial diffidence was thrown by how naturally you were able to fall into place with him. He lends an ear to any questions you have, practised in the art of human interaction; a man capable of adapting to any one person he comes into contact with. As such, he is the member sent to negotiate, collect information, and make arrangements. 

When you make it to the last destination on the map you are drenched in a time-steeped sunset. Sero trudges back through the brush, returning from the nearby port town. Landing at such a late hour Sero had been tasked with finding the local tavern to buy a few rooms for the night, and the lazy thumbs up he waves from a distance is proof he accomplished his goal.

“They don’t get too many travellers passing through here so I swiped up three rooms,” he huffs, coming to a stop and brushing the dirt off his pants. “They’ve got a bathhouse, too”. 

Bakugo makes a noise of approval, lifting a bag over his shoulder while Kirishima carries the rest under his arms and  flashes a toothy smile. “Glad it went smoothly, man”. 

“Thank the Gods,” Kaminari cheers, clapping his friend on the back. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to sleep on an actual bed again”. 

“Uh huh. Two twin rooms for us lowly minions,” Sero continues, his grin curling into something more sly. You get a sense of foreboding. “And of course, a double room for the newlyweds”. 

Mina whistles, slipping her hand into yours and tugging. You freeze, heart in your throat, and force yourself to relax, not yet used to how tactile they can be. She’s too invested in Bakugo’s response to notice. Your eyes flicker over to find him red faced and incensed, knuckles white with the pressure he has around the drawstrings of his bag. 

Sharing a room with Bakugo. Alone. Thus far you’d all been together. Either under the stars or in caves, or packed into cramped quarters stuffed with wattle and daub if a villager felt kind enough. 

“You've got exactly five seconds to explain why you thought that was a good idea”.

Sero quickly put his palms up in surrender. “You gave me a budget, Bakugo. They offered to lower the price as a wedding gift. I figured it would be okay for one night”. 

Bakugo jerks his head in your direction, his steely glare unmoving. The tips of his ears are pink, too, frustration unfolding across his skin. “You don’t get to decide that,” he chided, tone harsh like a hiss. 

Suddenly, Sero looks rather ashamed of himself. “Shit, I’m sorry. Should’ve asked,” he says to you, rubbing at his neck as his head lowers. It’s unlike him to be so wilted— and all because of your potential discomfort. 

You meet Bakugo’s eyes, gleaming intensely, already trying to scrutinise your reaction. Mina hums quietly. She tightens grip on your hand again in reassurance, the other running along your bicep. “If you want I can swap with you”. 

Bakugo snorts at that, as if the idea was ridiculous, but he doesn’t shoot it down despite his clear aversion to sharing with Mina. You understood his disbelief. They behaved much like siblings, squabbling and poking at one another. It’d rouse suspicion and you didn’t fancy being chased out of town for swindling the keepers for a discount. 

“Thank you guys. But it’s alright,” you reassured, mouth lifting into a small smile and reciprocating Mina‘s gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind sleeping with Bakugo”. 

A few beats of silence. You see Bakugo’s expression slip, jaw loose and eyes wide for a brief moment before it twists. He turns away from the group as a chorus of suggestive crowing erupts. 

Understanding your mistake almost immediately hot mortification comes over you, stifling beneath the pelt on your shoulder. “Shut up, you useless fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugo snaps, flustered and wild, swatting at the nearest victim. Kirishima feigns a wounded noise. 

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”

“Just get moving,” the barbarian marches onward, tearing his way through the overgrowth and heading for the tavern. “And walk behind me!”

His choleric mutters continue, heard even at a distance. Tucking your chin to your chest, you hide your laughter in your silken pelt as you follow after him, mouth filling with a comforting briney scent. You think Bakugo undeniably cute when he’s embarrassed; a sight you’ve had the pleasure of seeing more than once on account of his pod. That feeling from the campfire returns, fills your chest, pulsing through to your fingertips, tempting you to reach out, to touch him. 

More and more you’re inundated with the need to be close. You quell the urge and tighten your grip on Mina, her cheek squished to your shoulder, loose curls the colour of blossom tickling your throat. “Don’t worry. He’s not really mad,” she tells you furtively, as if it were a big secret. 

“I know,” gaze lingering on Bakugo’s back, covered by that thick red cloak, you wonder if your scent still clings to it. Contentedly, “I’m getting used to it”. 

The town is beautiful. Bursting with flora and fauna, accentuated by the dusk, ocean curling around the village in a way that reminds you of mother. Nature's cradle. You cling protectively to your pelt, scenting the salt in the air and hovering closer to Bakugo. If anybody could identify a selkie skin it would be fishermen. Stray drunken locals stumble by, arm in arm with boisterous cheer. You’re greeted like a long lost friend, neither person recognising your true identity. Humans really can be hearty and genuine at their core. Life before had been so desolate in comparison, so lacking in love and colour. 

“Oi,” Bakugo beckons you to his side. When you don’t fall in line he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. His natural body heat lingers like a brand. “Make sure you call me Katsuki from now on,” he instructs under his breath. 

You blink at the unexpected request. The muscles in his face are tight, twitching, and his nose flares the longer you stare. Given names are important to humans in this region. Sharing them is an intimate thing, a sign of your close relationship. “Are you sure?” 

“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure,” he punishes your questioning with the fleeting tightening of his grip. You can’t help it. He’s pink again and you like it. “I’m your husband, yeah? So call me by my fuckin’ name”. 

The keeper waits surreptitiously by a sheltered stairwell leading to the inn above her tavern. A small Elven woman, uncloaked, the lantern overhead creating a halo of light to circle her ginger crown. She perks up when Sero hands over a small velvet sack, the drawstrings pulled tight. “For the rooms,” he emphasises, coins chiming dully against one another as he shakes it. The woman takes it and cradles the payment to her breast, exchanging the gold for three keys. 

You’re guided up the stairwell and into the building, presented with a narrow corridor. There are numerous doors, decorative runes carved into the frames, a coloured piece of string hung from each handle corresponding to the colour of the keys.  “It’s good to see some youngins pass through. We only ever get the same old geezers around here,” she says, “Makes for a mundane life”. 

The crows' feet wrinkle by her eyes when she smiles, laughter lines framing her mouth. She hands out the keys to your pod who all rush in childish excitement to see their rooms. At last she turns to where you stand stiffly beside Katsuki. 

You’re handed a key. The stem is long and thin and made with copper, the key wards in the bit uniquely shaped to your door. Threaded through the bow is a lavender string. “It isn’t much but I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” with a wink, she adds, “Congratulations to you both”. 

“Thank you. We will be in your care,” your reply is tremulous, undecided whether to be pleased with the sincere acknowledgement of your marriage or nervous to be seen through. At your side, the large barbarian grunts. 

It is uncharacteristic of him; always very respectful of his elders. You lean against him, just a nudge. His attention snaps to you and you smile innocently. “Be polite, Katsuki”. 

Like it was meant to be spoken only by you, Katsuki’s name sits right in your mouth, lips shaping around the characters softened by warm intonation. The reaction is instantaneous. His jaw ticks. His faint blush returns. His stoic expression wanes as he looks to the keeper, who is observing the interaction with mirthful eyes. Lowering his head he mutters, “We appreciate your hospitality, ma’am”. 

“You’re quite darlin’ together, aren’t you,” she comments heartily, mostly to herself, as if airing her thoughts. “We got good food and drinks downstairs, do come if you’re hungry! Blessings be upon you”. 

On her departure you enter the room. Spangles of light dusted the air. While it clearly isn’t lived in, it is homely. You canvas the space. Two square-headed windows facing the street are covered by thin cloth. There is an old, tattered tapestry strung across the wall to cover up a fist sized hole, a patterned glass vase and various other unique tchotchke adorning the shelves. You drag your fingers across the brick fireplace opposite a wide double bed, mattress made of wool but compensated by the many feather pillows and blankets. 

“This is good,” you say, “homely”. Though there is an animal hide on the floor, which you find rather… untoward. A soothing musky smell with overtones of caramel and vanilla rising through the cracks in the floorboards from the tavern below. You breathe it in deeply. 

“It’ll do,” Katsuki voices his agreement and drops his bag with a conclusive thud. “Let me hide our stuff and we can meet with the others for food downstairs. You haven’t eaten in hours”. 

The small consideration makes your heart flutter. “Ah. I’ll be there soon,” you tell him. He squints at you, attempting to mentally pry the answers out of you. “I’m okay, Katsuki. I just need a minute”. 

Pausing in the centre of the room, Katsuki scrutinises you. You fidget under his intense appraisal, undecided whether it pleases you or not. It is strange to want something that often leaves you feeling excruciatingly… exposed. 

You wait apprehensively and wonder if he’ll comment on your use of his name— needless, this time. After all there are no ears or eyes in these walls. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he asks you to stop. 

“Are you sure?” you nod, mouth strained in a thin smile. Bakugo frowns but ultimately gives you your space. “Make sure you catch up. If you’re not down in ten minutes I’m coming back”. 

“I will,” you land heavily on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the sheets as you unclip your pelt. The collar of your ill-fitted shirt slips forward with the motion to reveal cleavage, and Bakugo immediately averts his gaze. 

“Whatever,” he rasps, unexpectedly shy. The door slams as he leaves. You right the collar, tugging it back up, lips pressed thin to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. Aimless and left to your own devices you take a solitary moment to groom the pelt in your lap, marbled and downy-soft. Brushing through the coat, fingertips trace the rings of black and brown.

Things are so different. Being a person is more overwhelming than you imagined. Being locked away had kept you in a state of inertia, suffocating in numb misery, but now you were left to grapple with the immense spectrum of human emotion. Urges and wants that you had never experienced before meeting Katsuki. 

You swallow, staring at the spaces between your fingers. Spaces filled with short tan fur. Selkie marriages were simultaneously complicated and simple. Rather, they were so simple that they bore unnecessary complications. 

A stolen pelt creates a one sided bond but upon return it is consummated. Between two selkies in courting pelts were exchanged, solidifying their promise to one another, deeply unified by their magic. Elder podmates said that it meant they belonged to only one another. Abandoning the tides, in a way. 

Since being a pup the voice of the sea was a ceaseless whisper you were always aware of. Yet since Katsuki held your seal skin, unknowingly cradled your very being and returned it to you with only sincere intention, that voice had gradually been ebbing away. 

Would there come a day that you no longer recalled your identity as a selkie—? No. You quickly smother the thought. The immaterial, chimerical magic that made up your very being could never be forgotten. And deep down, you knew Katsuki would not let you. Indeed, you can only picture his surly retaliation if you ever woke up and could not recall your lineage. 

With that you get to your feet. Ten minutes would soon pass and his probable wrath was enough motivation. You consider the pelt in your grasp and give a surreptitious glance around the room for somewhere to hide it. Taking it into a tavern full of drunken strangers and mariners seemed like a much worse idea. 

After rolling it up tight you stuff it behind the pillows at the head of the bed, further pulling over the coverlets. The hallway is quiet when you step out. You lock the door, tensing at the loud click. You can hear muffled laughter rising through the floors. 

It grows in volume when you step out into the evening air. Slurred conversation and bickering pour through the tavern windows. At front is a large, arched door, overshadowed by a dark blue awning. The wood panels are weatherworn and rustic, covered in rivets. You reach for the brass handle. It’s heavy in your palm as you turn it, using your full strength to push forward. 

First, you are met with a crescendo of boisterous cheers. Stepping inside, your eyes are drawn to the green dyed sailcloths hung from the rafters above the bar. The establishment is modestly sized, enough that there is a longtable set up in the centre of the room and a fair few smaller roundtables dotted with stools. 

Across the far end of the tavern is a line of small booths, separated by wooden screens decorated with mosaic carvings. Oil lamps are hooked on the walls, casting a warm sepia hue that seems to cohesively bring everything together. It felt welcoming, and intimate, like approaching a friend by the fire. 

You try to seek out a familiar head of blonde hair. The place is busy but nobody bats an eyelid at your entrance, lively enough that you cannot hear clearly above the overlapping voices around you, intermingling with the low playing of music. 

“Lost, stranger?”

You startle. 

She finds you easily, like she’d been waiting. Mina curls an arm around your back, pressure light as if she was suddenly worried about being too familiar. It tightens when you lean into her and she smiles with more vigour. 

“C’mon. Let’s get you something to eat”. 

The distance between you and them is barely that of a crevice, but it is daunting, yawning like a trench. Over in the far left booth, both secluded and closest to the bar, is a group of friends. Directly beneath a lantern strung onto a hook, Katsuki is bathed in orange and nursing a drink. The others are tucked away in the booth, cups and plates lining the table top. Their laughter slows as you approach and you battle the urge to recoil from everyone’s eye. Mina, sensing the discomfort, begins to rub her hand along your back. 

“All of you scoot up,” she asserted, wiggling her pointer finger. “Make some space for us!”

They move around on the long, curved seat to make space. You end up on Katsuki’s right, sandwiched in by Sero who smiles, though awkward, earlier remorse persisting as you take your place beside him. “What’s the verdict, are you happy with your room? Best I got from Bakugo is a grunt”. 

“Yeah, I like it. You did good picking this place. It’s cosy,” you glance over toward Katsuki. “Beats a cave. The fireplace is nice. I wonder if it works…”

Mina tucks into Kirishima’s side where he sits across from you. Most of the plates are piled up in front of him, food aplenty to sate his dragon-sized appetite. His chin dimples as his bottom lip juts forward, “You guys get a fireplace? That’s so unfair”. 

“C’mon, Kiri. The fireplace is there for…”—Kaminari leans in, suggestively lowering his voice and nudging Katsuki’s left arm—“…ambiance”. 

You feel a gentle nudge. Katsuki, ignoring his friend's harmless influx of innuendos, slides a glass across the table toward you. “What is it?” you ask, bringing it to your lips. The liquid is dark, red like fresh blood, but it smells fruity. Before he can tell you, you’ve taken a sip. 

It is weighty on your tongue, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. Cherries and jam and oddly well paired notes of spicy tobacco. The corner of his mouth curls into a barely there smile, pleased at the immediate delighted sound. He brings forward a large opened bottle and presents it to you. 

“Barmaid gave us this to share,” Katsuki taps at the calligraphy on the label. “It’s wine. Expensive too, usually”. 

“Guess marriage does have benefits,” Sero gibed, raising a glass of amber liquid you assume to be beer. Expression open in sincere merriment, he declares, “To the happy couple!” 

Six glasses come together, toasting to your accidental bond, alcohol spilling over your hands. Katsuki’s cup is there too, his monotonous voice blending into their hurrahs. A hand slides from the back of the booth to rest upon your shoulders and you lean into it, heat prickling over your skull at the feel of his bare skin. Blood thinning, belly full, inhibitions lost to bliss. 

Mina brings her hands together in a succinct clap, weaving her fingers. “Another round!” she beams, and the enthusiasm stirs once more. 

The evening crawls on. Your modest group barely puts a dent into the chaotic din but it sure can eat. You’re made to swallow your fill under Katsuki’s direction—watching you closer than he did anyone else—and savour the dishes, heady and complimented by your flavoursome wine. 

Stories pass through loosened lips, new and old. You don’t mention it when Kaminari repeats himself twice over— nobody else does, either. You all sink into the balmy atmosphere, sharing food and conversation, relaxing entirely for what felt like the first time in months. 

Sero chokes on his drink as Kirishima recounts the story of when he and Katsuki first became friends. How the tiny blonde barbarian would sneak up on him through the bushes, throw rocks at his tender head, and challenge him to battle all in pursuit of friendship. 

Your shoulders shake, burrowing into Katsuki’s side to sap his warmth. Bare skin pebbles as your fingertips skim his ribs, poking near his armpit. “Would it kill you to communicate like a normal person?”

Trembling mouth pressed firmly together, Katsuki refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of making him laugh. You see through it plain as day. “Shut up,” he grumbles.  

“Didn’t even flinch when ma threatened to eat him if I came home with any more teeth missing,” Kirishima continued, sighing happily. “My bro is so manly”. 

Steadily the energy begins to dwindle into a pleasant hum. You’re together, drunk on wine and laughter and a sense of harmony. Being with them is startlingly effortless. It feels like family. 

In the recesses of your mind you think, I don’t want to let go. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says, sharper when nobody hears him. “Hey, shitheads”. You lift your head from where it had come to rest on his shoulder, cheek slightly numb. “Think I’m going to head up”.

You hear a chorus of sluggish objections with no real heat behind them. While he’s fighting off their interrogation you simply watch him, awkwardly angled and ignoring the twinge in your neck. The bead in his braid glints in the low light. 

Sensing your stare, Katsuki looks down at you, dappled by lamp light. The flames dance in his irises, gaze unbearably soft, as it had been that first night by the campfire. You hold your breath when he sets his thumb with his tongue and uses it to wipe a crumb from your cheek. The touch is like a spark to flint. A fleeting sort of hope stirs in your chest, like this is all you’d been waiting for, that the universe was finally making things right for you. 

Then he snatches his hand back, as though waking up to what he was doing. 

“I’m going to bed. You idiots better behave,” he groused, returning his focus to the group. You mourn his attention. “If we get kicked out early I’ll kill you”. 

“You love us too much,” Mina tucks her drunken smirk into the cradle of her palm, arm almost slipping with the weight. Cloudy eyes follow Katsuki as he forces his way out of the booth like a bull. “Admit it!” 

Bending at the waist he meets her stare head on and deadpans, “Die”. Mina merely laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead that he aggressively rubs away as he leaves. 

You stay a little longer but find your mood dampening. Katsuki’s absence makes known an ache usually quelled by the weight of your pelt, almost as though his presence had placated that innate yearning for home. The thought leaves you dizzy. 

“I think I’m going to go, too,” you announce out of the blue. 

Expressions fall, concerned. Kaminari tilts into your space. You barely even blink at the proximity now. “Everything alright? Y’dont feel sick or anything, do you?” 

“No, not at all—“ he frowns at you, unconvinced, “—I just feel like going for a soak before bed. Sero, you said there was a bathhouse?” 

Sero perks up at his name and nods loosely, head barely held by his neck. “Yeah! They’re around the back, apparently. Just walk beyond the stairwell,” he shoots you a thumbs up. “They’re mixed but only guests can use ‘em, so don’t worry about it being crowded”. 

That’s comforting to know. If luck was on your side it would be empty. You duck out of the tavern with a final wave and a promise to see them in the morning. Thankfully the boisterous chatter grows dull as you step into the night air, stopping to look up the stairwell. You hope Katsuki can sleep through it. 

Heeding Sero’s instructions you follow the beaten path around the back of the tavern. There you discover another building, smaller, but with a steeped tile roof and shuttered windows. Curious, you gently lift the green dyed curtain hung in the doorway and enter the earthen-floored threshold. 

You are led to what you guess is a small changing area. Cabinets left open, again each handle corresponding the key colours. You find a lavender ribbon and peer around the empty space, contemplating getting undressed. 

Gathering courage you pull the strings in your shirt slack, slipping your arms from the sleeves and pulling it over your head. Tepid air breathes over your skin as you push down your pants, stepping out of them where they pool at your feet. Your clothes are folded and left on the shelf, boots lined neatly by the doorway. 

Further in is an open space covered in tiles of smooth green. There are low stools and basins with natural running water, washcloths and soaps. While unpracticed you are at least somewhat familiar with bathhouse etiquette. Sitting hesitantly, hissing as your bare thighs meet the cool wood, you dip one of the cloths to soak and begin to scrub at your body. 

The knots in your muscles become undone with the repetitive motions, again and again until you’re lathered in bubbles. You breathe in, feeling the humidity cling to your lungs, and rinse away the soaps. 

Eventually you dub yourself clean enough to enter the baths. The seafoam tiles soon taper to stone that borders the baths. You take in the tall ceiling with beautiful carvings along the walls and high placed glass windows allowing the moon to shine in easily. The patterns are comfortingly familiar. Shells, waves, gulls, rock formations and arches. Though the bathhouse is much warmer, hot tendrils of steam rising from the bubbling water. 

Penumbral light glinted on the water's surface. It held a distinct earthy scent, rolling in from the nearby springs. Again, you are reminded of a tide pool, but deeper. Clear and clean and natural. What immediately seizes your attention is the familiar man sitting close by, a head of wet golden hair still somehow holding its shape, the loose strands that typically make up his braid now tucked behind his ear. 

Katsuki tips back to rest on the bath's edge. A thin white towel is laid across his face. Your gaze follows the slope of his shoulders, roving over his defined chest, skin pink with the heat. Rivulets run between his pecs to his sternum, lower body distorted below the water but patently bare, same as you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and quickly look away from his lap. 

Time spent with Katsuki taught you that he hated being treated delicately. Tip toeing around this was not an option. You would join him in the baths and behave as normal. But—

Humans were fickle about nakedness. Where should you sit? What is an appropriate distance? Straying too far could make him defensive, yet getting too close might—

“Are you going to stand there all night?” 

Startled, the soles of your feet almost slip on the smoothed stone. “You knew it was me?” 

Katsuki scoffs. The towel remains over his eyes, obstructing his view, that which you were grateful for. Your previous indifference had so abruptly burgeoned into apprehension. Just the thought that he might see you this glaringly bare and skinless, a body without boundaries, made your stomach swoop. It is a peculiar sensation; you wanted him to look and you didn’t. 

“Nobody else thinks that loud. Unless you’re Deku,” you can imagine his eyes rolling, the exasperation clear in his voice, though not unkind. The corded muscles in his shoulders shift beautifully as his arm stretches across the bath’s edge, wrist limp to allow his fingertips to breach the surface. He flicks the water in your direction, creating capillary waves. “Just— fuckin’ get in already”.  

“Right,” you laugh quietly under your breath, descending the steps into the baths. The heated water is soothing, climbing the length of your lengths, eventually coming to rest above your hips. 

You sink near to him and pointedly keep your eyes above his collar. Katsuki neither twitches nor acknowledges your approach. In fact, you aren’t sure he is even breathing. It occurs to you that he too could be nervous, tempted to look but refraining. The possibility of being wanted by him brings a sudden sharp sort of awareness that slides through you and heightens your senses. 

Outstretched fingertips brush featherlight between your shoulder blades where you lean back against the wall. You sit with your knees close to your breast, relieved to be covered. “I thought you were heading to bed,” you comment quietly. 

“Saw the path and followed it,” he replies, stiff shoulder jerking as he shrugs. “Wanted some quiet”. 

A deep pink flush is spreading across his collarbones, clawing up the column of his throat. Your rational mind knows it is caused by the steam, yet the greedy part of you, the part so distinctly human, wants to know if you affect him as much as he affects you. 

These feelings had gradually been accumulating since the very beginning. You’ve no idea where to put them. The voice in your hindbrain all but panics at the idea of leaving. You’ve spent a lifetime listening to your instincts and they’re telling you to keep your place at his side. 

You inhale until the pressure in your chest is smothered by your lungs and your heart beat slows. Exhale. The water shifts in sync with your subtle movement. Emboldened by the wine in your veins you slide closer. The soft hair on your legs prickles, everything in you gravitating toward him. Katsuki doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Always staring,” a flustered growl snaps you back to reality. “You got something to say to me?” 

“No,” you answer too quickly. 

“Good,” his upper body sinking lower. After a length of silence it must get to him. Voice pitched low, as though afraid to disturb the atmosphere, he mutters, “Ever had a bath this big, back at that shitty castle?” 

You snort. He turns at the sound and the surface ripples as you quickly smother it with your wet palm. It’s easy to picture the searing glare beneath the face towel. “Sorry. It’s just,” your mouth pulls into a tipsy grin. “All things considered, this place is pretty small to me”. 

“Dumbass. You know what I meant,” he huffs, not bothering to hide his fond exasperation. “The sea doesn’t count”. 

Humans are cute, you concluded. Trying to emulate the ocean in their warm wooden structures. “It counts,” you insist, moving closer still. You’re giddy in the water, with him. Like you’re sharing some special part of yourself in a strange way. “Have you been?”

A rough hum, “Where?” 

“The sea”. 

“Which one?” 

The steam must be making you light headed. You’re tucked to his side again. Thigh to thigh. Skin against skin. You are acutely aware of your shared nakedness. His arm has slipped over the bath's edge to drape around your shoulders. “The closest, obviously. Or any of them,” you knock your knees together. “It’s not like you to be purposefully obtuse”. 

“Big attitude for a little fish,” he mutters, free hand reaching for the towel, sliding it up to his hairline and revealing a crooked grin. Your heart squeezes. “Course I’ve been in the ocean. Flown over it on Red a few times too”. 

You want to do that, too. To bear witness to the wind driving the currents from above, feel the sea salt spray sharp on your cheeks, touch the unreachable seam where your two worlds become indistinguishable.

“Never bathed in it, though?” 

“No,” he drawled, an impatient edge to his tone. “I don’t plan on giving the finfolk an eyeful of my dick anytime soon”. 

You laugh, “Like you are now, you mean?”

Katsuki tears off the face towel before you’ve any time to process it. The water thrashes. You daren’t look away. His stare has a certain ferality, pupils dilated, fair lashes damp from the steam and clumped into little spikes; it pins you in place like prey. 

The blush across his chest is matched in his cheeks. A droplet slides down the delicate slope of his nose. You feel the surface of the water calm and settle just above your breast. You watch his gaze flicker reflexively to them, then to the ceiling, then clamping shut with a growl. Apprehension pulses through you and your thighs clench. 

“You—” he inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts. You track the movement of his tongue as it swipes across his lips. Thickly, Katsuki asks, “What are you trying to do here, exactly?” 

A sense of dejection comes over you and your immediate response is to feign innocence. “Soak with you,” which is no more than a half truth. You attempt to create some distance and his arm coils around your waist. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; a snake that constricts the more you struggle. He doesn’t allow you to slip away, hand hot at your hip. 

“Yeah?” but there’s no real bite, no vitriol as he drags you closer. “Soaking, s’that what you call this? Rubbing up against me, practically climbing into my lap?”

You might feel demeaned if not for the lust hemming his words. His grip is bruising, fingers kneading soft flesh. You can see this for what it is— a choice, a question. He’s confused, and wanting. Presenting an opportunity for you to change your mind in the face of his callousness. Katsuki is kind, in his own way. 

Your palms come to rest over his sternum, pushing with no real effort, an accomplice in whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play. His breathing picks up, abdomen clenching. You stare where bodies meet, low light reflecting off the wet sheen. Beneath your touch his heartbeat ricochets around his ribs. 

Katsuki calls you. Your name is barely above a whisper. Peering up through your lashes as his hand comes to cup your nape, the other massages simple shapes into your hip, his fingers splayed across your navel. You exhale shakily as his pinky fits into the crease of your thigh. 

He cradles your nape, guides you into his magnetism, and then you’re tilting— your world with it— into a careful kiss. Static blankets your thoughts. Katsuki’s lips slot over your own, a gentle press that quickly grows feverish as your tongue traces the seam of his mouth. 

Exhaling harshly through his nose he drags you over his lap, the bath water splashing onto the stone tiles, holding you to his front in a way that makes it difficult to discern where you end and he begins. You have all of him now. Half hard under you and tense like he was exerting effort not to do anything about it. Hands wandering, mapping out the topography of your body, clutching greedily at your thighs. Smoke fills your throat, a tang of explosive magic lingering in the grooves of your teeth. 

Minutes passed imperceptibly. You leave it feeling as though all the sinew in your body had unravelled, undone in his embrace like loose skeins of yarn. Katsuki doesn’t appear any more composed than you are; staring at you, slack with hunger, jaw relaxed the way a beast would do to taste the air. Palms cupping his cheeks, thumbs moving in idle back and forth motions under his eyes, you smile—

“Katsuki,” you murmur reverently. For reasons you can’t understand, it wakes him up. Snaps him out of his stupor. Panic flits over his features and you’re being pushed away, deposited back into the water. It rocks with the abrupt movement, waves breaking against your chest as he brusquely wades toward the steps with the small towel barely covering his modesty. 

Echoing louder now, “Katsuki?” 

And he was gone. 

You stare at the entrance to the baths for a long time, willing him to return. You stare until your eyes sting and you’re forced to blink. All that’s left is the soft sound of the running springs, your shallow breath, and the muffled chanting of a few drunken men. 

An emptiness makes home in your chest. Bereft, you follow in his steps, exiting the baths and heading to the changing room. You pat yourself down, rough towel absorbing the moisture, and pull on your clothes. 

A hopeful spark catches when a figure ducks in under the curtain. Snuffed out, then, when Mina greets you cheerily. She seems to have sobered up for the most part, more coherent than you’d last seen her. 

“You took a dip too?” she bounces on the balls of her feet as she undoes her shirt buttons, oblivious to your somber disposition. “I saw Bakugo come from this way too. Looked a little constipated if you ask me. I thought hot baths were supposed to relax you, not—”

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice stops as her brows pinch into a frown. You offer a brittle smile and endure the scrutiny. “Did something happen?” she asks worriedly. 

Your throat closes up. Your teeth sink into your cheek and lower your gaze to the tiled floor, cracks overlapping as your vision blurs. Mina reaches for you. She halts in your periphery, thoughts and actions misaligned. A flash of hesitance, and then determination. She strides across the threshold to pull you into an embrace. Her arms slip around your shoulders, crossing over one another at your nape, tightening. 

The tension begins to soften. Your body slumps, sinking into her kindhearted warmth as the rigidity weakens with your resolve. Bowing into the crook of her neck, you inhale her gentle scent. A soliflore smell, a flower you don’t know the name of, earthy undertones and hints of saké. 

Your eyes are wet. Tears cling to your lashes as you blink. The moths dancing in the lamp light blurs, small specks of white stretching and flickering like pallid butterflies. Breathing shuttered, there’s a thickness in your throat that squeezes your voice into a frail whisper. 

“Thank you”. 

She hums, rubbing a comforting hand along the top of your spine. Her natural heat seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt. Though her arms are muscled they are also supple, like her chest, like her waist. You haven’t been held like this since you last saw your podmates. 

After a few beats she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You shake your head, grasping your bearings, “No”. It’s best left between you and Katsuki. 

“If you’re sure,” Mina gives a final crushing hug before releasing you. “I’m bunking with Sero tonight. Knock if you need anything”. 

“I will,” you say on the end of a shuddering exhale. “I’ll see you in the morning”. 

She hums, watching apprehensively as you make your way through the changing rooms. The retention of her heat clings to your clothing when you step into the cold night air. Your boots rub at the sore skin around your ankles, fitting loose, having foregone tying the laces. They encumber your steps, obtrusively loud and ungainly on your journey up the stairwell. 

A closed door should not be so daunting. Your hand hovers over the handle, steadily turning it, flinching as the locks click open. Low light floods in from the hallway and your eyes adjust to the darkness between blinks, the shape of a figure under the covers sharpening into view. Katsuki is laid on his back, hand disappearing under the pillow beneath his head where your bunched up pelt resides. 

Hesitant, you shut the door and kick off your dirty shoes. You tiptoe around the frame and climb into bed. You try to alleviate your weight, balanced between your hands and knees so the mattress won’t dip, yet it is futile. “I’m sorry, Katsuki,” you whisper, feeling fragile as you lower into the linens. He’s awake, you can tell despite his efforts to appear otherwise, because you feel him stroking your sealskin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“…Shouldn’t have done that,” his cadence is unsettlingly calm; gently sheathing the sharp words. “We’ve been getting too comfortable, letting shit influence us. It was just the magic talking”. 

What? 

“It’s not—”

“Go to sleep,” the volume raises in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, anger dissipating. Dropping his head into the pillows he looks as defeated as you feel. He closes his eyes. “I won’t fuckin’ do anything to you so just. Sleep”. 

You try, fitfully. The atmosphere is unbearable, keeping you glued to the far side of the bed lest you accidentally touch one another. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you remember. You ache. You stare into the shadows and wonder at what point did the intentions become so crossed. 

Katsuki valued the right to choose above all else. You liked that about him. He respected and surrounded himself with people who steered their own destiny, marching to the beat of his own drum; a rhythm you had fortuitously interrupted. In his mind he’d given into a temptation, and that act of indulgence was somehow the same as losing in battle. 

Katsuki viewed your relationship as an infliction he needed to fight against. 

That knowledge hurts you in ways you hadn’t expected. The words “we’re getting too comfortable” reverberated around your skull. Perhaps he was right. Somewhere along the lines you forgot that these truly were temporary circumstances, childishly wishing that maybe he’d come to love you, that you could simply accept this reality and grow into each other like a child into new shoes. 

You blink. Linens rise and fall with his shallow breath. Katsuki’s mouth is open, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. His lips smack together as he bundles you closer. Unconscious, yet still seeking you out. He’s devastating even when he’s not trying to be. 

Sleep feels impossible. 

Then you wake. 

Morning spills her dewy light throughout the room. Katsuki’s side of the bed is empty— made up and tucked at the corners. Cold. You are suddenly a distance apart and scrambling to make it all better again.

You push up into a sitting position. The bedsheets shift and pool around your hips, creasing the perfect slate Katsuki left. You rummage for the pelt hidden behind the pillows, dragging it out and around your shoulders, ducking your nose into the dark fur for comfort before tying it to your midriff. 

Judging by the sun’s position you would guess it is still quite early. Sluggish movement can be heard through the thin walls, indicating that others are awake. Knowing Katsuki he would want to set off early to find Uraraka, especially after last night.

Another figure joins you in the hallway. Kaminari remains unaware of your presence as he fiddles clumsily with the key, squawking when it almost slips between his fingers. He’s dishevelled, shirt half tucked into his belt, cuffs undone and hung off his wrists; there’s still an impression of his pillow printed on his left cheek. 

Having finally turned the lock, Kaminari spins on his heel with a happy hum. The tune escalates into a shriek as he notices you standing a few feet away. “Holy—! Warn a guy, would ya?” he clutches at his chest, exhaling harshly. “I think my heart just stopped”. 

“Sorry Kaminari,” amused by his shrill intonation and melodramatics, you smile for the first time that morning. It exaggerates the bags under your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” he falls into step with you, knocking your elbows together on your way out into the stairwell. “I don’t think you can say the same, though,” his mouth twists into a smirk, “did Kacchan keep you up all night?” 

Normally the teasing wouldn’t bother you. In many ways you saw it as a sign of acceptance into the group. Now you wince like somebody had carelessly pressed a bruise on your body. Kaminari, for all his obliviousness, knows when to drop the masquerade. 

Your smile tightens uncomfortably as his fingers circle your wrist. In daylight you are left feeling exposed, unable to temper the regret written so plainly across your face. His mouth opens and shuts, searching fruitlessly for the right words, only to be interrupted by a callous shout from below. 

Katsuki’s voice is incredibly distinct. He’s yelling, which is nothing new, but now it is with genuine frustration. Kirishima, Mina and Sero are there alongside him, speaking in low tones as you would to an untamed animal. 

Kaminari tugs at your sleeve and gives you a meaningful glance, gently coaxing you to the bottom of the stairs. He must’ve at least connected Katsuki’s poor mood with your own.  “Kacchan, my man. It is too early for all this shouting,” he implored, settling back into his jovial self. 

You collect yourself, trying to retain shape and rationality as Kaminari draws Katsuki’s ire. Those vermillion eyes rove over you, head to toe, before flickering to the man on your right. Fast, like he’s afraid to look too long. Nostrils flare. The warm puff of air from his nose is visible in the cool air. 

“It’s late enough. What took you so long?” Katsuki snarled, poking a finger harshly between Kaminari’s eyebrows. “The keep told me cheeks is planning on leaving today, so all of you get moving”. 

Kaminari pouts, rubbing at the spot. The pale skin turns slightly pink. Unheeding of the wary scrutiny he is receiving, Katsuki charges onwards in expectation that everyone will follow. Kirishima raises a brow at his shape verbiage but doesn’t comment. He takes you under his arm in a half hug, sharing a look of understanding with Mina and the others. 

Sero recounts their findings. According to the townspeople, Uraraka, the occultist, landed her abode miles outside of their bounds and set up wards in the valley to confuse strangers. It steered them in opposing directions and sent them in circles, practically making her impossible to find. You’re worried clear up until your group crests the precipice of a steep hill several hours later.

You take in the gentle undulations of earth and fauna. Grass tall enough to brush your shoulders, wildflowers and weeds hugging the barely worn path, sparingly tended nature left to flourish. The magic becomes apparent with proximity. It hangs in the air like humidity, an unnatural sheen muddying your vision. Katsuki continued with brass-bound determination; weaving skilfully through the runes, barrier fracturing under the pressure of his explosive palms. 

There’s a quaint cottage in the middle of the glen, done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, latticed strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney towering from the pink tiled roof. Each windowsill appeared to have a different unidentifiable herb growing on it. A small, circular stained glass window in the door refracted the afternoon light, a knocker below it. Hanging by the door frame is a wind chime, shells tied to strings producing delicate crisp sounds in the breeze; in the effort to knock, Katsuki shoulders it carelessly, and the tune turns sour. 

His fist comes down with hard momentum, stopped midway by another. “Be careful,” Kirishima gently chides. Katsuki shoves his hand off, sparing him an incredulous glare, which the shifter subjugates with a pointed reminder: “She won't help you if you bust her door down, bro. Play nice”. 

Katsuki grunted his understanding, jaw clenched. He raps his knuckles on the wood. The sound is dull, and you stare down at your scuffed boots as an unpleasant pang of anxiety knocks around your chest. A voice shouts from inside, somebody scurrying around, then the door is pulled open. 

“Can I—Bakugo?!”

“Uraraka,” Katsuki greets bluntly, giving a short nod. It is the first time you’ve ever heard him say her name. His hands flex at his sides, restless. Through gritted teeth he adds, “Deku sent me. I need your help with something”. 

“Oh,” Uraraka exhales in disbelief. She steps back, pink slippered feet in your periphery. “Come in, then. I haven’t seen you guys in forever…”

Their voices fade into the background. All at once subconscious acts like breathing and blinking become tiresome. Hearing him let go of his pride felt so final. You fall away, stuck in a cold fog. Your gait is uneven as you remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, incognisant to the worried looks thrown your way. 

You remember being seated on a plush feather-pillowed sofa. Hands running over your shoulders, grounding you. You reach for your pelt, sinking fingers into the downy fur, and find no comfort in it. Now you’re here it feels more like a husk, leaden and hollow, ready for you to be stuffed into. 

“You married a selkie by accident?” Uraraka blanched, her volume rousing you from your haze. “You know, Bakugo, for someone so smart your ignorance is truly astounding”. 

“Can you fucking reverse it or not?” 

“Reverse it. Are you kidding? You’re not. Gods, Bakugo—breaking a soul bond isn’t common,” Uraraka snaps, rubbing roughly at her eyelids as she loses patience. You feel a pang of guilt, that which worsens as it unearths the hope that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to separate you from him. “Most of the methods are based on myth. You realise it will be incredibly painful, and possibly for nothing?”

You take in the surroundings while they continue to bicker. The cottage is modest. A small foyer leads to the living space, rugs of various shapes and colours laid to insulate a path through the house, runes and scrawls carved into the hardwood walls. Logs presumably for fuelling the hearth monopolise much of the space, spilling out from the nook in which they’re stacked. There is nothing particularly otherworldly, at least not where you can see it. Uraraka obviously lives within her means, a humble and frugal person despite wielding magic of her calibre. 

“I do have something I can try, ” she sighs with a sidelong glance. The skin on her lip breaks between her teeth. Your prolonged silence has likely done nothing to reassure her. You try to feign interest, to smile and express gratitude, but she grimaces. 

“What do we have to do?”

“Essentially I can sever the bond at the stem but not the root,” the group is quiet, tense as they listen. Mina’s grip is bruising, as though making sure you were still there. “The dissolution of your marriage will only be complete when the selkie returns to the sea. Within a day or two they’ll… forget you”.  

You sense the atmosphere darken. Katsuki shifts his weight in your periphery. Neither one of you can look at the other. Whether he’s threatened by your feelings or ashamed of them you can’t be sure, but what you know is that they are real, sown and tended in the weeks you spent together. 

Kirishima exhales a shuddered breath. His big body crouches before you, warm hand resting on your knee. Kaminari and Sero linger on either side, watching over the scene, wearing grief plainly on their faces. A broken part of you wants to laugh. They are acting as if this is your wake. 

“Are you sure about this?” he implores, discreet and unintentionally cruel. If you were to say no, what of you then? Nothing to do but follow them on their journey, dragging along like the hide of some shorn animal. Stuck waiting for Katsuki to resent you over an incredibly frustrating and misplaced presumption that he played a part in fabricating your thoughts and feelings.  

Uraraka’s method may well cleave the ties created in your accidental matrimony. You trust in her capabilities because Katsuki clearly respects them. You’ll say yes. And after it all, when your soul has been excavated, when you’ve gone home crying to your mother, rocked to sleep in her gentle undertow, you will still stubbornly want him. 

The thought comes unbidden, a sudden clarity that overcomes you. At that point he would have no room to question your will. “I’m sure,” you say, still breathless with the realisation. “You can go ahead with it, Uraraka”. 

Hesitating in her movement, Uraraka considers you for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall. When she returns she pulls seven tear shaped crystals from a velvet satchel. Dread churns in your stomach, sensing the energy emanating from them. 

She begins to recite machinations beyond your comprehension. Opalescent rays of light burst from within her enclosed fist where it pressed against her mouth, dappling sentient shadows across her face, now taut with concentration. Her features ripple and distort, not unlike a reflection on the ocean's surface, then fades into obscurity as the spell settles into its conduit. 

Uraraka hands the lustre of the stone to you, knuckles pale as she squeezes the magic out into your cupped palms. As a pup you would try to drink sunlight, specks chased across the seabed as the clouds shifted, caught like a cat to a mouse only to remain empty handed. Light was not made up of solid matter— it was intangible. To be felt, seen, but not touched. 

Yet it is swirling in your hands like that lovely warm wine from the night before, slipping through the thin cracks in your fingers. “Drink it,” she coaxes gently. 

You look at Katsuki. His eyes flicker up to meet your own. There’s an awful urgency coursing through your body, frozen like a fawn, something inside willing you to stop. Begging him to speak up. He lowers his gaze, expression pinched and inwardly furious. 

Heel to chin, you tip your head back as if drinking from a cup. Her magic is entirely flavourless, waning with your own imagination as if it were allowing you to choose the taste yourself. The consistency is like steam; inhaled rather than swallowed, and hot on the roof of your mouth. 

Elemental magic was external in the way it bursts forth from the user, often causing flesh wounds or dramatic change in the terrain. You think of Katsuki, the calamity at his fingertips, juxtaposed by the tender manner in which he would always touch you, cauterising your fear. Uraraka’s magic is unforgiving and uniquely invasive. It is so much worse than being burned. 

It spreads through your sinuses like searing wildfire, pressure balloons behind your eye sockets, undoing the seams that make up the very fabric of your being. Waves of nausea engulf you, throat tight and constricted. Breathing laboured and irregular, you fight against the urge to retch it all up. 

It’s too much. The incorporeal spell pierces through your mind, tearing at the bond, more overwhelming than anything you’ve ever been dealt. Knife-like pain persists after her chanting stops. You wince and cradle your head, weeping as it passes. Left in its wake is a muted soreness throbbing across your brain. 

“Hi,” Uraraka is before you, ducking to examine for any injury. Careful, her fingers encircle your wrists and pry your hands away. “You’re okay. Can you look at me?”

You squint, reluctant to blink and irritate the soreness around your eyes. “How’s your vision?” she asked, sotto voce. Her touch is deliberate and gentle, slightly pulling down your bottom eyelids, petting over your jaw and down the nape of your neck, feeling for something. “Does anything feel wrong, or out of place?”

Wrong? your mind echoes. Out of place? Cold is creeping into your muscles, gritty and dense like wet sand. You’re unnerved by the veil of apathy that settles around you. “I don’t think I’m injured. The light is more intense. Hurts,” you admit, voice breaking. 

Everything that remains the same yet is somehow more drab, lacking colour and difficult to look at. Your friends, clinging to each other. Your Katsuki, staring back at you. “But I can still see everything”. 

“Good,” she breathes, relief entirely palpable. If this is success then you wonder what the worst outcome might’ve been. “That’s good. If you reach for the bond, is it there?” 

You’re not sure what she means. Seeking connection you clutch your sealskin to your front, kneading at the familiar fur. It’s minor but it’s back— the voice belonging to the tide, beckoning you to shift again. “I don’t think so,” you reply. 

“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Uraraka smiles and covers your hands with her own. You sense the tips of her fingers ever so slightly across your collar where they brush the pelt bunched in your fists. “You’re free now. You can go back home”. 

Her soothing countenance might as well be dry grass to your precipitous anger. “Right,” you deadpan, voice entirely devoid of emotion. Best kept that way, lest you release all your bubbling frustrations onto a woman that only wanted to help you; in her eyes—and the rest—you were just another trapped, useless selkie. 

That anger carries you to your feet. You want to cry but the tears don’t come. When you exit the cottage with a curt bow and a ‘thank you’ you find yourself in the lead for once, marching ahead of the group. They remain a few feet behind, muttering amongst each other. Without the view of Katsuki’s back you feel lonely. Even so you keep your hurried pace, too afraid to turn around and be inundated with questions. 

The journey back passes in a blur. Hours, surely, because you’re ready to pass out from the exertion. Loose dirt and geosmin clings to your clothes.  Shadows stretch across the emptying streets as dark cloud cover canopies the town, sparse instances of light rainfall that stick to your skin. There's a chill in the air now, a bite to it that rattles your bones and quickens your breath. It’s damp, imbued with the scent of sea salt. 

You don’t stop, not when the desperate calls of your name begin. Further up the dock is lit golden, lanterns lining cobbled roads and emitting a warm orange glow. You trudge through the quieting bustle, workers scurrying to shelter, while enduring a pervasive sense of wrongness. 

You don’t know what to do with this freedom, this precipice, so joyless and empty. Slowing to descend weather-worn steps onto the beach there’s a presence at your heel. “Shit. Would you slow—!” Katsuki moves to stop you. His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist. Then they hesitate and fall away, clenching at his side until all the blood recedes from his knuckles. “You don’t need to immediately run off into the damn water”. 

“It’s easier this way,” and quicker, you think. 

“What?”

Listening to the sea sings an ancient litany, you let your anger wash away with the oncoming tide. The whiplash is intense. Your lips tremble, pulling into a tearful smile, laughter bubbling up through your chest, choked by the swell in your throat. “I think I understand why you’re always yelling now,” cumulus clouds pass overhead and bring with them a curtain of rain.  “Being human is very melodramatic”. 

Katsuki clearly hadn’t expected that, of all things. His expression softens in his surprise. The short hairs by his temples are laid flat, braid swinging in the breeze, the fur around his cloak dark and saturated. “That’s what this is? Baby’s first tantrum?” his tone is mean, and your hackles would rise if he were not visibly deflating. Katsuki reacts to vulnerability like a wounded dog. He laughs despite himself and scratches at his neck, “Fuck. I thought you’d be happy, or something close to it”. 

Standing a few feet behind him, Kirishima, Sero, Mina and Kaminari are linked together, waiting to approach. They remain in your line of sight as you consider the barbarian in front of you. A cold shock billows through his cloak, a wave crashing onto the shore. He shivers, but remains stubbornly rooted to the steps. 

“I’m not happy,” you lamented. “I’m going to miss you. You are an impossible man, Katsuki. Impossible to forget. I wish you’d believe that”. 

Katsuki’s mouth opens and shuts. Silence falls once again, and he can’t find the words to fill it. Your fingers work at the belt keeping your hide secure, tugging it loose and letting the sealskin unfurl, blanketing the length of your body. 

Mina takes this as an indication that you are leaving. She rushes ahead, stumbling past a stunned Katsuki, gathering you into her arms. The pelt is trapped between your bodies as you curl into the embrace. You feel yourself warm up, the wet winds rolling off the sea obstructed by three larger figures trailing right behind her, encasing you in a group hug. 

Constricted from all sides, the arms around your waist tighten. Mina’s nails dig in, and she shakes you gently in an attempt to scold you, “Don’t go leaving us without a proper goodbye”. 

Kirishima is at your back. He must be. The height, the rough skin, the hard spikes in his hair poking at your nape where he inhales deeply, memorising your scent. Sero flanks your left, resting his head on the shifter's shoulder as dark eyes watch you. Kaminari bears down his weight, slumping against your right, a sour metallic taste at the back of your throat as the grip on his magic loosens with emotion. 

It feels wrong without Katsuki. You crane your neck and look for him. The sight of him dithering off to the side, alone and wearing a visage of muted guilt, makes your insides twist. Your hand bursts through a crevice in the huddle, coaxing him over. 

He comes. Mina drags him into the middle without fanfare, and enclose around you in a last ditch effort to keep you together. “This is the worst,” Kaminari snivelled. “It’s like my parents are divorcing all over again”. 

Katsuki weakens to it. Gives a quiet, choked laugh and it blows warm across your temple. You’d know his hands anywhere. Hesitant, they rest on your hips. You close your eyes and centre yourself in the present, tilting your head to rest on his collar. The motion drags your lips up to his jugular and you kiss the words against the damp skin, thicker than intended, “I’m—really, so happy I met you all”. 

The briny air greets you when they finally step away. Mina rubs harshly at her eyes as your feet sink into the sand. There are stragglers by the port but nobody along the beach, so they trail after you to the shore, equal parts unwilling to leave and curious about your selkie form.  

You’re pointedly aware of their presence as you shake out your fur. You hold it to your face for a moment, blocking out the wind, the light and the rain with how insulated it is, before setting it on the sand. Kaminari coughs, the group spinning on their heels when you begin to undress. Katsuki does not. 

Kicking off your boots as you fiddle with your shirt strings, you consider the barbarian, impressing his appearance behind your eyes for a final time. “What will you do after this?” 

Broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. Looks up to the sky, frowning, a blush on his cheeks. “Go further inland to one of the bigger cities to find something to pay back Deku, I guess. Circle around, head back, and then home”. 

Shirt discarded, you unbutton your pants, letting them fall down your thighs, and step out of them. “How long will you be in the city?”

Shrugging, he grunts, “A week at most”. 

That’s good. Long enough to wait out the final stages and prove his place in your memory. You nod, spine straightening with determination. “When you circle back I want you to stop here again. Just for a day”. 

That half lidded gaze slides over to you, squinting. Pointedly kept above the shoulders. Searching. “Why?” 

The tide crawls further ashore. A wave breaks around your ankles. Your toes wiggle in the sand, sinking as it is displaced, a small smile curling at your lips. You bend to grab the pelt and slide it around your shoulders like a coat. It’s comforting, familiar. Energy thrums at the surface of your skin, ready to pull. But you wait. 

“In a week. Promise me?” you say without explanation. 

Katsuki swallows. Eyes boring into yours. His jaw shifts. Then he nods, tersely. Reassured by this you hold the coat tighter, chin tucked as you steady your breathing. Consciously, you reach inward, drawing upon the pelt.

And you change. Falling to your knees, cold water biting at your thighs, you crumple in the sand, body shrinking as flesh and fur meld together. It’s painful after so long, unsettling to be snapped back abruptly into your hindbrain, but the discomfort eases quickly, like stretching a muscle. 

You lift your upper body, nose flat and wide and twitching, scenting the air. The sand sifts under bootstrapped feet. A human approaches, beautiful and familiar, lowering into a crouch as you freeze. Forearms resting on his knees, he holds out his fingers. Faintly smoky, a mix of spice and earth. 

The way in which this man appraises your form is uncomfortably solemn. Vacuous expression betrayed by the gentle light in his eyes. He smiles ruefully and readies himself to speak. Alight with a bitterness that is vaguely accusatory in the oncoming darkness he says, “Already forgot us, didn’t you?”

It steals the breath right from your lungs. Recognition strikes through you. Bakugo Katsuki. The thought is alarmingly fleeting, almost evading your grasp. Nostrils flaring, you drag your body forward to wipe the look of self-deprecation from his face. You nudge your snout into his hand, not shying away from the fierce elemental energy radiating from his palms. You unhinge your jaw, canines gently indenting the heel, as if to scold him. 

He laughs, disbelief bleeding into the sound. It beckons his pod, more humans— one not so human. “Don’t fuckin’ scare them,” Katsuki calls over his shoulder. Not once do his eyes stray from you. 

A thick tang of draconic magic overwhelms your senses as the largest in the group mirrors Katsuki, making himself impossibly small, aware of his magnitude and the imbalance between your species. “Wow…” the shifter, Kirishima, breathes in awe, genuine rather than tainted with greed. “So cute”. 

More people come closer. Their faces filter through your memories in bits and pieces, stitching together into a patchwork timeline. “Yeah…” Mina echoes the sentiment. She gets on her knees, doesn’t care when the waves drench her skirt. “You’re beautiful like this too,” holding her hand an inch away from your skin, she asks, “Can we pet you?” 

Five fingers to your scruff, one hard pull and you could be torn from your rudimentary shell. Human hands are dangerous but not these ones. You give a short tonal whine and hope she interprets it as permission. They do, taking turns tracing the marbled fur and clawed flippers, murmuring awe filled words. 

The tides are high, wrapping around and coaxing you into their arms. You look toward the horizon and the itch grows. A seamless vista of clouded sky. Warm mouths litter the top of your head with kisses, their blunt human teeth behind soft lips, juxtaposed by rough, barely decipherable mutterings of something that sounds mournful. 

Mina sniffles as Kirishima helps her to her feet and they wade backwards toward the port. Katsuki cups your muzzle in his palms, searing where his thumbs swoop beneath your cheekbones, brushing over the whiskers by your nose. “Stay safe out there, yeah? Don’t get eaten by a shark or whatever,” he bends, bringing your foreheads together as if to impress his thoughts onto you. “I won't wait around for a weakling”. 

You can only hope he saw the promise held in your eyes as you stare at his retreating back. The swelling waves pull you into the current, submerged until only your head is above the surface. In the distance your pod breaks into cheers. They line up on the beach, jumping high as their legs will allow, waving their long arms in the air. 

A descending chorus of trills build in your own throat, mellifluous and loud enough to cut through the wind and the waves. Noise becomes muffled as you’re submerged into the dense water. Wrapped up in brine the ambience fills your head. It pushes out rational thought, drawing only instinct to the forefront. 

Your vision adjusts quickly to the dark the further you swim. Stretch your flippers and sweep them down like a dragon's wing, flying through the depths until you tire. Coming to an ocean shelf, there you rest. Cradled by a moving, ever evolving element. Creatures big and small pass by. Fish with vermillion scales haloing wide faces dart in and out of your dreams, shimmering under weak streams of sunlight. 

The shifting tide keeps you cognisant. You linger close to the surface to monitor the sun. Days pass and you are unbearably alone. It is harrowing; this unending, sombre ache. You think of Katsuki. Repeat his name until it sounds foreign. You recall his handsome face, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn, how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like he’d tasted something bitter. You miss him. 

Come the week’s end you’ve become something else, something new. Irrevocably changed by love’s hand. You recognise that you exist in two worlds: as a  selkie, tethered to the seabed and embraced by buoyancy, and as a human, struggling against the currents, compelled back to land—

To Katsuki. 

You glide through the waves, riding them as they swell and break onto the shore. Undulating your body, the hitching motion pulls you forward, wriggling up into a cluster of rock pools, safe from any onlookers. You wait there, chin propped on the shoulder of a jagged stone to observe the beach. 

He finds you there beneath an almost oppressive dusk. The approaching footfalls command attention, announcing his arrival. You slink into the shadows for a moment, detailing the subtleties in Katsuki’s expression on his march along the sand, pinching more and more as he casts he searches the beach. The breeze ripples through the notorious red cloak, fur collar tickling his cheeks. Shirtless, wearing his scars proudly. His pants sit low on his hips, adorning various belts and jewels. Warmth curls up in your chest at the sight of him. Giddy. You remember him. 

You lift your head. His focus immediately latches onto the movement. A croon rumbles in your throat as he approaches. He climbs up onto the rock, towering over you, his body obstructing the evening sun. It halos around his golden hair. The braid by his ear falls forward as his head tilts, squinting to get a good look at you. 

The laughter lines by his eyes deepen, brow creasing. Almost slipping as he climbs down, Katsuki frowns at the lack of traction on the surface. You laugh and it comes out like a rough snort. The shallow pools splash loudly under his boots upon landing. He curls his upper lip at you, “Laugh at me and I’ll kill you”. 

You do so again, more deliberate this time. He senses your sarcasm and flicks water at you. Your whiskers twitch, subtly tasting the air. He slumps hard on one of the flatter ridges and clicks his tongue. “This better be you and not some random fuckin’ seal I’m talking to,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

Unwilling to prolong your reunion any longer, you shed your pelt. Joints slot into place, the sealskin receding, your human form unearthing as it loosens and pools around your naked lap. Katsuki watches the air bite at your skin, nipples pebbling as you shiver. 

“Katsuki,” you rest your cheek on his thigh, knelt between his legs. You let him take it all in. Satisfied with his assessment of you his fiery eyes meet yours. 

“Almost didn’t come. Figured you wouldn’t be here,” he intoned gruffly, chin dimpling as he juts his bottom lip. “You were supposed to forget about everything”. 

You nod, mouth curling into a helpless smile. Your fingers flex and you feel the muscles jump underneath, “I know”.

Katsuki exhales a long breath, fists clenched tight in his lap with obvious restraint. “Why didn’t you?” his eyes track the movements of your hands. “It worked, I know it did. Cheeks doesn’t do shit halfway. I felt when… So what the hell are you doing back here?”

You pause when his words register, suddenly off kilter. There it is again, the displeased wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. You had never considered that he, too, would’ve experienced the connection. Admittedly a naive oversight on your part—but he never mentioned it. You figured it was just a selkie thing. Perhaps, all that time, he had been contending with his own feelings as well as yours. Wondering if he could trust himself, if they were true. 

Vows dissolved, he still chose to come back for you. To bet on that slim chance. Just as you did. 

The knowledge compels you to touch him more, to reassure, to lean further into the clutch of his thighs. The intrusion forces his legs wider and when you reach to cradle either side of his taut jaw he lowers to close the distance. 

“I felt it, you know. Before you offered me my pelt I felt you touching it,” you begin, watching how his expression splits open as your eyes meet. “I knew it was safe with you”. 

“That’s stupid,” he utters, though you can hear that he doesn’t mean it. Embarrassment slowly stains his cheeks pink. You can feel him twitch, smothering the instinctive urge to snap at whatever made him feel so intensely. 

“Maybe,” you pull back a hair's breadth to lightly knock your heads together. “My point is, I was drawn to you before all that, in such a short window. I think… I didn’t forget you because those feelings grew naturally”. 

The more you speak he progressively gets pinker, flustered and mad about it. It births an odd, primal urge to sink your teeth into something. To bite his cheek white, watch the blood retreat under the skin. Instead, you slide your hand lower to rest on his neck and his own cuff your wrists. 

“That first day, you apologised to me because I never had a choice,” there’s a soft grunt in acknowledgment. His pulse dances under your palm. “I’m making one now of my free will. And you—can say no, if you want,” you stutter, then, suddenly realising the real possibility of him rejecting your request altogether. “But I want to be here with you”. 

The last rays of sun stretch across the land, cosseted behind soft clouds as it sheaths. Katsuki considers you quietly. There’s a soft sort of intent in his eyes, wearing the revelry of dusk. You kneel in the rock pool, literally and figuratively bare, heart pounding in your throat as he readies himself to respond. 

“Back at the bathhouse…” he hesitates, promptly clears his throat and struggles to look at you. 

“Nothing was influencing me that night. Except maybe the wine,” you admit timidly, abashed at his sudden demurity. “I’m sorry”. 

That garners a reaction from him. In true Katsuki fashion his tongue clicks behind gritted teeth and applies pressure to your wrists, pulling you up. “Come here,” he tells you. You uncurl your legs and begin to stand moving with all the grace of a newborn fawn. “Oi, don’t—!” jerking his head to the side, he averts his gaze from your naked lower half, glaring at the shoreline. The sea-scented air prickles your skin, heat gathering where he has you held. “Expose yourself to everyone in the fuckin’ country, won’t you? Come here,” and then he’s hooking behind your knees, making them bend, gathering you into his lap in bridal fashion. 

“What’s the problem?” you mutter. Heat creeps up your neck, feeling defensive and distinctly embarrassed by his behaviour. “I don’t see how my nakedness is any different here than it is in the public bathhouse”. 

He holds you closer, voice vibrating through his chest as he roughly insists, “It’s different”. 

Your pout softens into a small pleased smile, letting him manhandle you until he’s satisfied with his grip. He bends, incidentally baring his throat stretching for the pelt discarded by the rocks. Tucking your nose to the underside of his jaw you revel in how his arm tightens around your lower back. 

Katsuki draws the pelt into your lap, covering your modesty. You laugh at how sweet and boyish it seems. “Laughin’ at me again, huh?” two fingers pinch at your cheek, pulling until you whine. “Got a death wish?”

Kneading at the sealskin coat your affections roar into existence once more with an intensity. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” you grin, and he abandons the pinch to stretch his big hand across your face. Thumb on your left cheek, fingers on your right, he squeezes together until your mouth is misshapen and pursed. 

“Sure about that?” he warns, tone steeped in fondness. It is exhilarating to have him touch you again, more freely than he ever had before; it is as close to ‘I believe you’ as you think you’ll get. 

You smile with your eyes, locked with his. Close enough to count every fine eyelash. Your words come garbled as you say, “You still haven’t given me an answer”. 

Katsuki exhales shallowly through his nose. His throat contracts as he swallows. The pressure releases. His hand cups your face, flexing with uncertainty. You shudder when he dips to press your lips together. You’re kissed without hurry, besotted by his firm but cautious movements. He relaxes as you lean into the rhythm, humming proudly. The soft, wet sounds of your mouths meeting again and again echo over the crawling waves. 

Katsuki pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He licks his lips and rasps, “I guess you can come along with us,” as though that was all the answer he needed to give. 

Alight with excitement you squirm in his lap, earning a quick slap to your hip. Katsuki ignored your grumbling and set to covering your body entirely. “Hold onto the corners,” he says, draping the hide over your shoulders, comforting warmth enveloping you as you obediently take the corners. “Put your arms around my neck. Do not drop it”. 

You do, curtaining both of your bodies with the pelt in the process, fingers interlocking at Katsuki’s nape. Your faces remain a whisper away. It feeds a skin hunger that plagued you for days. Satisfied, he then unties his cloak to slide it over-top, layering the two to keep you covered. 

Your stomach swoops as Katsuki pushes to his feet, carrying you in his arms with no sign of exertion and much better balance than before. His bicep bulges, fingers flexing under your thighs. “Where are we going?” 

Sand and broken shells crunch under his boots, gait leaden like wading through mud. Mariners whistle suggestively in your direction as he climbs the steps to the dock, making his teeth grind. “Taking you back to our room,” he grunts.  

You flush with heat at the implication. “You still have the key…?” 

Without disrupting his pace, Katsuki’s nose nudges along your temple to press a kiss there. “Said my shitty wife left something behind,” you feel his mouth pull into a smirk, “so they gave me it to go take a look”. 

A pleasant sensation erupts in your stomach. Fluttering like butterflies. “And the others?”

Darkness covers you when he ducks into a narrow alley. Katsuki meanders along the winding path with unfettered confidence. “I sent them on ahead. Said I’d catch up on foot,” he explains, eyes darting over the surroundings, striding back out into a familiar road leading to the tavern. “Wanted to be alone”. 

You’re carried up the stairwell despite the stern assertion that you would be just fine on your feet. In that same vein, Katsuki is clearly just fine taking all of your weight— proud of it, you think. Unwilling to put you down.  

He shoulders into the room and kicks the door shut. It is as you remember. Dim and homely, accented by a lamp that casts a soft yellow glow over the bed. Heavy footsteps take you forward, and you are swiftly deposited on the mattress. You bounce a fraction, losing purchase on the pelt and cloak. Both layers peel away, rumpled under your back, leaving you splayed out and bare. 

Katsuki stands next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His features are tender in the light, smoothing his hard edges. It flickers in his irises. Gaze hungry, restless. 

Your body can’t help but react to Katsuki’s silent observation. The ardent stroke of his eyes across every part of you like it were his hands themselves. Heat races through you and coils between your legs. Feeling exposed, you try to close your thighs. 

There’s a hand on your knee, stopping the movement, firm but gentle as he pries them back open. Katsuki moves closer and kicks off his boots. The mattress dips under his weight. One knee on the bed, your legs part further to make space for the intrusion, wrapping around his waist without second thought. 

“This okay?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. You exhale shakily, hands roving along the thick of his arms to clutch at his shoulders. The buckles on his pants bite into the back of your thighs. You can feel his arousal swelling through the fabric. 

Rocking your hips, your feet cross at his lower back. “Yeah. I want…” his eyes flutter, almost rolling up into his skull, pupils dilated. You chase the phantom feeling of his lips with your tongue and he tracks the movement. “Kiss me again”. 

“Thank fuck,” Katsuki groaned, the sound dwindling into a low chuckle. His forearms settle either side of your head, pressing all his weight down, pinning you to the bed. Taking up your vision until only he is in your orbit. The braid by his ear hangs loosely, the bead cold where it brushes your jaw. You tremble, fingers threading into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. 

Your mouths slot together and he kisses you full, nibbling your lips until they part. Pushing deeper, tongues sliding over teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs. He handles you with indecision. Careful kisses followed by rough ones; grabbing at the soft parts of your body a little too hard, smoothing the flesh with his thumb in apology. 

It’s overwhelming how much he wants you. And you try to return the fervour, arms sliding around his back to keep him close, undulating your hips to feel the tremors wrack through him. 

The talons strung around his neck graze over your chest as he descends. Kisses left on the corner of your mouth, cheek, jugular. He takes your pulse between his jaws and you whine, clenching at his waist. Katsuki moves away, laving his tongue along your throat. 

“Wanna touch you,” he says. Goosebumps break out across your skin as he blows cool air over the wet stripe left behind. “S’all I could think about. You’re fucking distracting”. 

“Yes. Please,” your eyelids flutter, leaning back to hear your throat. “Please”. 

“Needy,” he mumbles, a satisfied lilt to his tone. His hand slides down to your ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads you open. “Bein’ too quiet. I like it when you say my name,” he rasps. “Gonna let me hear it?” 

Fingertips brush against your sex. Heat flushes under your skin, anticipation and understanding unfurled within you. “Katsuki,” you sigh into his mouth. 

Katsuki flashes a predatory grin. Pleased, and pink all the way to his ears. Breath puffing over your lips he says, “Again”. 

“Katsuk—ah,” his thumb circles over your swollen clit, sparks zipping up your spine. Your breath hitches. You chase the touch, his four fingers splayed low on your navel; the other cups the back of your knee to keep you spread as he descends from throat to chest, forging a path of wet kisses, stopping intermittently to softly suck at the flesh and coax blood to the surface. 

You’re wet. Wet enough, warm enough, that the still air feels cold on your skin. His lips wrap around your nipple and you arch up into the sensation as he slowly sinks a finger inside of you. You take him to the knuckle, and he waits, gradually pulling out until you’re clenching around a fingertip. 

Again and again he fucks you on his fingers, adding another, curling them up mid stroke to brush the most sensitive part of you, spreading them to work you open. You mewl, steeped in pleasure as it diffuses through your belly, pooling between your thighs. 

Katsuki watches you, peering up through heavy eyes, mouth full of your breast. He flicks his tongue over the pert nipple, coming up and switching to the other, lavishing you in attention. You exhale, tremors wracking your body. Cradle the back of his head, grip tightening reflexively when he hits that sweet spot, and the groan rumbling in his throat prickles under your skin. 

Satisfied, he continues lower. Throws your legs over his broad shoulders, laid flat along the bed. The mattress jerks when he ruts into the sheets, still confined in his pants. You hold his gaze as his cheeks hollow. Saliva pools into his mouth and he tucks his chin, spitting it on your clit, massaging it over with his thumb. 

You shudder, hips canting. “Shit, look at you,” he pants, voice so thick and supple you want to wrap yourself in it. “Keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he litters kisses across your inner thigh, pressing praise into the sensitive skin there. Your heels dig into the thick muscle at his back when he dips to kiss your clit, licking in and around his fingers. “I wanna see your face when you cum”.

You’re pulsing around him, frantically chasing the feeling. It’s— overwhelming, like you can’t breathe through it, and every string in your body has been pulled taut, wavering on the precipice. You reach to grasp his forearm. The muscles flex under your palms, pave unrelenting, and tears begin to sting behind your eyes. 

“Fuck, Katsuki,” you gasp, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Feels so good, I can’t… Katsuki I can’t—”

A broken sound reverberates throughout the room the moment he stops, pulling back and leaving you empty. You can barely believe that it came from you, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But then he’s right there, crowding into your space, caging your body with his own. “Oi,” he softly takes your jaw, “What did I say? Look at me”. 

You squint up at him. You take in his swollen lips, lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, hair matted to his forehead, arousal and spit coating his chin. For the first time you think you might understand, just a fraction, the greed of those who kept you. Because now you desire to be the one to take. To keep. To stow away his shamelessness and be the only one to see it. 

“You hurt?” 

“No,” you whisper, blinking away the haze. Katsuki tucks his knees up higher against your middle, tops of his thighs shelving your splayed legs. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, empty. “I’m sorry”. 

“Don’t fuckin’ apologise,” he tucks his nose against your temple, indifferent to the sheen of sweat. You inhale his musky scent and slide your arms around his shoulders. “Got too in your head, huh?”

His cock twitches in his pants, still hard and pressed to your thigh. Gathering your bearings you subtly rock your hips into his lap. You shiver at the sharp hiss by your ear, the drag of his soft lips over the shell. He nips at it in warning. 

“You want to keep going?” 

You nod, playing with the thin hair at his nape. He rumbles and it feels like a purr, pushing up only to pull at the belt buckles around his waist. Impatient, you reach to help, pulling the leather out from the loops, fingers trembling. 

Katsuki frees his hands and lets you work at the buttons. He wears a small, crooked smile on his face as he watches, chest rising and falling with every anticipatory breath. You pull them down his hips, a trail of light hair leading from his bellybutton to his cock. He shifts, hooking into the waistband and pushing them down his legs, kicking them off the bed. 

In your impatience your fingers wrap around his length, playing with the soft skin. You circle the blushing tip, smearing pre with your thumb. He throbs, abdomen clenching with a guttural moan that shoots straight to your own. 

“So impatient,” he cups your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Get me nice and wet?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, detailing how his pupils expand as you slide his cock through your folds. The corner of his mouth twitches. He grins as he dips to kiss you. It is more chaste than the last, a kiss for the sake of kissing. 

Then the grip on your jaw tightens. Firm and unyielding. Katsuki’s big hand engulfs yours, squeezing his dick, teasing the tip at your entrance. “Gonna make you cum on my cock. But you’ve got to listen to me and relax. Okay?” 

You desperately want to dig your heels into his lower back, to drag him inside and fill up that awful emptiness, to take him to the hilt and keep him there. Instead you acquiesce, forcing yourself pliant; rewarded with a soft kiss, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Take a deep breath for me,” he tells you. You inhale, ribs expanding as your lungs bloat. Slowly, Katsuki pushes his tip past your entrance, and begins to sink his cock into you. His expression shutters, eyes rolling shut as his face scrunches up. Strained, he says, “Breathe out, baby. Slow”. 

You exhale, ending on a long moan as skin meets skin. He settles in the cradle of your hips. “Good,” his voice is gravelly, strained. His nails bite at your waist, “And in”. 

Repeating the motions your muscles clench around him as he pulls out, as though your body couldn’t be without him. He huffs through his nose and you feel it hot on your cheek. It continues like that. He fucks you slow and deliberate, pinned to the bed like a butterfly, guiding your breathing. You cannot look away from him. He’s devastating. He’s yours. Wild spikes are tousled around a flushed face, mouth kiss-bitten and slack with awe. “Katsuki,” you whisper, each more frantic than the last. 

The earlier intensity does not return, rather, it accumulates inside of you with every inhale, suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. The pressure has you bursting at the seams, undone by the indelible drag of his cock, how his pelvis pressed so perfectly against your clit, little incantations of your name murmured into your hair. 

“Ah, fuck. Katsuki, I’m—” your thighs seize either side of his waist, toes curling as the words catch in your throat. “M’gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” he fucks you a little deeper, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his neck flex with exertion. “In and out, baby. I’ve got you”. 

Those practised breaths quickly stagger into uneven whines as you’re tipped over the edge. Ley lines erupt behind your eyelids. You arch back into the sheets—pelt and cloak rumpled beneath—as the pleasure quakes through you. 

Katsuki fucks you into your orgasm and then beyond it. You cradle him to your chest when his rhythm stutters, releasing a long groan as he spills into you. 

Together you collapse back on the mattress, rolling onto your sides. He slides his arm beneath your head and hooks your knee over his hip, keeping himself nestled inside you for a while longer. You lie there until the fog recedes, leaving a sated contentment in its wake. 

In that instance you can no longer tell where the line of your own body ends and where Katsuki’s begins. You feel warm, comfortable against him. All the fears and hypotheticals that sought to fill the hole in your chest have faded. You realise in those intimate few minutes that home is what you choose it to be. A place, a concept, a person. Home is the ocean, said to cover more than half of the earth, fissuring inland and stretching further than the eye can see; it is a current that will always run in your veins. But humans, too, are made of the sea. Water, minerals and tissue. Home is in the blood that rushes to Katsuki’s cheeks when you kiss him. 

This is where you belong. 

Eventually Katsuki decides he needs to get up. Your objections go ignored, silenced when he returns dressed with a damp cloth to wipe you down. Once he's done he pulls up the bed covers and manhandles you under them, declaring that he needs to go downstairs and pay ‘that woman’ for the room. 

“Won’t be long. Don’t even think about getting up. I’ll need to buy you some clothes tomorrow…”

Grin hidden under the blankets, you call out to him before he goes. He stops in the doorway, softened by the lamp light. Feigning innocence, you jokingly ask, “Before you go, could you pass me my pelt?” 

Your heart races when he reflexively goes to do so, only for him to halt halfway. His eyes narrow, lips thinning into a smirk:

“Real fuckin’ funny”. 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Husband [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After a lifetime of longing, it's finally time to seal the deal. Follow on to Heirs - but can be read as a one-shot (w/c 1.8k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Asgardian HC. Fluff & Smut.

The silk chiffon of Loki’s robe tingled against his skin, sash loosely bound. There would be no guards in the corridor that stretched to his chambers. Not tonight.

Pacing barefoot across the marble floor, he noted the squeeze of a damp hand intertwined with his. Steam from the palace baths dissipated from the air with every stride. There were no words needed, just the pad of your footsteps following close behind his own.

With a nudge of his head, Loki sent a wave of seidr rolling up your bodies. You giggled quietly, the delicate sound echoing. The god threw a glance over his shoulder, seeing your newly dried hair bounce as your steps quickened. “Hurry,” you chided, stifling another giggle. Loki turned on his heels, feet squeaking on the polished floor to a stop. You collided with his chest. “You do not command me, wife,” he warned, squinting theatrically before breaking into a smile. Loki’s heart leapt at your gasping laugh as he swept you off your feet, the drape of your matching robes scratching together. Your legs hung over one elbow, his hand securely fastened around your midsection. Loki would never forget the way your pupils dilated as you stared into his eyes, the whole world growing out of focus around what was in his grasp. Around you. “I love you-” he breathed, cutting himself off by leaning to catch your lips. The heavy wooden doors to his chambers opened of their own accord, recognising their master's presence. He let his tongue explore deeper with every powerful stride towards the matrimonial bed, slow and purposeful and all-consuming. Loki stopped, breaking the kiss to take in what lay before you both as the door swung shut. Dozens of tall candles adorned the arched windows, throwing an orange glow towards the navy dusk of Asgard sprawled below, just out of sight. White fur pelts draped across his bed, neat emerald sheets replaced with luxurious folds of cream and beige. Loki’s mouth twitched in mild disapproval. “Look,” you said, excitedly patting his shoulder and nodding towards a table by the fireplace. Lit by soft flickering flame, he saw the traditional finger-food of Asgardian gentry laid out on delicate piles. Each plate more tempting than the last. “Yes, very nice,” Loki hummed feebly, giving the scene a cursory glance before his attention was drawn unavoidably back to the pulse of your neck. Furious desire was thudding in him like the drums of war. It was becoming unbearable. His cock, violently hard and swollen and aching against his stomach. It had a heartbeat. Loki tightened his grip on your body in his arms, inhaling against the angle of your jaw. He sucked at the scent of your clean skin like oxygen, drowning. “Husband?” you moaned softly. She’s impatient. Loki felt every hair on his arms erect in unison.

One of your hands moulded to his cheekbone as you pressed your forehead to his, nuzzling his mouth until he relented. Your lips working against his own, Loki made the final steps to the bed before reluctantly lowering you to the pile of furs. He retreated, drinking in every inch of flimsy white chiffon that did nothing to hide the curves beneath. How she taunts me, he thought with a smile; pulling lightly at the sash around his waist, this wife of mine. The two of you were no virgins. But tonight, it felt like it was so. Wisps of half-forgotten memories twisted deep in the god’s mind; uprooted from their slumber. And another, and another. Like they belonged to someone else.

Lovers of every rank and station, known to him in dark hallways and golden bedchambers. The half-remembrances evaporated like smoke. But none like this, he thought with a comforting smile as his chiffon robe pooled around his ankles. He could feel the warmth rising in your cheeks, radiating from the coyness of your smile. None like her. Loki clasped his hands behind his back, raising his chin. He felt your appraising gaze dart up his displayed body, a series of rapid breaths beginning to pepper the air making his heart swell. Your gentle pants fluttered against his obliques, denying yourself the taste of his skin until the hallowed words had been spoken. They caught behind his teeth. The prince felt his abdomen clench, every muscle in his body resisting the urge to fall upon you. A wild tide on rocks.

“Will you accept me as your husband to your bed this night?” he uttered, laden with ceremony. You straightened in front of him, slow hands tugging at the fastening of your robe.

“Yes, my lord,” you answered seductively, looking him dead in the eye. “I will.”

The sheer fabric began to slip from your shoulders. The exchange was a formality. A tradition. But as Loki’s fingers wrapped around his straining cock, feeling fat droplets of pre-cum roll against knuckles; he conceded it was one Asgardian tradition he was glad to keep.

With an arm outstretched, you dropped the delicate robe onto the stone floor by his feet. Loki could feel the growl building in his throat. Low, primal. A shudder rolled over his biceps as you leant back on your elbows, drawing the soles of your feet onto the bed. He let his eyes run over the lines of your body, the flex of your thighs, the plump sweetness of your curves. She will be the death of me, he thought as he inhaled a staggered breath. No, he pondered after a beat, lowering to place his palms on either side of your shoulders. She is the beginning.

His fingers trembled as he placed one hand over your heart, eyes never leaving yours. “Do you trust me?” he murmured, barely audible. You frowned, glancing to where his fingers lay. “Always,” you whispered. The skin beneath his touch glowed green as Loki’s eyes fluttered shut. He opened them tentatively, softening. “The bond of my protection,” he explained bashfully, “now, if ever you need me, I will be with you.”

His heart dropped as your face scrunched, cupping his jaw. “You were always with me,” you said softly, straining upwards to place a gentle kiss on his parted lips. And in that moment, Loki knew. He worked his mouth across the curve of your cheekbone, wordless sounds of adoration soaking every step. “Lie back,” he whispered hot in your ear. His stomach flipped, realising as you reclined against the furs that he hadn’t been this nervous since the very first time. Or perhaps, even then. The god watched your eyes widen with excitement as he nudged your legs further apart with his knees. With aching intensity, he mapped each spark in your eyes as he dragged his cock along your soaking slit from root to tip. It nudged, gently.

“Loki," you gasped quietly, arching your back in frustration. He smiled, trying to remain serious. “What, my love?” he heard himself tease, inhaling against your neck with a shameless moan. Like pollen on a breeze, he felt your words soak through his skin. Through his soul. I need you. And, Loki thought, she means it.

He wondered if anyone else ever truly had.

The god raised his head, cursing the dark curls which fell forward from his braids against your face, obscuring the view. Your fingers combed past his shoulders, pushing the veil back. “There you are,” you whispered with a smile. He felt himself nod once, stare boring into your own. You nodded back, squeezing your knees against his trunk in encouragement.

Gasps filled the space between you as he eased the heavy tip of his manhood inside your channel. Inside the very essence of you that he had longed for. Every inch was a simmering feast of pleasure, the denial of centuries building to a single, strangled gasp of your name. Loki felt his brows slant, the sight of you beneath him almost more than he could bear. Careless lust rose in waves, firing through his bloodstream as he filled you to the hilt. Careful, he chided himself. Slowly. Every inch of your pussy was perfection, as he knew it would be. Every vein and ridge of his cock dragged tight against your flawless heat. A man could lose himself for eternity inside this pleasure if he wasn’t careful, each pull of your tight slippery cunt against his foreskin making him ascend. And not just a man, he thought through the drunken haze, a god. He choked with a rasping groan, letting his head fall into the curve of your neck. Loki began to pant as words of devotion licked the air like flames, your fingers trailing over the weaving curves of his ceremonial braids. “Don’t hold back,” you whispered wet in his ear, “not tonight.” Loki pulled his head back, a strand of saliva dangling from his lip as his brow furrowed. There was a new light in your eyes, something dark and hungry. Something familiar. Something him.

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Wife,” he gasped through breathy pants and shallow thrusts, “are you asking me to-” “-fill me,” you groaned, an impish smile tugging your dimples, "heirs, remember?" Loki’s eyes rolled back as you bucked your hips up, thudding your pelvic bones together. The snug warmth of your pussy was unbearable.

The prince remembered the way you had come undone beneath his mouth earlier this evening in the palace baths. The way that your fresh cum had flooded his outstretched tongue. He felt his thighs tense. His balls, tight. “My love, I-” he gasped, feeling you tug a clutch of his hair. Loki hissed, his jaw set. “I’m trying to be romantic,” he spat, yanking his head away like a child. He stared down with fiery determination, the flash in his eyes punctuated with a punishing thrust of his hips. You moaned approvingly below him, a teasing grin stretching across your face. Loki’s heart melted. My wife, he thought lovingly; before slamming his cock deeper with a squelch. He felt the scratch of your fingernails over thick shoulder muscle, the tightening of your thighs making him judder. “We have our whole lives for romance, Loki,” you cooed, the syllables staggered between each slap of his hips, “tonight I...uhhh- just want you to f-fuck me, f-finally.”

The god released the growl that had been marinating in his throat, stretching a hand above your head. He gripped a clutch of furs tight in a fist. “I fucking love you,” he rasped, beginning to roll his hips in targeted, deep thrusts. “I- oh g-god, fucking lo-love you, my p-prince” you whined, catching his mouth in a messy kiss.

Loki pulled away from you, shaking his head with a broken sigh. He could feel the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced building in his belly, your soft moans sending his soul to new planes. It was perfection, the two of you. Nothing would ever compare. Nothing ever should. “Not your prince-” he grunted, knuckles whitening against the furs as he spun out the feeling as long as it could last. Edging himself. “-husband,” -was the last word Loki heard before climax deafened him.

Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf @itsybitchylittlewitchy

[aizawasbrazybaby]

❥𓂃𓏧 If you let me

𖦹Warnings: fem!reader, p in v sex, smoking, mentions of sex work, pet names (ex. Baby) , Dom!Yami x sub!Reader

𖦹Word Count: 1.4k

🫧: Hope everyone had a good new year🫶🏾sorry for the late post and any errors

Summaryᐕ Captain Yami walks in on the crews biggest prude trying to please herself…

“A bit scandalous, no?” you muttered.

Your eyes fixed on the figure in the mirror. A pink long sleeved shirt, that happened to be snug enough to accentuate your large breasts, wrapped your torso. Below, a white and pink plaid flounce skirt stopped inches above the knee.

“Scandalous my ass!” Vanessa shouted, “you’re a black bull not some fuckin child librarian it’s okay to show some skin. Live a little.”

Turning your back to the mirror you gasped quietly. Heat rushed to your face and just as swiftly your hands covered your ass that poked out too much.

“Absolutely not!”, you pressed your back to the mirror checking that none of the guys were around, “this is far to risqué! I need a cardigan better yet I’ll just put on my usual attire.”

Noelle scoffed with her arms folded tight, “the dark corduroys that make you look like an old hag not happening. You need to loosen up and stop being so modest.”

“M’not,” you said more to yourself.

“Really? You had us wait almost an hour when we took a trip to the beach last month because you didn’t want to put on a bikini,” Magna spat entering the room with Yami. His eyes roamed your body as he listened to his junior. By then your face nearly stung from the heat. You held onto your shoulders as if shielding your exposed breast from his hungry eyes. More self aware and self conscious than before.

“What Miss Vanessa had to offer was no more than a mere pile of jumbled up string and cloth patches not swim wear.” You spat through gritted teeth, “I would have stayed with the novels in my chamber if I knew this was what I was walking into.” Putting out an old cigarette the captain pushed the burning side into a black ashtray that had the logo. You stopped mid march back to your part of the hideout at his assertive tone. His words smashing bits of your heart.

“You could use an upgrade. You walk around here lookin like a grandma who gave up on herself. The least you could do is change your wardrobe.” Yami grunted with a chuckle. The whites in your eyes blackened as they narrowed in on him. With that he knew to drop the banter. Knowing there would be no financial benefit in having yet another “accident.”

“The hell do you know old man,” your voice was like venom.

The heavy door slammed behind you locking automatically. Your knees hit the floor of the bedside as a sob ripped through your body. Cries muffled as your face shoved into the mattress and your hands caressed the cotton sheets. Aching echoed in your chest as it always did when he made those snide remarks. Those stupid fucking jokes.

Too sensitive, too rule abiding, too by the book, too much of a goody two shoes to even notice

You were so sick of hearing it all but you couldn’t go back to the way you were. Before the Black Bulls. Before the grimoire. He knew what you were. The things you did to survive yet he still sang those hurtful words. At one point you were convinced he actually forgot about your past and why he really recruited you.

Tap tap tap

“Screw off!”

Yami was the only person to use his fingertips instead of knocking like any normal person would.

“Why do you always take shit so personal?” He sighed.

Silence.

“I know you’re in there, don't ignore me.”

Again there was nothing from your end.

“Speak or I’m coming in, that's an order,” he hand tightened around the door knob.

“Leave me alone captain,” you said hardly above a whisper. You didn’t bother lifting your head from the initial spot.

“I’m sorry.” A genuine apology. His footsteps echoed from your door down the hall until they disappeared behind his. It felt like hours passed by at lightning speed. The sun that once sat in a blue sky left it in a variety of pinks and orange. You dared to peek over your arm to adjust your vision to the lights in the bright room. The clothes you wore were cautiously peeled off.

Eyes gawked at the sight in the mirror. Wearing the borderline non-existent undergarments the girls gifted for your birthday. Cranberry red thongs made of pure silk with a matching push up bro that covered no more than the tip of your areola. There was only one way you knew how to drown the pain.

With pleasure.

Toys of different varieties, sizes and uses dropped on a pillow. Choosing two you lubed up the flame printed butt plug and inserted it. A low hum vibrated in your throat. Something you received from your favorite client. The sweet stretch reminding you of the first time Fuegoleon’s thick cock barreled its way into you. How he introduced you to anal play.

“Fuck,” you swore plopping down atop the clear dildo. Trying to remember how sex with another human felt. Imagining that it was Yami’s pretty cockhead you were screwing yourself on and not some stupid piece of silicone. Alas it didn’t work. Not this time nor last time or the time before that. Masterbation was a skill set you never mastered. As someone who used to get railed for money you relied on others to give you orgasms.

A growl of irritation rumbled in the room as the back of your head sunk in the pillow. Legs still spread wide open.

Why was it always so hard to please yourself?

You plunged the toy back in your pussy thinking of him, the captain's name spilling from your mouth repeatedly as the excitement pulled to your core. So close, your walls fluttered around the thing.

“Ready to talk-” Yami stood in the door frame wide eyed. His cigarette fell to the floor from between his lips. The door automatically shut behind him from any other onlookers. “Is this why…I heard you calling for me..”

Pure humiliation. That’s the only way to put it.

“Yami,” you searched your brain for words, “please.” He knew what you meant. Knew you’d been avoiding sex like it was the plague. Avoiding any man who showed you the slightest bit of interest. Knew you felt dirty for wanting to be touched.

“I can’t do it alone,” you whispered, “but I, Captain..”

“You did what you had to,” his fingertips trailed up your legs stopping between your thighs making you shudder, “it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

His fingers replaced the dildo and you swore for a minute you saw stars. Moans found their way out. “When I found you all bloody in that alleyway I knew I had to take you in,” his fingers made contact with that spot that had your eyes rolling back. And when his thumb rubbed circles on your clit, “I had to protect you.”

Your release was beyond shattering. Causing you to clench around his fingers, loosen up and clench once more.

“You deserve to be loved too,” his lips met yours as he climbed over you, “loved on.” He said lowly nipping at your ear.

“Yami..please,” was all you could muster. Hands unbuttoning his tented pants. His cock sprung to his belly button upon release. “Need you now.”

“I know baby I know,” he fixed himself between your legs thrusting inside you. Just sex you told yourself. He just wanted sex.

He didn’t.

It was always you he wanted. Got himself off too. Pictured bearing his offspring. Even if you did have an awful sense of style to blanket your promiscuous past.

He pulled back excruciatingly slow driving his hips back into you. “You feel so good,” he kissed your neck, “look so pretty.” He fucked into you harder and the sounds of your cries only confirmed he had you getting closer to cumming.

Yami threw your legs over his shoulders thrusting uncontrollably. Only slowing down when you tightened around his cock leaving your cream at the base of it. Rocking his body into yours until he pulled out sliding between your thighs as he nutted on your stomach.

His thumb grazed over your bottom lip. Blush pouring over his face and chest. You watched his lips move as he mumbled your name and your heart skipped a beat at what he said after.

“Yes.” You answered with a smile creeping across your mouth.

[privwrites]

Geto's Golden Girl

Suguru Geto x female Reader x Gojo being Gojo

summary: You're Suguru Getos best and favourite student. He sends you on a new mission, and technically there's nothing that could go wrong. That is until you meet a former friend of your Sensei, who is all to eagier to get to know everything about you and your connection to Geto...

wordcount: around 4300

authors notes:

• not many spoilers really, but you should know what happens to Geto at the end of the jjk movie

• fanfiction takes place in an AU in which Geto will NEVER die (I'm still traumatised). Let's just say Gojo didn't have the heart to actually kill Geto at the end of jjk 0. Instead he left him severely wounded and walked away. That was your chance to save Geto and bring him home.

• English isn't my first language, so I might mix up some JJK terms.

tw: age gap (it's not a fanfic of mine if it doesn't have an age gap haha sorry), student x sensei/mentor/kinda father figure dynamic, violence, fight scenes, emotional rollercoaster, mentions of death, mentions of manipulation and kidnapping, humour, angst, fluff

Beta read by no one, I need female anime friends <3

backstory: You're one of Geto Sugurus scholars. Years ago he had rescued you from the humans of your village. You were able to see things they didn't, so they tried to exorcise you. You would've been dead if it hadn't been for Geto. Back then you were eight years old. Ever since then you lived with the sorcerer. He became your personal mentor, since he saw great potential in you and your cursed energy. The other two girls he rescued, Mimiko and Nanako Hasaba, were a few years younger than you. You viewed them as your sisters, but they never got as much attention and training from Geto like you did.

You were on your way home when you felt the first raindrop on your cheek. Looking up, the sky was gray, framed by orange-brown leaves on the trees lining the pavement. Autumn had finally arrived in Japan, and you felt relieved to bid farewell to this summer's heatwave. More raindrops fell, splashing on your dark blue jacket. Sighing, you opened your umbrella—this morning, the sky had been sunny and blue. Luckily, you always came prepared. The first humans hastened towards the stores, seeking shelter from the rain, hands raised over their heads. The sound of rain grew louder, amplified by the cars navigating the wet streets. You never particularly hated humans, but you didn't find them very interesting either. They simply coexisted with your world of Jujutsus and cursed energy. You didn't even resent the people in the village where you grew up. Hatred was a weighty emotion, and you enjoyed living an anger-free life. Eventually, your mentor Geto had accepted your relaxed attitude towards humans. Although you were probably the only one in his community that he allowed to have such a different opinion compared to his. You had always liked to talk back and had Geto questioning his will to actually teach and raise you a million times. But your were the strongest sorcerer your age, which was a big bonus point for you.

It was still raining when you reached home. The huge traditionally japanese mansion had space for your bedroom, Mimiko and Nanakos room and Geto's private chambers. Besides that there were many taijutsu practice rooms and guest rooms. Walking through the inner courtyard connecting various rooms via a small garden, the clacking sound of the Shishi Odoshi echoed across the space. Placing your umbrella on the wooden engawa, you removed your shoes and slid open the door to your room. Inside it was warm and cozy. The sound of the rain became quieter. You changed from your outdoor attire into comfortable indoor clothes and settled onto your futon. it didn't ake you long to feel tired. Sleep always came easily to you; you had a substantial need for it. The relaxing pitter-patter of the rain accompanied you into your dreams.

It didn't take Suguru Geto long to notice your return home. There was nothing in his house that the great sorcerer didn't know about, and the sight of the dark blue umbrella on your engawa was all too familiar. "Always prepared," he thought to himself. Geto was aware that you were likely asleep, as it was often the case on your days off. Despite it being only afternoon, your cursed technique of controlling all four elements of nature could be draining, requiring ample rest. Today it seemed like you just did a simple stroll through town, but even then, your cursed energy was always present. So the sorcerer waited another two hours before he sent Mimiko to wake you.

He had plans for you. He always had.

***

Geto could hear your footsteps long before you entered what could be described as his living room. You closed the sliding door behind you. Outside, it was still raining. Geto's gaze fixated on you instantly. The light blue Japanese kimono wrapped your figure elegantly, and your shiny hair framed your delicate face. "You called for me, Sensei?" you asked in your typically soft voice. "Yes, my dear. Sit down, please." You settled onto the tatami mat, your movements fluent and elegant. "So much like me," he thought, observing you. "I have a mission for you, y/n. There's an abandoned mall outside of Tokyo. From what my informant said, there's a cursed spirit that is powerful enough to be of great value for us." As he spoke, he turned on the andon lamp on the flat table between you two. It was already getting dark outside. You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess – you want me to bring it to you?" The sorcerer in front of you had an amused smile on his lips, his dark eyes holding a certain allure. You were different from the rest of his followers - while they would agree unquestioningly, you always dared to contradict or doubt him. And Geto allowed it- every time. "Precisely," he continued. "I can't get it myself; I'll be occupied. And I only trust you to get this done. I know you won't disappoint me." He was right. You wouldn't. If you followed his orders, you did it to his satisfaction - every time.

"I need more details, Sensei. When should I go? Where exactly is it? Should I bring Mimiko and Nanako? They could use another training session." Geto grinned at your numerous questions. You had a love for details and disliked not knowing everything about a mission. Geto ran his large hand through his raven-dark hair, a few strands falling onto his forehead. "You will go alone. Tomorrow afternoon. One of my drivers will bring you there. Capture it in the evening and come back during the night. We can't risk being seen." The golden light of the lantern flickered in your eyes. "We?" you mocked, "You won't even be there!" Geto sighed. "You couldn't let that slide, could you, y/n?" - "No chance," you answered, now grinning too. "Alright, I will take care of your cursed spirit for you. May it help you with whatever devilish plan you're coming up with next," you said, rising to leave.  Geto observed you in silence until you were almost out the door. "When did I tell you that you are dismissed already, y/n?" he asked sharply. "Oh," you retorted, wearing a hypocritically thoughtful expression, "never." You grinned and left, leaving behind your sweet scent that lingered in the air—Geto took a deep breath. Blackcurrant lychee, the same perfume he had bought you years ago.

***

The mall to which Geto had sent you had been abandoned for quite a while. As you approached it, the deserted structure loomed ominously in the night, its once vibrant exterior now a faded, dreary facade against the relentless rain. The stench of dampness lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of decay. The stars and the moon were shrouded in clouds, and it was raining again. Closed to the public, the mall occasionally attracted adventurous teenagers, some of whom mysteriously vanished. "Stupid mission", you grumbled to yourself, yearning for the comfort of your bed and a good book.  You swore to yourself to complain to Geto once you were back. Fucking idiot for not getting his cursed spirits by himself. But since you had decided to stay out of his other mad plans as much as possible, tasks like this one were becoming more regular for you. Finding the entrance, cordoned off with barrier tape, didn't take long. Stepping inside, a familiar tingle coursed through your stomach— the cursed spirit wasn't far. All you had to do was to follow your gut feeling. Meanwhile, you carefully looked around the mall. Smaller raindrops were dripping into bigger puddles on the ground, and many store entrances were barricaded. The eeriest thing was the flickering of some of the store neon lights. Why did they still have power? Your steps echoed on the wet floor. Maybe it was the cursed energy in the mall that made some of the lights flicker. Sneaking your way into the building, you could feel the energy of the curse grew stronger. Carefully you took out your sealing box. Capturing a curse with it was pretty easy for you. Also because Geto made your practice it a million times when you were younger. He used to have this annoying little spirit that always jumped around laughing and was incredibly hard to catch. Thinking about it made you grin-but this was neither the right place nor the right time for that. Besides, you were still a little annoyed with Geto for sending you here.

Suddenly, a strange, eerie mumbling echoed through the mall. That had to be the cursed spirit! "Of cou-course I can check the ware-warehouse for the item, which is obviously already sold out." You chuckled. Sometimes, the spirits last words were quite comical. Following the echoing sounds, you traced the spirit to a secluded corner of the mall. It was a grotesque manifestation, its malformed figure adorned with bones protruding from its mouth. Its skin bore a sickly hue of purple-turquoise, marred by blisters. Despite its repulsive appearance, you sensed its huge strength, yet nothing beyond your capabilities. The cursed spirit let out a squeak upon sighting you. "Better get this done quickly", you thought to yourself. Your power of controling the elements (fire, water, earth, air) made it easy for you to capture the curse inside the sealingbox after a short fight. Once the curse was sealed, you left the corner of the mall as quickly as possible, mainly to escape the stench of the curse still lingering in the air.

You got back to the main hall and were about to take out your cell phone to text Geto's driver-when something suddenly made you pause. The main hall of the shopping mall stretched around the corner about 30 meters in front of you. You hadn't been in this area before. And suddenly you could feel something - cursed energy? But the curse was sealed in the box in your hand, wasn't it!? The energy grew stronger. Very strong. You immediately got into a fighting stance. Whatever was so strong wouldn't let you escape anyways. Footsteps—long, deliberate—echoed in the flickering neon-lit corridor. Your heart raced with apprehension. What the hell was going on!? A figure emerged from around the corner, and you froze. A man, tall and adorned in dark, sophisticated attire, stood a few meters in front of you. He was wearing simple sunglasses, but despite that, you could see how handsome he was. His blue eyes seemed to shine through his sunglasses, and white hair framed his face. Recognition dawned on you. You had heard much about him but never encountered him in person. "Fuck," you muttered, stepping back a few paces in defense. What was HE doing here!?

"'Fuck?' the man asked, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully as if contemplating what you just said. You observed him anxiously. Suddenly, his expression brightened. "Fuck? Yeah, that probably is what most women first think when they look at me!" You opened your mouth and closed it again, unable to bring out any answer. Geto had told you alot about his old friend, including that he was quite full of himself, but it seemed that you only just now understood what he really meant. It took you a few moments to compose yourself. "That's not—what I meant!", you finally defended yourself, holding the sealing box behind you defensively, anticipating any attacks from him. "Meant what? Fuck? I'm sorry love, but that's not why I'm here." He casually slipped his hands into his pockets, grinning carefreely. And you? You couldn't believe it. You had never encountered a more unserious man, that was certain! And he was Geto's best friend? The contrast couldn't be more stark between the two. "You know, I'm actually here to get to know someone. I'm looking for a girl, around (your/age) years old, (your/haircolor) hair, and with a quite good curse technique", he explained. It was obvious that he was searching for you for some reason. However, the sorcerer seemed to enjoy to tease you. But you weren't having it. "Seems like you found her then", you answered grim. "Excelent! You know, I do really hate searching!" He looked genuinely happy about it, "I heard a lot about you, my dear." You swallowed. You couldn't trust him at all. Of course he was stronger than you and whatever reason brought him here, couldn't mean anything good for you.

"What would Satoru Gojo want from me?", you asked sharply, watching his every move. "Oh, you know my name already, perfect!" The urge to wipe that stupid smile off his face grew stronger inside you. "Anyways, Miss (your/lastname), here's my brilliant plan: you're gonna give me the cursed-spirit that you captured so well. And then I will kidnap you too. Agree?" He made his plan sound like it was the best thing in the world. "What- no!", you spat out, "why would I do that?!" Gojo Satoru scratched his neck again. "Because the other option would be for you to fight me. In that case, you would obviously loose. And I personally just hate fighting a pretty woman!" His dumb comments started to trigger you, prompting you to shoot a small fire ball into his direction. You'd never surrender without a fight! "Oops!", Gojo squeaked in surprise, taking a step aside. The fireball left a hole in the old storefront of a former restaurant behind him, igniting it. He watched it burn and sighed. 'That store used to have really good Kikufuku, you know?" - „I do not care!", you shouted. Gojo was incredibly irritating. „Well", he continued, „I should've known Getos golden girl won't submit to me that easily." You raised an eyebrow. "Geto's golden girl?" - "Exactly", he said, "you are his best and favourite student after all, right? That's why I'm here, y/n." You wanted to say something sassy back, but you couldn't even deny the 'best and favourite' part. Instead a new fireball started to form in your hand. You shot it towards him- faster this time, but the tall man easily dodged it. It seemed as though Gojo was enjoying your attacks.

If only you would have enough time to flee with the captured spirit! Instead Gojo continued his unbothered talking. "You were also the one to save Geto after I defeated him, right? He must mean quite alot to you. And honestly- I can't even blame you! He is incredibly smart and hot!" - "I don't need your opinion!", you shouted, sending a wave of air in his direction. Any other opponent would have been smashed against the wall, but not Gojo. He stumbled back a few steps. "Wow! You really are talented! I understand what Geto sees in you! I'm glad he didn't lose his taste after all!" - "That's none of your business either!" Did this guy ever shut up!? "Actually, it is. Geto is my best friend as much as he is my enemy. And therefore his plans concern me. And so do his students that he manipulated into staying with him." A contemptuous sound escaped you. "I enjoy my life and freedom with Geto, and so do the others!" Gojo nodded. „I knew you'd say that. In that case, show me what you got, dear! For you, I'll take off my sunglasses. Strong fighters deserve to face me without them." He put his glasses away and his blue eyes seemed to stare into your soul. There was no escaping him. You couldn't defeat him. But you never surrendered either. And strangely enough, something within you sparked a sudden surge of fighting spirit. This was your mission for Geto! You always promised and delivered for your sensei, and you wouldn't stop just because blue-eyes decided to show up! „Fine, I'd rather die than hand over the curse or even myself!" You utilized your power over air to elevate yourself off the ground, hovering a few meters above it. In your hand, a flame grew, intensifying with each passing second. Fire was your strongest skill—essential for this battle. "This could've been much easier", Gojo sighed. Before you could answer, you were struck by a punch, hurling you through the air. How was he so fast? Luckily, your air-skills saved you. You threw the fireball back, and within seconds you and Gojo were engrossed in a fight. In the meantime, he kept shouting comments at you about your cursed techniques. "Aim a little further to the right!", "Yeah, you got me there!" , That was better!" - You couldn't answer his comments.  He grew stronger with each passing moment, and soon, you found yourself crashing into walls and barraged with waves of cursed energy. You stood no chance.

So, you did the last thing you could do: you secretly did a special cursed technique, anchoring the sealing box itself firmly into the ground. Geto had taught you this particular technique. It was designed in a way that only a person of your choosing could effortlessly retrieve the box from the ground- Geto in your case. It was an impossibility for anyone else since the technique was intrinsically linked to the Sorcerer's life—yours. Then all your strength left you in exhaustion. Gojo immediately pulled you toward him, your back pressed against his, his arm against your throat. "I haven't encountered such an intriguing opponent in a while", his breath brushed against your neck, "Unfortunately, you don't stand a chance against me. I will now take you and the imprisoned curse with me. But mark my words—you will grow incredibly strong one day." - "You're... not... my sensei!' you managed to utter, straining to speak with whatever breath remained in your lungs.

"That's right, but I am!" an all too familiar soft but serious voice interjected, "and now, Gojo, my old friend, could you please release my y/n? She hates being restrained like that." - „Geto!", you shouted. In the neon light, a few meters in front of you, stood your sensei. He was clad in a dark kimono, his eyes glaring sharply at Gojo behind you. The light reflected his beautiful face. „Geto, finally! It's delighting to see you!", Gojo exclaimed enthusiastically, "I knew you'd show up eventually. You can't leave your dear y/n alone after your sources have told you that I'm here too, I understand that!" - "Release her, Gojo, now!" Your sensei's expression was more determined than ever. An intense tension crackled between the two powerful men, their presence adding to the charged atmosphere. "Gladly, Geto," Gojo replied, "but I just realized you'll have to release the cursed anchor of the sealing box in the ground. Apart from y/n, only you can open it. Nice technique you taught her, by the way." For a plit second, Geto glanced at you with pride. The anchor technique was incredibly challenging to master. "The alternative is for me to kill your student, Geto," Gojo's voice turned dangerously serious. "Geto, you need that curse! Take it and leave!" you shouted. Getos gaze met yours, and his facial expression softened immediately. "Leave you?" he asked, then turned to Gojo, "I'd sooner give up everything I've achieved in my life than to leave y/n. If you want the curse that badly, Gojo, I'll hand it over!" You stared at Geto in disbelief. You knew how much your sensei had sacrificed to reach his current position—it meant everything to him! "Geto—" you managed to say, "no...!" He looked at you, a faint smile on his lips. "It's alright, y/n. I've made my decision."

Suddenly, Gojo's grip around your neck eased, and you broke free, almost tumbling to the ground before Geto swiftly caught and supported you. Clinging to the fabric of his soft kimono, you caught the familiar scent of cedarwood. "Shh, it's alright", Geto reassured, his hand gently stroking your hair. A chuckle from Gojo drew your gaze upward. "So, there's still good in you, old friend", Gojo spoke surprsingly soft. "I'm sorry I had to put you both in this situation, but I needed to make sure Geto hadn't lost his old self. I needed to know if he still cared for those around him." Your eyes widened in realization. What the hell? „You didn't come here of your own accord, isn't that right, Gojo?", Geto asked him, "the council of Jujutsu sorcerers sent you."  You looked questioningly at Geto, whose gaze was fixed on Gojo. Geto continued: "Someone told the council that I would look for the curse in the old mall. So they sent you to defeat me for good." Gojo nodded. „You have a sharp mind as always, Geto. I was instructed to end your life here, in this very mall." Realization struck you: "So the council thought Geto would show up, and instead you met me! But how did you know about me anyways? You couldn't know Geto wasn't here!", you exclaimed. "You're not entirely wrong, y/n," Gojo replied. "The council had no clue that Geto sent you. But given that Geto is my best friend, I'm usually well-informed about his actions. Thus, I assumed that for a mission like this, his top student—namely you—would likely handle it. Even though Geto couldn't have known I was waiting here for you instead."

You nodded in understanding, but suddenly, Geto's hold around you tightened. "Does the council of Jujucists know that y/n is here too, Gojo?" he asked tensely, surprising you. Geto appeared nervous. "No, they're unaware," Gojo replied. "I didn't inform the council of my suspicion of meeting y/n here instead of you. That way, I could test you, Geto, by forcing you to choose between your goals and your heart", and looking at you he said: "I would've never killed you, y/n. Because that would have meant I'd have had to fight an incredibly enraged Geto - and then I might have ended up losing after all." You shook your head. "You're completely insane, Gojo Satoru." Gojo winked at you. "Well I care about my best friend's loved ones." You rose to your feet slowly, and Geto was there, lending his support as you straightened up. You brushed the dust from the earlier fight off your clothes, then looked at two special grade jujutsu sorcerers. "And what happens next? What will you tell the council, Gojo?" - "That's a smart question, y/n. And our next problem. I could never kill Geto, but even if I didn't, the council would, if I captured him instead of killing him. You grabbed Getos arm immediately. "That's not an option!", you stated. "I know, dear. But the councils has spies anywhere, so they definitely know that I've met Geto here in the mall. And by now, they probably know about you y/n too. The only solution is for you two to leave this place immediately. Hide from the council until they  give up searching for you", Gojo said, seemingly unhappy with the situation.

Geto took a step infront of you. "I won't drag y/n into fleeing and hiding from the council with me! It's dangerous and only I am responsible for my current situation!" His voices conveyed a deep seriousness. Gojo nodded understandably. "Then I'll take y/n with me, back to Tokyo Jujutsu High School. I'll tell the council that you manipulated y/n and that she's entirely innocent. And that I didn't have the physical strength to defeat you, but instead freeded y/n. This way, she can stay safe until the council stops their hunt for you." Geto nodded immediately in agreement, whilst your eyes widenend. "No!", you shouted, "I'll stay with Geto! I don't care if they chase us!" Gojo looked at you with pity. Suddenly you all heard a noise from the other side of the mall. "Geto, you need to leave! Someone's coming!", Gojo spoke hurriedly. "No, Geto no!", you pleaded, "no sensei abandons their student!" Geto leaned down to you, his expression a blend of sorrow and determination. "Listen, y/n," he spoke softly, "you're no longer just my student. I'm not your sensei anymore. You've surpassed me in wisdom and kindness. You're more than my equal now." He delicately brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gorgeously dark gaze meeting your watery eyes. "What I mean, y/n, is that you deserve a life free from the dangers I've attracted. As I'll be hunted, I want you to be safe. I trust Gojo to protect you until I return." Tears streamed down your face, making you speechless. Another sound echoed from the mall, but Geto remained composed as he continued: "You'll go with Gojo. Train at Jujutsu High School. Grow stronger, and we'll meet again. I'm certain." His words were clear, leaving no room for an argument. You nodded, sniffling, "I'll miss you terribly. Please take care." Geto nodded back, a soft smile gracing his lips. Gently tucking your hair behind your ear, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead before nudging you toward Gojo, who put an arm around you immediately.

As Geto stood up, he glanced at Gojo, "Take care of y/n. Without her, I'd be devoid of my humanity." - "I promise," Gojo affirmed. You brushed away your tears, whispering, "I'll make you proud, Geto." He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You've surpassed that already, my love," he smiled warmly. Suddenly, the screech of an eagle pierced through the broken ceiling of the mall. In the next moment, it lifted Geto off the ground, perching him on its back. "Goodbye, y/n", Geto spoke softly. The eagle let out another cry and soared into the sky. The silhouette of Geto atop the eagle diminished until it vanished into the night. You gripped Gojo's hand, tears still cascading down your cheeks. "It's okay," Gojo murmured, "I'll stay by your side until better days arrive. And until then I have just the right classmates for you to help you find your new way at Jujutsu High." You gazed at him questioningly through the wet lashes of your tears. "What do you mean by that?", you asked suspiciously, "I don't think anyone would want to be friends with someone who was with a villain for that long." Upon the Jujutsu Sorcerer's lips, there appeared a subtle yet discernible grin. "I currently have three students- one of them had an aweful father- and the other one, well, ate his villain. So I think you'll be good." You stared at Gojo. That man was always good for a surprise it seemed. "Ate...him?", you asked in disbelief. Gojos grin was now clearly visible on his face. "Exactly. You see? I'm sure Getos golden girl-", he winked at you, "will fit in just fine!"

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XVIII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Lucien adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, wanting to look his absolute best during the dinner his father had decided to personally invite him to. 

The corridor was empty and quiet, Eris was his only company as they both waited for Elain to finish getting ready for the evening. Lucien could sense she was equally as nervous to be spending more time with his family. 

He bit the inside of his cheek as he straightened his jacket. 

“Stop worrying,” Eris snapped, voice cold and uncaring, as if he could not be bothered to reassure his youngest brother. Lucien thought It sounded more like an order than an attempt to settle him. 

He sighed as he faced the High Lord’s heir. “Are we late?” 

Eris rolled his eyes, the torches along the walls flashing momentarily. “Take a breath and stop fidgeting, this dinner is a peace offering.” 

While his brother had not actually answered his question, Lucien was almost sure Eris would have made an effort to rush them if they were at risk of upsetting their father. He had once believed wholeheartedly that Eris would not let any harm come to him. After Jesminda’s death, he had come to the conclusion that Eris only had his own best interests in mind. 

Lucien looked at Eris as they continued to wait for Elain, questioning if his eldest brother fell somewhere in the middle of his assumptions. Eris had gone out of his way to ensure Lucien had been released from the dungeons, and had proven himself an ally to Elain. 

Lucien’s golden eye clicked into place and Eris turned to face him. 

Eris frowned as their eyes met, almost as though he knew exactly what Lucien was thinking about. The torches flared once more as he opened his mouth to speak, but the doors to the chambers opened suddenly and they both turned to face Elain and Cora. 

All of Lucien’s thoughts about what Eris might have said had they not been interrupted quickly left his mind as Elain walked elegantly into the corridor.

Lucien straightened as she approached, her dress was lovely, the material fading from black to orange, her skirts looking like the forest floor as they dragged along the stone ground. Like most dresses in Autumn, it was modest, and very little of her skin showed. Elain had pinned her hair up with the comb of pearls Eris had gifted her, and Lucien’s eyes fell to the pale column of her throat. 

Elain Archeron was stunning, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and Lucien suddenly became very aware of the scars that marred his face.

Elain looked at him and blushed, she paused, skirts in her hands as she spoke. “Sorry to make you both wait, it took Cora ages to figure out the ties,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the corridor, echoing loudly in Lucien’s mind. 

“Did it?” Eris raised a brow at Cora as she shut the doors to the suite and walked to Elain’s side. 

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she said, “I hate Autumn Court gowns.” 

“Some lady’s maid you are,” Eris replied with a scoff, clearly intending to annoy her.

“Do all the clothes really need so many laces and buttons?” Cora clipped, gesturing to the back of Elain’s dress. “Hardly my fault the females here have to suffer in such a fashion.” 

Eris waved a hand lazily and Lucien watched with great interest as his brother’s lips tilted up at the corners, flames in his eyes. “You should have stayed in Night, where the nobles have much simpler tastes.” 

Cora looked prepared to bite back a response, but Lucien pitied the poor female for having to put up with Eris’s moods and spoke before the situation could escalate.

“You look beautiful, Elain.” 

His mate blushed an even darker shade of red. “Thank you,” she said softly, trailing her eyes from his booted feet to the high neckline of his jacket. “You look nice, too.” 

Lucien bowed his head, keeping their gazes locked. It felt as if just the two of them were in the dark space, that no one else existed beyond them. 

Lovely. 

Elain was breathtakingly beautiful, and Lucien questioned the cauldron’s decision to make them mates. 

Eris cleared his throat, shattering the silence between them along with the illusion that only Lucien and Elain were present. 

“You also look very handsome, Eris.” Elain added as she reached for Lucien’s arm. He offered it to her without hesitation, and she grabbed onto him with no consideration. If it were not for the amusement ringing in her tone, Lucien might have been irrationally jealous at the statement. 

Cora hummed in agreement, and Lucien could have sworn a flicker of shock flashed across his brother’s features as he glanced at the Night Court female. “Are family dinners always so… formal?” She asked none of them in particular. 

Eris merely shrugged in response, “It’s not every night you welcome back an exiled son.” 

Lucien nodded, keeping his expression serious. “I’m so flattered.” 

Elain giggled at his side and Lucien caught himself genuinely smiling. 

“Wish your lady’s maid a goodnight,” Eris interrupted, “we should be going.” 

“I’ll find you in the morning,” Elain promised, waving at her friend as Eris began to walk away.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Cora called after them and Lucien almost snorted, knowing the evening would probably be torturous. 

Elain was comfortable as she loosely held onto his arm, her heartbeat steady, nothing negative making its way down the bond. Eris slowed his steps, letting them catch up, and he walked next to Elain. 

As soon as they walked up a flight of stairs, ensuring there was enough distance between them and Cora, Elain used the hand that was not holding onto Lucien to swat his older brother. 

“You could use her name,” she scolded, "it's not as if you don’t know it.” 

Lucien’s mouth fell open in silent shock. He wondered when his eldest brother might have last been chastised, who might have been brave enough to dare. 

“Whose?” Eris said, disdain dripping from the one word, although it was obvious he knew who Elain was referring to.  

Elain hit him again, this time with more force. “You could be nice,” she suggested, disappointment lining her lovely features.

“Being nice might actually kill him,” Lucien mumbled, but they both seemed content to ignore his presence. 

“Stop hitting me,” Eris said, sounding unbothered.

As Elain raised her gloved hand one more time, Eris did not miss a single step as he winnowed to Lucien’s side, maintaining their pace effortlessly. 

Elain attempted to get through to him one last time, leaning past Lucien so she could frown at him. “It’s rude, Eris,” she observed. “You ought to know as much.”  

Lucien could have told her that arguing with Eris was akin to arguing with a stone wall, but he watched as they interacted, surprised at how comfortable they seemed to be with each other.

“Remember yourself at dinner,” Eris warned, “I’m not too sure that the rest of my brothers will appreciate your more violent side.” 

While Lucien could tell Eris was not being serious, he felt as Elain tensed, clearly worried by the words. 

Lucien shot Eris a glare, but his brother had already begun to speak, paying attention only to his mate.  

“You’ve managed to charm even my father, Elain Archeron,” Eris added, having noticed her change in demeanour, and Lucien was grateful as she straightened her shoulders back. She already looked more confident as Eris gave her a final piece of advice. “So keep at it.” 

Eris’s praise was enough for Elain to maintain an attitude that made her seem entirely at ease among the most important family in the Autumn Court. While the High Lord sat at the head of the rectangular table, no one else faced him from across the other side. 

Lucien’s mother was at his father’s left side, and Eris was on his right. Elain had quickly found her place sitting between Lucien and the Lady of Autumn, who she spoke with softly, answering all of his mother’s pleasantly worded questions while everyone else ate their perfectly cooked meal. 

Lucien was surprised with how well-behaved his brothers were, considering how he had witnessed more than enough brawls during their family dinners before he had been exiled. Beron watched with observant eyes, paying attention to the conversation between Elain and his wife. 

Eris had said very little, just like Lucien remembered, choosing to eat slowly and avoid meaningless small talk. Callum was expectedly next to their eldest brother, looking at the very least like he was carefully listening to Elain as she spoke. Ronan had drunk so much wine Lucien was wondering if he would be able to walk out of the dining room on his own, which seemed a bit unusual. Felix had his elbows on the table, head resting on his fist, decidedly choosing to be disrespectful. Lucien was surprised that their father had yet to say anything, knowing how much the High Lord valued appearances. 

“I was thinking of sending invitations out in the next couple of days,” Lucien heard his mother say, a repressed excitement in her voice. She placed her napkin next to her full plate. “Of course, Night will be receiving theirs first.” 

“Thank you,” Elain added, “We’d been planning a smaller affair, very few knew about it outside our little circle of friends.” She glanced to Lucien shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear endearingly before turning her attention back to the Lady of Autumn. 

“We could send Spring an invitation,” Beron added, voice quiet but authoritative. He looked at Lucien with a raised brow, “We wouldn't want to offend Tamlin.” 

“How considerate,” Lucien said, feeling his teeth grit in annoyance. 

“And we must invite the human queen and her general,” his father continued.

“I don’t expect them to travel into our court.” Lucien responded, wanting his friends to stay far away from the Forest House. 

“Why not?” Felix asked. “We have such a lovely court,” he flashed Lucien a grin daring him to argue. 

Lucien set his cutlery down with a loud sound as it hit against the side of his plate. 

“I don’t care much for Queen Vassa,” Elain interrupted before Lucien could say anything. There was honesty in her words, he could tell, perhaps even a hint of jealousy, but he knew she was only saying it for his benefit, 

Elain had come to his defence in the hopes that Beron would leave his friends alone, and the respect he had for his mate only soared at the thought.

Ronan chuckled, raising his glass in a salute towards Elain, which she returned elegantly despite her clear discomfort at being addressed directly. “I like your mate’s honesty, little brother,” he confessed before drinking deeply.

Beron hummed in response, placing his hand, palm up, onto the table. Lucien watched as his mother laced their fingers together, the gesture coming to them naturally. His much larger hand engulfed her smaller one, and Lucien had to fight the urge to wince.   

Everyone went back to eating in silence, and Lucien recalled the countless family dinners he had silently sat through. With Beron present, his brothers were achingly careful with their words and their actions, not wanting to upset him. It was like trying to walk in the woods without snapping a branch, nearly impossible without practice, but each of them had learned to read their father’s moods. 

As though Elain could sense the troublesome direction of Lucien’s thoughts, she placed a comforting hand on his knee. Covered by the table, no one else noticed the startlingly soft gesture. 

Lucien realised quickly that Elain’s action had not been for show, that it had not been a part of their roles, it was simply a moment shared between the two of them.

[chococolte]

i adore your writing SO much its so detailed and expressive its amazing like im in awe??? even the old works you reposted i love it so much?!??? if its open still id like to request sagau with ayato and thoma (and any other if you want to add someone!!) and them maybe meeting their god or being praised?

Thoma already is such a sweetheart so i can imagine how he'd melt from even the slightest bit of praise, and ayato is such a prideful man but itd be so interesting to see how he pushes that aside for his god. Absolutely adore all the sagau works youve posted so far, imagining their wholehearted devotion and love in such a way is just 👌 cant wait to read more <33333

word count. 1.1k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obssessive thoughts/behaviors, religious & cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. nonnie r we about to kiss...? u know just how to make me write ur req... regardless, thank you so so much!!! i hope this is okay for you??? this is just u praising them since im working on a bigger work that'll have all my takes on the genshin men as worshipers, I hope u don't mind!!

ayato

Ayato is a prideful man.

Raised from birth to be the clan head after his father, Ayato has always been steadfast. He has to be. He has a duty to his clan, to his sister; to protect her from the darker side of politics, the back-stabbing and infighting; to protect the ones who he cares about the most, the ones who work underneath him and the ones who have put their trust into his command.

He works because he must. He lies and deceives, and with guile he crafts webs of intricate gossamer, lying in wait for an unfortunate individual stupid enough to cross him. Ayato's pride is deliberate, molded by his hands, by the azure glow of the vision at his hip— he is sagacious and determined, mature and mighty.

It is surprising, then, how easily he crumbles when with you.

The echo of your laughter, your refulgent eyes, the steady cadence of your voice and your dulcet tones; every detail of your being enraptures him with the ease of breathing, with all of the ease of sunlight seeping through verdant glades.

Your praise, whether light or ostentatious, leaves Ayato melting in his seat. It's unlike him— unlike the tall, dignified man of cunning and wit, to be so weak and defenseless to only your words; but the tides of his heart pull regardless, drifting to the moonlight of your smile. To feel the weight of your eyes on him leaves him preening, crooning at your slightest attention.

What pride Ayato has is discarded for this brief moment of peace with you, so he can revel in the euphoria your praise alights.

Your eyes crinkle at the sides, twinkling in the dim light of your private chambers. "You did good," you say. You say it so simply he feels silly for getting so worked up, foolish for the way his cheeks burn.

A soft ember of candle wax lights your face only slightly, an orange halo coalescing behind your head. Despite the twilight, Ayato does his best to impress your visage into his mind; the rim of ethereal light cupping your head like a sunset dipping beneath the sea, the flame's reflection dancing on your skin, the light glistening in your eyes like a blanket of stars. He drills it into his head, desperate to never forget.

You stare into the candlelight for a moment, then rise to your feet. You take small, measured steps towards him, then take a spot next to his seated figure.

"I'm sorry to have called you so late at night," you whisper. Ayato keeps his expression calm, showing no emotions on his face, despite the wild rhythm of his heart in his chest. "I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to speak to you privately, otherwise. But I truly am grateful for all you've done."

Without breaking eye contact, you reach forward and cusp his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the birthmark under his lips. His skin burns like electricity runs through the current of his veins, his nerves set aflame by the kindling of your touch.

"You're so good for me. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

Ayato swallows thickly, then with trepidation, softly leans into your hands.

thoma

Thoma's heart beats against his ribcage with all the fury of a raging fire.

He squirms where he sits in front of you, furtively rubbing his legs together. Thoma drums his fingers on his knees in an attempt to calm himself, trying to focus on the light sound of the rapping of his knuckles.

The mere thought of being alone with you is enough to send him into a frenzy, but the reality of it makes it difficult to breathe. You had fed him compliments before, simple praise— but still, enough for him to wish the moment would last forever.

Light bores down through the diaphanous curtains of your throne room, reflecting your glistening, specular throne. Carved into the pillars that hold you up are jewels and precious stones, ingrained and polished until they shine like the sun in the sky.

“Thoma.”

You say his name in such a particular way, entirely unique to you. It sticks out in his mind, burning like a pyre. The way your lips cup together to form every syllable, the soft click of your tongue hitting against the roof of your mouth. That you know of his name at all is a kindness; that you speak it aloud, a blessing.

He grips the fabric of his pants a little tighter, digging his nails into his knees. Thoma helplessly resists the urge to kowtow before you, staying seated peacefully by your feet. You asked for him to do no more, and to imagine you ever dissatisfied with him brings him to tears.

You are his God. He wants to kiss your feet, whisper words of worship and love— but you have not asked for that. You asked for him to sit, and so he does. No more, no less, despite the yearning that aches within him.

Thoma nods his head in understanding, untrusting of his own voice. His heart trembles, drinking in your being, draped in fine silks and ornate jewelry. You are effortless in beauty and elegance; next to you, every god only stands to look like a parody of the beauteous glory of your existence.

“You're so beautiful,” you say. You reach forward and cup his cheek, and his breath hitches in his throat. Thoma’s eyes haze over with fog, but a warmth courses through him past the mist. Warmth from you, from the light you provide. Heat like an undercurrent runs through his veins and brings him back to reality. “So pretty. So good for me.”

A faint blush dances on his champagne-tinted skin, softly embracing his face and ears. Thoma looks up and meets your eyes, watching as you smile and wrinkle your eyes in a way that makes his knees weak. He's never been happier to be seated.

“I'm so proud of you.” You twirl his hair in your fingers, playing with his messy locks, ignoring the red blooming on his cheeks. Thoma bites his lip in an attempt to keep himself silent, butterflies hopelessly fluttering in his stomach.

“Please,” he murmurs. It's both a plead for you to continue and for you to stop— his heart is weak enough as it is, even without your praise. Coupled that with even the faintest of your breath against his skin, and Thoma is struggling to keep himself composed.

You laugh, whispering. “It's okay. Let me show you how proud I am of you.”

[calummss]

Love Resembles Misty Dream | Aemond Targaryen

masterlist

summary: as daughter of the hand of the king, not everything comes to you. aemond and you are madly in love, the only problem? there is a slim chance of getting married. it seems the old and new gods have not decided your fate just yet

pairing: fem! reader x aemond targaryen

words: 2.3k

a/n: wrote this bc i only found smut and we need fluffy aemond fics. this aemond is written canonically, but he would only act like this for that one specific person, no one else. i also changed the timeline slightly so that otto was disposed of after alicent gave birth to aemond. okay enjoy

‘Dragonpit after sunrise. I’ll see you then my love.’

Your heart fluttered in excitement as you read the letter, written with the black ink you came to know so well. You have received similar scrolls over the years, yet every time the words swirled around your mind, you could feel your heart beating faster. It was a reminder that even after all these years he still made you nervous; excited; over the moon. You knew it was love by the way you felt, and knowing him, he loved you so much he would start a war over you.

The light of the moon did not seem to want to leave the dark sky anytime soon. Only the flicker of a candle lit up your chamber, illuminating orange between the misty air.

You stroked the parchment with your thumb, the other hand hidden under your head as you waited for the sun to rise.

Your father was a guest at the court, turned Hand of the King when Otto Hightower had his position taken from him. Days at court were boring, considering that there were barely any girls at court your age with the exception of Princess Helaena Targaryen. But her brother Aemond was who took your interest. You had observed him the first few weeks and noticed he was bold, wild, willful, hot-tempered and unforgiving. He grew up to be a proficient and dangerous swordsman. He had a weird calmness to him which made him scary to most, but somehow you had befriended him. You knew how odd that was when people started to stare at you, following the news of the “Prince’s First Friend”. Ridiculous title if you were asked. One particular night he had accompanied you through the gardens and when no one was looking caught you by surprise, sneaking a kiss on your lips as you had stared at the ground seconds before. Aemond loved the risk of being with you, but also grew tired of it at the same time.

When the moon did decide to disappear you wasted no time. Your handmaiden helped you braid and tie your long silky hair, helping you into your pink dress that was your favourite. You were grateful that the castle was not yet awake with the exception being the household personnel tending to breakfast, cleaning and whatever else had to be done by the time the King would awake.

The halls were empty, your shoes gently echoing against the harsh stonewalls trying not to cause a racket that would lead its way back to you. Finding your way out of the Keep and covering yourself with a cape, you started heading towards the Dragonpit. Walking past the drunks and unconscious men that belonged to the smallfolk, made the sweat in your nape roll faster. The winds felt exceptionally cold that morning, as did the narrow streets seem to have shrunken the last time you traveled the way. Small but fast paced steps had you standing in front of the Dragonpit quicker than last time.

The Dragonkeepers were the one thing you hated amongst the sneaking around. Any sound, any movement, any sense to be alarmed, and they would swing their swords, find you and send you back to the Red Keep, telling your father of your shortcut adventure of the early morning hour. Luckily they had never been aware of you until now.

Flattening yourself against the rough stones of the building, you slid against the wall, carefully getting past the four guards that were deep in conversation. Clenching your teeth, you detached yourself from the wall and headed towards the basement that led you to the individual caves the dragons were held in. Small torches lit the wet structure, shining in the light. The wind breeze blew your face softly, your hair moving away from your face as you got closer to the entrance.

‘Aemond.’ You whispered as quiet as you could, not to wake the dragons or to alert the Dragonkeepers of a break-in.

The heels of your shoes left an echoing click in the air, but Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

‘Aemond.’

Suddenly someone grabbed you by your side and pulled you in against one of the cave walls.

‘Aemond.’ You smiled, greeted by blond hair and a blue eye, one hidden behind the black eyepatch.

Aemond pulled you into his embrace, so tightly it felt like he was craving your touch more than was humanly possible. He rested his forehead against yours, smiling ear to ear before lowering his head. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees got weaker. It wasn’t the first kiss but Aemond’s presence made you nervous like a little girl. Your whole body tingled, the movement of his chest coming closer, as his arms wrapping even tighter around you felt forbidden. Your chest filled with air as his lips brushed against yours; softly, delicately, like you were a porcelain figure, a crack away from falling to pieces and being broken forever. You could only focus on how soft he felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all your senses. He kissed you long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin, and the smell of your perfume that would linger far after you had gone. His lips were soft and his tongue as wet as water. Aemond gently grabbed your chin, slowly pulling back from the kiss, deep down not wanting to break apart from you.

‘I missed you hm,’ His deep voice mumbled against your lips, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheek, holding your face close to his. ‘So much.’

You placed your hand over his, also rubbing against his skin. ‘I missed you too.’ You kissed him one more time. ’But we can’t stay here.’

‘Hm.’ Aemond slightly smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you further down the caves.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Going to take Vhagar for a ride.’

‘Really?’ Sound of surprise coated your question.

‘I was reluctant to let you ride on her, my love,’ Aemond’s arm pulled your shoulder closer to his side. ‘But I know you love dragons and desperately want to ride one so why not be the best-only-boyfriend you have and let you ride with me.’

Your stomach churned in excitement and nervousness as you were finally confronted with one of the biggest dreams you had ever had. Vhagar was the biggest dragon amongst all living and a giant compared to you. Aemond made the mounting of the animal look so easy and graceful so that when it came to your turn to climb onto her back you lost your balance a few times before taking Aemond’s hand which pulled you up and swung you onto the seat in front of him so that he could ensure your safety at all cost.

‘Hold on tight.’

‘Where are we going?’ You turned your head back but Aemond already uttered the words ‘Sōvēs’, and Vhagar started to move, making loads of noise. Her walk was like an earthquake, the flapping of her wings like thunder.

You held on tightly, your hands hurting from the amount of pressure. Aemond’s front was pressed to your back, his hands holding on to the rope in front of your stomach making you feel a little less anxious, yet it was still your first time on a dragon and you could swear you could feel your heartbeat outside of your chest.

There was a remote island just off the coast off Dragonstone. No one ever went there so it had become a sacred hideout. The island was big in size; sand, mountains, stones, all making up the solid ground.

You were laying in the sun, the warmth of the rays making you take off the cape. At the same time you felt a different warmth against the skin on your neck, slow wet kisses going down to your collarbones where his fingers played with the hem of your dress. Using your index finger, you pushed his chin up so he was looking at you and locked your lips with his. Again and again he invaded every corner of your mind and all your senses, his slow passionate kisses turning hungrier.

‘We can’t,’ you pushed Aemond’s hand from your chest, disappointment coating your words. ‘It is too big of a risk to take. I would rather just stay here and be able to kiss you as much as I want to then to be banned from court and seeing you with someone else.’

‘I do love you, Y/n.’ Aemod said, his fingers tangled in your hair as you rested your head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall as you enjoyed each other’s company under the old blooming tree.

‘I know that Aemond.’ You absentmindedly traced circles on his abdomen.

‘I will make sure that I am to be your husband. And if you are to be with child, I will make sure that that child is from my seed and my seed only.’

‘Aemond—‘

‘I know you don’t wish to have a lot of kids,’ he repositioned his head so that he could stare at your face, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, ‘however if you are to be my wife we will have to have one child to make sure our succession is secured.’ Aemond smiled genuinely. ‘I do not ask for more than just one. That is all you have to do, my love. After that, all my love and devotion will be to my wife,’ He inched closer. ‘Our child and our marriage.’ He locked his lips with yours as he mumbled the last words.

‘One might think this is a prayer.’ You grinned up at him, your heart full of warmth.

‘Hm, maybe it is.’

‘You are aware that there is a slim chance we are to be wed, Aemond, right?’ You shifted uncomfortably, pushing yourself up against the tree.

‘Yet my father is a king and you can find me to be very persuasive.’ He smirked.

‘I know.’

‘Now,’ Aemond adjusted himself to lie down comfortably, closing his eyes as he relaxed beneath the sun. ‘Let us just rest here. We can’t be gone for too long.’

When you returned from your morning trip, you saw that Aemond was immediately approached by one of the King’s Guard to whom he followed inside.

Must be important.

You ignored the scene you had witnessed and headed towards your quarters, having no further duties for the day.

‘M’lady’, a guard strutted towards you as soon as you walked through the hallway that led to your quarters at the end of the hall.

‘Ser Criston Cole, what a surprise to see you here, tucked away from kingly duties? What is it you need from me?’

He returned a blank stare. ‘Your father the Hand awaits you in his study about an urgent matter that requires you to be present right this second.’

‘In the name of the Old and New Gods why the fuck would you wait for me to climb up all these stairs to send me back down again, Cole.’ Your voice echoed through the halls, your feet already picking up pace to run down the very steps you had just ascended.

The stairs felt like they never ended. Every time you were done with a staircase a new one appeared in front of your eyes, slowly making you run out of breath as you raced towards your father’s study.

‘My darling daughter,’ your father greeted you as soon and you entered the room, huffing desperately for air.

‘Ser Criston just told me you needed to see me.’ You coughed mid-sentence. ‘Urgently.’

‘Well, yes. You see the news came…rather unexpected without being able to have some sort of say in it. However I do not feel to cause a scene since the recent agreement made is nothing but a good arrangement.’

‘You lost me.’

‘You are to marry the Prince Aemond this summer.’

You stayed completely silent.

You pinched yourself good to make sure that if this was a dream you would wake up, but everything stayed the same. You were still in that room with your father, him now growing more concerned about your quiet state.

Without thinking further you rushed out of the room, hearing your name being called after but you only had one thing on your mind; find Aemond.

Back on your feet you started picking up speed again. This time there was joy in the run. You had to find him. Every second felt like your heart was about to explode. When you rounded the corner in front of the throne room you could see Aemond stopping in his tracks as soon as he saw you. He had also run.

His small smile from across the room shined brighter than any light that had casted above the halls. You crashed into him, arms flung around his neck as his arms snuck around your waist and pulled you into his embrace, his face hidden in your neck as he spun you around in circles.

‘So I can finally call you ‘my love’ out loud hm?’

‘Please,’ you whispered, closing the gap between you once more, no longer having to hide from everyone.

‘Kiss me.’

‘I could never deny that order, my love.’

Your bodies pressed together against each other heatedly, tighter than ever before, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together. You could taste your shared breath, feel the thud of your combined heartbeat as you breathed him in like he was your air.

‘It seems as though we are getting that child of ours afterall, hm?’

‘Only one.’ You giggled against his lips.

‘One is all we need.’

[quarantineddreamer]

Jyn Week Day 1: Home

I wasn't sure I was gonna post this, because it's really not my best work. But then again, with the way my brain has been lately not much is! And I wanted to participate and show our girl some love so. Fighting through the perfectionist in me and here's this little thing <3

Though the Rebels had breathed new life into the cave upon their arrival, the network of tight tunnels and sprawling caverns that made up Echo Base had a history that stretched back to a time long before the war. There were stars younger than the stone walls that surrounded them, buried beneath layers of ice so thick, it was unlikely the galaxy would ever uncover the secrets they contained.

It had not taken Jyn long to begin exploring the area, seeking hidden nooks and crannies to which she might escape. Within a week, she had formed a sprawling mental map, memorized the quickest routes to every exit, marked the nearest spaces to duck to when Draven was after her about her latest display of ‘irresponsible/reckless/unacceptable’ behavior–or, when she simply needed quiet. (Which seemed to happen more and more with each passing day spent trapped in this hellhole.)

Tonight, she was bundled in her warmest gear: every thermal layer she possessed, two sweaters, one parka, her hat and scarf, gloves, and four socks pulled one after the other till she could barely squeeze her feet into her boots, much less feel them. 

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, catching a ripple of light and shadow as it wandered across his face. “I've been feeling lost…but I think I’m beginning to find my way.”

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter two: a father’s praise

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4020

Upon arriving at her chambers, her heart warmed at the familiar sight of Ser Eddrin Tollett guarding her door. He had been sworn to her since the royal wedding of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, when she was merely a single year in age. He had been one of her mother’s knights, telling her once that he and her mother grew up together as he was a ward at Runestone in his youth. He had squired for her mother’s brother before his death. Ser Eddrin was perhaps the most noble knight there was. Princess Maetilda breathed a sigh of relief as she came face-to-face with him. He smiled down at her warmly before greeting both her and Prince Jacaerys at her side. It was hard for Maetilda to contain her joy around Ser Eddrin. She smiled widely at him as if he were a father to her. His presence brought her a deep sense of peace and security that she had felt all her life. For as long as she could remember, he had been diligently and dutifully at her side. The knight’s sandy hair had grayed over the years. His face had scruffed and wrinkled. Regardless, it never lost its familiarity. His warm brown eyes never lost their gleam. The crows feet next to his eyes always dug deeper when he smiled. His laughter never lost its brassy bark. Now in safe hands, Prince Jacaerys bid his stepsister adieu, bowing to her politely before excusing himself to his chambers. Ser Eddrin opened the chamber door for the Princess to enter, which she immediately did.

“I will let your maids know it is time to get you ready, mi’lady. Ser Gunthor will be your escort to dinner. He’ll switch off with Ser Wyllam in the night.” the knight informed her briefly.

The Princess nodded in appreciation, “Thank you, Ser Eddrin. I hope you rest well. This place is…”

“Compensating for something?” He tried to finish for her.

She nodded, “Keep your eyes and ears open, will you?”

“Not to worry, mi’lady. They always are.”

“With the Velaryons too.”

“Of course.”

Without another word, the door was shut and the knight’s footsteps echoed off down the hall. Even while alone, Maetilda could not shake the tense feeling from her shoulders. She tried to roll them, reach her arms around and massage them, but nothing seemed to help. She felt like a sitting duck. She paced in the orangely decorated bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Nothing seemed safe. Part of her felt shameful for thinking her father was exaggerating his disdain for the Hightowers all those years before, but she could no longer deny it. They were in the middle of a wasp nest in a high tower. Soon enough, there was a knock at the door and two handmaids scurried inside. They both curtsied and smiled softly at her. They reminded her nothing of her handmaids back at Dragonstone, who had stayed home with their families. The taller one was broad shouldered and curvy. She had to be around five and ten years of age. She was dark blonde haired, beige freckles dusted her nose. She had amber brown doe eyes that screamed with hesitation and uncertainty. The shorter one was boney and sharp-featured. She had to be around seven and twenty. She had curly dark brown hair and piercing dark eyes, with a far more determined and self assured gleam. They wore the same uniform, but they somehow looked entirely different just in the way they stood. The younger slouched while the older stood pin straight.

“Good evening. It is lovely to meet you both. What are your names? Will you be serving me for our entire stay?” Maetilda tried to smile as if nothing was wrong, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was asking too many questions.

“Yes, we’ll be here the whole time, Princess. I’m Noarysa. This is Adelyn.” The older one stated with a reassuring smile. The younger one nodded next to her.

“Was it some sort of demotion to have to serve me?” The princess attempted to joke.

Adelyn giggled, but Noarysa quickly pinched her side, “Not at all, Princess.”

Maetilda could not help but frown at the older maid’s actions. She hated that they were expected to be so stiff all the time, especially behind closed doors. Regardless, she gave a slow nod, “Very well. I’m thinking about one of those cascading updos that the Queen used to wear when I was younger. Do you remember what I’m talking about, Noarysa? Get it out of my face and off my neck, but I still want it curly and long. With braids, of course! Like a true Valyrian.”

Just like that, the two maids went to work. The princess’s silver honey hair was decorated with braids that pulled the front out of her face. The three, four, and five strand weaves circled around her head, some of them serving to lift the rest of her hair off of her neck. Allowing the bulk of it to cascade down the back. The style showcased the thickness and length of her hair, as well as her curls. Yet, Maetilda always appreciated the functionality of it. Noarysa and Adelyn were masterful braiders. They worked quickly and eagerly. The uncertainty in Adelyn’s eyes slowly melted. After the princess’s hair was done, Adelyn oiled, perfumed, and powdered her while Noarysa went over to Maetilda’s unpacked wardrobe. Maetilda watched as she thumbed through her gowns with a pensive look on her face. Noarysa pulled out a wool burnt orange gown with a squared neckline, long batwing sleeves, and bronze runes embroidery. Maetilda could still remember the look on her father’s face when she had it commissioned. He grumbled about it for days, but the princess insisted that she needed to display pride in her house as heir to Runestone — whether she had been to the keep since she was a babe or not. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam had selected the specific ruins themselves.

“Do you know what these symbols mean, Princess?” Noarysa looked pained as soon as she realized her thoughts had slipped out her mouth.

Maetilda giggled before admitting, “No, my knights do, but they won’t tell me. They want me to read about them myself. But I have such a hard time with books, my thoughts are too loud.”

“Forgive me, Princess. But could you not command them to tell you anyway? They are your knights.” Adelyn responded.

“If I did, that would ruin the fun of it. They enjoy teasing me too much.” The princess smiled in admission, “That dress is perfect. Good pick, Noarysa.”

“‘Thought the orange would suit the little bit of blue on your eyes.” Her cheeks tinted pink.

“I think we’re going to get along quite well over this coming fortnight.” Maetilda smiled brightly.

“It’s in the details!” Adelyn interjected, “That’s what Noarysa always likes to say.”

The three girls giggled together as they worked together to dress Maetilda. The burnt orange dress had many bronze buttons, and Adelyn was overjoyed to decorate the princess in stacks of bronze jewelry — rings, a necklace, bracelets, hair pins, a belt with dragons and tourmaline stones. They kept her shoes simple as they could not be seen beneath the hem of her gown, but Adelyn wrapped a bronze anklet around the right shoe’s ankle for good measure. Maetilda thanked the girls before she dismissed them and stared in the looking glass one last time. Her reflection made her smile. The girls had done wonderfully on her hair. With her head held high for the first time since arriving to King’s Landing, the princess exited her room.

Ser Gunthor Stone stood on the other side of the door, just as Ser Eddrin had said. Ser Gunthor was born in the same year as Maetilda, a bastard son of the master-at-arms at Runestone. When they were six and ten, he left his father in the middle of the night to seek out the princess he had been told so many stories of in his youth. He had arrived at Dragonstone in a fishing boat. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam recognized him immediately, stating the resemblance to his father was uncanny. The knight had dark auburn hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes that had a ring of sage green around the pupil and a darker hazel ring on the outside. His eyelashes were long and mesmerizing. His stubble was a lighter ginger when he didn’t shave. His lips were pouty and pillowy, the top one fuller than the bottom. He was tall and built like an ox. The princess would be lying to herself if said she didn’t find him attractive. The knight was utterly beautiful. She smiled at him and began to feel hot as she thought that perhaps she had been staring at him for too long.

“You look ruinously beautiful, mi’lady. Get it? Ruinous, runes.” Ser Gunthor teased.

Maetilda laughed, “Yes, I got it! It ruins it when you explain the joke.”

“My apologies,” Ser Gunthor smirked, “‘Didn’t think you laughed hard enough.”

Maetilda giggled more before half-heartedly scolding her sworn knight in a whisper, “You best hold your tongue, you oaf. You have to be careful around the wasp nest. Best behavior.”

“Of course, mi’lady. From this moment onward.” He smiled.

“Shall we go?” The princess teasingly rolled her eyes.

The corridors were like a maze. The princess found herself utterly lost as the knight more or less led the way to her parents’ chambers. She wondered how he could possibly know his way around, but she didn’t want to risk more jokes and teasing. They passed by too many other lords, ladies, and servants on their path, and the princess did not want to risk their whispers lest they overheard something they did not understand. Thankfully, Ser Gunthor had always been good at following instructions. She kept her head held high and her back straight as they walked. Her family was to be a symbol of unity and excellence. Princess Rhaenyra had warned them correctly. There were two guards on each side of the door when they reached the future Queen’s chambers. They bowed upon her arrival, knocked, waited for a response, and then each opened a side of the double door. Ser Gunthor bowed to Maetilda as he was to wait outside for her. With a curt nod to the knights, she entered the bedroom.

Inside, the fireplace was lit as well as several candles on every surface that would have them. It was warm and light. The sound of her brother’s laughter hit her like a bell toll. Her father sat at the head of the table while Princess Rhaenyra sat across from him. The table had been turned so that her chair would be the closest to the fire. Jacaerys and Lucerys sat next to each other on their mother’s right while Joffrey sat to her left. Maetilda bowed to each of her family members before she filled the empty chair between Prince Daemon and Joffrey. The three boys each held a hand to their mouths as they failed to contain their laughter. Regardless, they each nodded their heads back. The future Queen briefly smiled at her before returning her gaze to her husband. He, on the other hand, did not break his trance to acknowledge his daughter. Awkwardly, the princess cleared her throat, but it was in vain. She resorted to staring forward blankly, folding her hands perfectly in her lap. Dinner was served without another moment. Spiced mutton, buttered bread, freshly cooked potatoes and greens. The smell made their stomachs growl and their mouths water. The boys were about to dig in like they would back home before the future Queen cleared her throat. Stopping them in their tracks.

“Remember that if we are at an official meal, you wait for the ruling monarch to eat first. Then you may dig in.” She instructed with a soft smile.

The boys eyed her eagerly as she sat at the table with an empty plate. She smiled at them innocently before taking a slow sip from her wine. Little Joffrey let out a pained groan in anticipation. The other two giggled at their mother’s antics. Even Prince Daemon snickered.

“I do believe you’re torturing them, my ruling Monarch.” He chided playfully.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra smirked before grabbing a roll and a leg of mutton.

Before one could blink an eye, the boys had launched out of their chairs. Their hands greedily grabbed at whatever food they could. As if sharing a brain, Maetilda and her father sat back and watched them, waiting for their frenzy to die down. The three boys stuffed their catchings into their mouths, moaning with delight at the flavor. Once Maetilda and Daemon finally dug in after the rest of them, a silence settled amongst the table. Nothing but the sound of chewing and cutlery scraping on plates. The Rogue Prince’s stare remained fixed on his wife while his daughter watched him. She remained observative as he took his simmering anger out on the food he cut into smaller and smaller bites. He did not always eat like such a royal. He spent too many years at war and in pleasure houses to hold onto his manners. When he was in better spirits, he ate with his hands.

“How are you all finding the castle so far? I suspect we shall be calling it home before winter comes.” The future Queen’s shoulders slumped at her latter statement, the realization that her coronation meant her father’s death hanging heavy upon them.

“It’s, uhh, different.” Jacaerys tried.

“The dent from the morningstar incident is still there!” Lucerys exclaimed.

“Oh please, don’t remind us.” Rhaenyra held back a breathy chuckle.

“The morningstar incident? I don’t know if I’ve heard of that one.” Daemon teased.

“No, please! Anything but that.” The future queen pleaded again, “Please, something else!”

“Well, uhh, my handmaids are sweet.” Maetilda spoke the first words that came to her mind.

“Wonderful! I’m pleased to hear you approve of them. They had big shoes to fill.” Rhaenyra smiled.

“Yes, I see they found the gown I have — is it thrice now? — ordered to be burnt. Way to show your unity, daughter. Qogralbāre rōva ribazma.” (Fucking brilliant) Daemon grumbled, taking a large gulp of honeywine. “Issi īlon mirre isse se sigils hen īlva muña sir?” (Are we all to wear our mothers’ sigils now?)

“My belt has two dragons, one on each side. Just because your parents—” Maetilda spit back.

“I must say, that color suits you, sister.” Jace interjected.

“You look very pretty, Til!” Luke joined in with a joking tone and a genuine smile.

“Very, very, very, very, VERY pretty!” Joffrey added.

“Very, very, VERY sweet of you boys. Your sister does look beautiful. As always.” Rhaenyra smiled. Joffrey giggled uncontrollably at her mimicry.

“‘Got that from our side, didn’t she?” Daemon smirked, finishing off his cup.

“My mother was pretty enough for me to happen, father.” Maetilda retorted sharply.

Jace and Luke simultaneously choked on their drinks. Joffrey continued to make a mess of his food, not being one to eat when the room was tense. Rhaenyra’s body froze as her head whipped around to see her sons’ reactions before her eyes finally landed on Maetilda. The future Queen’s eyebrow hiked upward as if to question how Maetilda knew of such matters. Daemon merely laughed into his cup as memories ran passed his violet eyes, “Iksā paktot va bony.” (You’re right on that one.)

“Did you all see anything else in the training yard?” Rhaenyra quickly changed the subject.

“We did!” Maetilda answered hotly while the two others were still recovering from the last time she opened her mouth, “The Cargyll twins were sparring together, along with Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole. With just a sword and a shield, the prince bested Ser Criston with his morningstar.”

Her father visibly tensed. Only then had she realized the sensitive subject she stumbled upon. Ser Criston had bested him at the Heir’s Tournament. Her father had never gotten over it, although that is not what he wanted the Realm to think. Whenever he got drunk in Pentos, he would rant about the occasion extensively to Lady Laena, who pretended to care. She could not count the number of times she had heard him aggressively ramble about how he was incredibly disadvantaged. How he had spent all his energy on the Hightower cuck. How he had been blinded by the sun. How Cole had spooked his horse.

“You should have seen it, Daemon! Ser Criston wailed his morningstar at the prince’s shield until it completely fell apart!” Lucerys recalled, completely unaware of the salt he was pouring in Daemon’s wound.

“The prince didn’t even flinch! ‘Had the kingsguard by the neck in only a few more strokes.” Jacaerys further explained.

“He, uhh, wears an eyepatch now too.” Luke added, voice dripping with hesitation and guilt.

The two at the heads of the table shared an unreadable look. It was broken by Princess Rhaenyra who pulled away to look back at the children. Maetilda could not help her itch to continue speaking. That was not all they saw, “Lord Vaemond Velaryon had made his entrance through the gate in the training yard as well. Lords and ladies were even present to observe his arrival. I must say, having never spent much time at this place in my life, this Keep seems upside down.”

“Sȳrje ūndegīon hen ao, tala.” Daemon rolled his eyes. (Very observational of you, daughter)

“That sounds like quite the sight! I must have a word with the Queen. A royal arrival shall not be overlooked in favor of Lord Vaemond.” Rhaenyra tutted.

“It is interesting he entered through the training yard gates, you know,” Daemon conceded a bit quietly, “That entrance would have a direct route to the byka rhaenagon tistālion. We shall see qilōni iksis dārys isse jēda.” (small council chambers; who is king in time)

“What does that mean?” Joffrey inquired, only half listening.

“You’ll know when you’re older, Joff.” Daemon teased.

The Rogue Prince stared at his wife with a new sharp intensity as Joffrey began to descend into his cries of ‘why.’ Maetilda watched her father’s stare intently. His look held a thousand words. A thousand silent words that Princess Rhaenyra missed as she gazed down at the table lost in thought. The princess-by-title suspected the worst. Perhaps the Hightowers already had Lord Vaemond in their purse. What she had told her parents was valuable, she could see it in their reaction, yet neither of them moved their mouths to acknowledge it. Her insides twisted at her father’s utter refusal to admit she had done good. It was as if the Gods would strike him down dead on the spot if he were to tell her ‘well done’ even a single time. She hadn’t heard it since he had taught her High Valyrian as a girl. He knew she could understand what he was saying. With a silent huff, the princess-by-title broke her stare from her father. She allowed her eyes to scan the table only to meet those of her two stepbrothers. Their eyebrows were raised in surprise as their blinking significantly decreased. It was as if they were surprised by her observations, like they had not witnessed the same training yard, yet this had not been the first time. Perhaps the two had been taking too many pages out of her father’s book. Not being able to lose attention for long, Daemon sighed as he clapped his hands on the table.

“Children, you should all stay away from Princess Rhaenyra’s siblings… for the time being.” He spoke resolutely.

“Stay away?” Lucerys gasped, “As in avoid them or shun them? Are you joking?”

“You can’t be serious!” Jacaerys echoed.

“Avoid them at all costs. We all have noticed how freakish this keep has become. ‘Don’t want to catch whatever disease they have. We must trust no one.” Daemon doubled down.

Rhaenyra seemed to be at a loss for words before she could finally let out, “Mijegon másino, se riñar issi daor qrinuntyssy, Daemon.” (Certainly, the children are not guilty)

“Mēre-Laes pyghagon se qogralbar azantys,” He growled. (One-Eye beat the fucking knight)

“Se valītsos iksis iā sȳz egros. Ilagon hen ziry,” She countered. (The boy is a fine sword. Lay off it.)

“Ȳdra daor sagon doru-borto, Rhaenyra.” He sneered back. (Don’t be stupid)

“Hae hembar jentys hen Sīkuda Dārȳti, kesan sagon skoros jaelan.” (As next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, I will be what I want)

Maetilda crossed her arms grumpily as the future Queen and King Consort went back and forth in High Valyrian. Jacaerys and Lucerys were nowhere near fluent enough to keep up while Joffrey didn’t speak the language at all beyond a few sprinkles of keywords. Of course, this is how the two would often argue – in spats of their ancestral tongue. As if no one else could understand them and they were the only two people left in the world. Her father continued to down his cups as he banged his fists against the table. Yet her stepmother did not flinch, she did not back down. She never did, always seeing him for the boy he was. Most others were afraid of the Rogue Prince, the alleged murderer of his own daughter’s mother, but his third wife was not. One could not simply intimidate a dragon.

In the back of her mind, Maetilda had already begun to spin plans for what she was to do for the next days leading up to the trial. Despite the expanse of the castle, there was not always a lot to occupy one’s time with. Visiting the library was of no interest to her and wondering about the halls sounded beyond tiring. One could pace the gardens only so many times, and no brown garden would ever compare to the gardens of the Free Cities in her childhood. Hunting down Princess Helaena would have naturally been at the top of her list. Not to mention, the two princesses had gotten along well the last time they had seen each other at Driftmark. Their friendship had only seemed to blossom. After their meeting as children, they would often send small cuttings of their embroidery back and forth between each other. Allowing them to see the other’s progress, and add little motifs to the corners if they so choose. Maetilda would send her royal cousin all sorts of designs – dragons, flowers, quotes from poetry books, insects, and animals. Yet Helaena would only ever send back different stitchings of the same bug, a silverfish. Sometimes it was accompanied by beetles, spiders, and other small creatures. Most recently had been a silverfish and an earwig. She had kept them all together in a chest. Not one piece sent to her was missing the little bug, there was always a silverfish. The princess-by-title never knew what it had meant, but she admired how they increased in intricacy over the years. Certainly they were not Helaena’s favorite as the King’s second daughter did not keep one in her collection. Maetilda longed to ask the princess about the stitchings and their meanings in person as she was always so vague in her letters. Perhaps she knew something too, the girl was certainly smart enough to code her messages or at least never write something that may give away suspicion. The princess-by-title could not quite put her thumb on the feeling that prickled inside of her. Her heart hurt and her stomach ached. Certainly there could be nothing dangerous about Helaena, not anything that the princess-by-title couldn’t handle. As she continued to turn over the silverfish embroidery in her mind, Maetilda concretely decided to disregard her father’s warnings. He was overly paranoid and bitter from war, being widowed twice, and old rivalries. He was being irrational. She was going to visit Helaena on the morrow, whether the Rogue Prince approved of it or not. The worst he could do was try to stop her.

A/N: so this is gonna be a more dark!daemon fic. i’m still deciding how dark/grey! aemond will be. i spammed these first few chapters, but i may start spreading them out as i don’t actually write this fast. but posting these has gotten me super excited so we’ll see!

xoxo messy

[ichoosechoasandbeingqueer]

Stolen Away

This is Day 20 of Fili whumptober!

Warnings:  a headache?

Word count: 740

After a long and grueling council session, Fili’s one saves him. 

Please refer to the warnings of this story.  If you go past this point you are consenting to reading this content. 

Hours. It had been hours of screaming, yelling, threats and general disagreement, and the dwarven council of Erebor still had not come to an agreement. Fili could already feel the headache pulsing behind his eyes as he sat at the end of the table of aggravated darrow and dams each set on their own desires and caring not for any adjustments to help settle the arguments. Now, Fili loved being King. He loved his people, his home and what the dwarven empire at his fingertips stood for. But meetings like this made him want to run away and hide. He had already glanced at the door a few times debating on doing just that.

Ever since Thorin retired his title and ran away to the shire with his consort, Fili had been at wits end trying to appease his disciples. His brother helped as much as he could from his position, never have the elves and dwarves had such good relations and trade in their history allowing both civilizations to thrive in each other’s allyship, but on days like these, not even his brothers comforting smile could wash away Fili’s woes. He did know who could however.

“Ok, time for a break,” the dark haired Durin mutter to Fili’s right, his own frustrations showing in the bend of his brown and the slight snarl on his lips, “this meeting has officially been brought to a respite. Everyone is to report in an hour with their new points of topic suggestions. Go,”

There were grumbles and whines but Kili sent them a look of fire and strutted out the door, urging the rest to do the same. Soon enough the chamber was brought to quiet as Fili remained seated alone.

The King rubbed his face slowly and groaned into his hands, ignoring the mountains of paper work piled around him.

“So the echoes ring true, the King is in need of saving?” a light and tender voice called out, the sound alone bringing a smile to Fili’s lips. He peaked through his fingers with a pleading look, his heart calming at the sight of his beloved watching him in a mixture of concern and amusement. She came to sit on the table in front of him and held out a glass of orange coloured liquid, “Kili said the meeting was a rough one,”

A small ‘mmh’ sound was all he could muster as he accepted the glass, his headache lessening the moment it touched his tongue. He closed his eyes once more and leaned against his wife with a sigh.

“Oh my poor gem,” she chuckled, and Fili felt her hands taking away the crown on his head. She replaced it with her fingers running through his long golden locks. The feeling made him purr in delight, and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer, not willing to let her go anytime soon.

“I’m better now that you’re here my jewel,” he grinned up at her from were he sat. As cheesy as it was, he was delighted to see the flush of red across her cheeks.

“Silly dwarf,” she muttered leaning down to kiss the top of his head, “did you get anything done at least?”

“Not a thing,” he moaned back, “Everyone’s at each other’s throats, no one wants to do anything differently, even if it gets them to same results at the end, and I’m sure half on them only put up their ideas to annoy the other half,”

“And how long do you have until the meeting is interval is finished?”

“An hour or so,”

“Plenty of time to steal you away then?”

Fili caught the mischievous flint in her eyes as she spoke and sent her a knowing look.

“To were love? I’m tired,”

“To nap then, somewhere quiet and soft?”

“Then save me and steal me away jewel,”

He stood to take her hand but gasped as she lifted him from the ground, her strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him to her chest like he weighed nothing.

“Now what on middle earth are you doing?” he spluttered, the burning of his cheeks apparent.

“What does it look like?” she grinned, nuzzling into his cheek, “I’m stealing you away,”

And that’s what she did, and Fili couldn’t have cared less about the stares and strange looks he received being carried back to the safety of his chambers in his wife’s arms.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ 

See full 31 day whumptober 2022 Master List here

[finniestoncrane]

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛ The Batman, by Jonathan Crane 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

tis the season!! i wanted to do a little something extra for today, and it is his holiday after all so please, enjoy this retelling of The Raven, written by Jonathan Crane about a visit from another flying burden that plagues him

Once in Gotham city, dreary, as I studied, weak and weary,

Over many a strange and villainous study of my subject, fear

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, coming dangerously near

“Tis some visitor” I muttered “who has dared to come this near –

Edward likely, Edward’s here.”

Ah distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate thought that entered left my reason not so clear.

Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow, that nobody might appear

For the rare and radiant joy, perhaps, that no one would appear

Leaving me alone to fear.

But the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each orange curtain

Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt sincere

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“God damn Edward, that idiot Nygma, has decided to appear

So late at night, encroaching, he is bound now to appear

How I wish he’d disappear.”

Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,

“Ed” said I “dear Edward, though your habits usually queer

You’ve intruded on my plotting, focused on my latest toxin

Coming to me, late this evening, uninvited, you’re right here

So out of rage, I did ignore you” – I threw open my door here

Darkness there, stoking my fear.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream sincere

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token

And the only word there spoken were the whispered words

“Do you fear?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,

“Fear… fear…”

Merely this, sounding so clear.

Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely” said I “surely that is someone at my window shutter

Let me see, then, what it is, and this mystery made clear –

Let my heart be still a moment, please, this mystery render clear –

It’s just Edward!” said with fear.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flap and flutter

In there stepped that cursed Batman, donning in all his foolish gear

Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he

But with mien of demon or deity, perched on broken chandelier

Perched, the hinges rusting, on the broken chandelier

Perched with dark, perpetual sneer.

Then this fiendish man beguiling my prior fear to smiling

By the grave and stern decorum of his serious veneer

“Though your presence here is looming, I assure you there’s no glooming

Ghastly Batman, bring no doom in, though you try to domineer

So tell me, what you think you’re doing, trying hard to domineer.”

Quoth the Batman

“No more fear.”  

Much I marvelled this ungainly man to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy here

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet could fight the power of my toxin, they adhere

Bird or beast upon this hallowed earth, cannot help but adhere

Yet for Batman, “No more fear.”

“Batman!” said I “thing of evil! Undecided man or devil!

By that city all around us, by that city filled with peers

Tell me that you really think this, that it is not just your wish this,

That I never will wreak havoc, or my horrors volunteer –

That those fools will not be ravished by the horrors, volunteer.”

Quoth the Batman, “No more fear.”

“Be that phrase our sign of parting, man or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting

“Get thee back into the skyline of that city of austere!

Leave no Batarangs as token of that lie that you have spoken!

Leave me here, no vial unbroken! Leave me never to reappear!

Take your boot from out my face, and then please never reappear!”

Quoth the Batman, “No more fear.”

And the Batman, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

Perched and crouching, waiting there upon my broken chandelier

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming, makes his presence oh so clear

And the truth of my sweet toxin and my failed plans, oh so clear

It is written – no more fear.

(divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

[teddy-bear-d]

I’ve finally organized my Boogey Curse headcanons so I must shout them into the void:

Due to blood flow (common headcanon of your heart beating faster when infected) boogeymen tend to be quite flushed:

- ear tips, cheeks, nose, finger tips

- easily explained away by other environmental factors

- was a much more unnatural red hue during the secret life boogey apocalypse

- also slightly noticeable in the iris of one’s eyes (explains Skizz seeing the boogey in Ethos eyes in last life)

Those who are cursed have diluted vision until they draw blood:

- colours lose saturation (except for red, making blood even more attractive to spill)

- extreme motion blur except for when zoning in on someone to hunt

In secret life the boogey curse created a bonded hive mind similar to the link between soulmates in double life:

- emotions and pain connected

- heightened on Gem (everyone’s else felt Gems emotions much more than anyone else in the link because she is the hive mother)

- the link caused an echo chamber of bloodlust which is why after their involvement in the next kill most players continued to join in on the boogey apocalypse

Bringing all these headcanons together; the reason why Etho broke free from the boogey hive link is because he was teamed with Cleo. Since she and Gem have red/orange hair they tend to stand out more in the eyes of a boogeyman (might also explain Big Bs betrayal of Cleo in last life as the boogeyman). As well as their hair being similar allowing Etho a moment to break out of the link because Cleo could easily be mistaken for the hive mother in the hazy vision of a boogeyman.

These concepts colliding allowed for Etho to break out of the link long enough to realize what was happening and attach himself back to his alliance with Cleo without relinking with the boogey hive mind.

[majorproblems77]

@unexpectedstormy You first!

This was fun to write! Thanks for the idea!

A03 if you'd prefer!

One of many reasons Sky hates dungeons

Sky hated dungeons

They were always, always underground.

What was up with that anyway? So dark, damp and the air was unnecessarily dry. He hated it, with all his being. Give him a sky temple any day.

Apart from Sky Keep. Not sky keep.

The chain had found themselves in a dungeon. A portal had flung them directly inside its depths, as much to the group's surprise it was one that none of them had encountered.

Which made exploring it all the more difficult.

They came across a large room, rotting wooden doors scattered the walls as the sound of dripping water landing from the ceiling echoed through the chamber. It was dark, the light from Legends lantern at the front of the group sending shadows dancing across the walls as the flame inside licked and danced.

Drip Drip Drip

“Well? Anything?” Wind walked over to Legend, sword raised.

“Nothing. It all looks the same. It’s making me uneasy…” The vet’s trained eyes scanned the walls for anything that could be used as a clue. Finding nothing he turned to the group.

“Any suggestions?”

“Unfortunately, my only suggestion is to find a map.” Time looked around, the shadows of the group stretching up the walls as legend put the lantern down on the floor. Increasing its brightness as he tapped a leg with his finger.

“You are ever so helpful, Old man.” The vet chided pointing a finger towards the hero in question.

A small set of laughter erupted, but it soon died down again. The atmosphere weighing heavy on them. It was almost oppressive in its nature.

The darkness encroaching, smothering them.

The sound of breaths caught Sky’s attention.

They were long, laboured breaths, coming from somewhere. It sounded off against one of the walls. Pulling out the Master sword she shone with a bright light.

“What about you sky? Any…” The question was cut off. As eight pairs of eyes watched as the chosen slowly inched his way to one of the pillars.

“Sky?”

The mixed hues of blue and orange filled the room. As he approached the dark corner. He couldn’t see round it but the laboured breaths got louder as he approached.

He could feel his heart beating in his chest

Thud thud thud

He turned the corner waving the sword in front of him. At first, he saw nothing. And almost turned away. Must be the shadows playing tricks on him.

Until a large bandaged hand grabbed him.

He felt the constricting grip on whatever it was that had grabbed him encase his throat and close off his airways. He struggled to breathe. He kicked and flailed as a strangled scream escaped his lips. The master sword clattering to the ground.

Yells erupted form somewhere behind him as swords were raised and a battle started.

Someone shouted “PO.” What ever that was. He had more pressing matters.

Piercing red eyes grabbed his attention, a flash of light burnt into his body. An icy feeling encased his veins as his arms and legs dropped lifelessly.

He couldn’t move. His limbs wouldn’t obey his mind's commands.

So he hung, lifelessly to all those around him. Staring into beady red eyes that swirled with a black mist.

Black blooded… Great.

The monster grabbed his face. Allowing him to see as it pulled him into itself. Encasing the paralysed hero in its arms.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. It gripped and dug into it as his vision flashed. Where there was Ice now there was fire as pain burned through him. He saw flashes of something. It was nothing at first. Simply a trick. Then as the pain got worse and the fire spread his vision flashed white and red.

He could hear a bell. The chimes of the watchers…

They were coming for him.

Suddenly he felt himself fall to the ground with a loud thud. Fire rushed past his face and burned into the creature that had grabbed him. Sending it to ash around him.

He felt hands on his shoulders as someone tapped his face.

“sky… Sky?” Royal blue fluttered into his vision as warriors knelt down in front of him.

“Sky buddy, hey come back, whatever you saw wasn’t real.” Legend knelt beside the captain, waving a hand in front of his eyes as the captain inspected something on his shoulder.

“The redead was real!” Wind yelled.

“Not helping! Someone give me a potion!” Warriors held out a hand expectantly and someone dropped a potion into it.

“You’ll need this. Drink up.”  

The potion was poured down his throat slowly and he finally felt his body able to move once again. He sat upright properly. Blinking away the remnants of the white dots in his vision.

“Next time. Tell me about the horrifying monsters before one grabs me.” He said as he was offered a hand up.

“Sorry, Sky. I thought everyone knew about them.” Legend sounded genuinely apologetic, shrugging his shoulders as he looked for his lantern, abandoned on the floor several feet from where he had originally put it down.

“Guys! One of the Po’s opened up a passageway. I think it’s a way forward!” Wild yelled from one of the corners of the room, the dark passage behind the champion only slightly illuminated by the lantern light.

“Wonderful. Let's move guys!”

Legend picked up his lantern and walked forward. Inspecting the doorframe for a moment before stepping through. The others followed. Sky included.

Now holding his sail cloth a little closer to him than before.

[november-rayne]

Chapter Twenty: Oh, Brother

Word Count: 1800

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Tags: Brotherly banter

Chapter Index

“Aye, Brother!” Thor called as he noticed Loki walking around the corner of the armory. He was sitting on a low stone wall that separated the armory from the archery range, peeling an orange and chatting with one of the other officers.

“Care to go a few rounds?” Loki asked as he strolled over to his brother, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Only if you tell me what has you grinning like an idiot. Or maybe I should say who?” Thor waved to the officers as he bid them farewell.

“Sigyn and I just picked where we will live after the wedding.” Loki sat beside his brother and let his long legs spread out before him.

“Wonderful. Something small and modest, I assume?” Thor chuckled.

“It is the exact opposite of small and modest.” Loki smirked, “Vast and opulent. Perfect for a large family.”

Thor laughed heartily, “Who is this imposter? And what have you done with my baby brother?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, I am serious. Where is the man who ran away and hid rather than accept that he would have to grow up and get married? Hmm? This man beside me is giddy at the thought of starting a family, and a large one at that.”

“First of all, I am NEVER giddy. Secondly, I admit how foolishly I behaved before. Fear of the unknown did things to my mind. But Sigyn has helped me realize I have nothing to fear. I know that I am marrying someone I can be faithful to.

“She keeps me guessing. She has a sense of humor. She is smart and beautiful. And she is just as amorous as I am, if not more. Which is a bonus.” Loki’s grin returned to his face as he recalled the sounds of her moans as they echoed through the empty bed chamber and the dirty way she spoke to him while he was in her hands.

Thor waved his hand in front of Loki’s face, “Hey! Where did you go?”

“Norns, sorry. That keeps happening to me today.”

“I asked if you two had gotten… closer?”

“Almost as close as two people can get without breaking my promise to Mother.” Loki looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice before he spoke. “I came in my fucking trousers just touching her. Like I was some pubescent kid who had never seen a tit before. I would have been mortified if I were not distracted by her pretty face as she came undone by my hand.”

“Ha! It sounds like you are getting along well, then?”

“The woman is a gift from the Norns.”

“She is quite extraordinary,” Thor agreed.

“No. Literally. Sigyn is literally a gift from the Nornir.” Loki went on to tell Thor how their mother had used her sight to find answers about how Sigyn came to be and the connection she and Loki shared. Thor listened in amazement to what Loki told him as he finished his orange.

“That is truly amazing. I wonder how often the Norns change our fate without us even knowing.” Thor shook his head.

“It is no small coincidence that I could not picture myself getting married and starting a family until I met Sigyn.”

“You are a fortunate man.” Thor looked off in the other direction. “Some men may search their whole lives and never find what you have.”

Loki put his hand on Thor’s shoulder, “I remember what you told me before I fled from the palace. I know you are ready to settle down and start a family of your own. I am sorry if it feels like I am flaunting my relationship in your face. Trust me, Brother; I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Ah, no worries, Brother. I do not feel that way. I am truly happy for you. I am just as excited to become an uncle. I will be the greatest uncle that has ever been.” Thor looked at his boots, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“You have to swear never to repeat it.”

“I swear it.” Loki put his hand over his heart and looked at his brother sincerely.

Thor took a deep breath, “Sometimes when Sif and I are having sex…I think about if I were to get her pregnant, accidentally, if she would want to keep it or if she would want to get rid of it without me knowing.”

Loki felt like his heart was going to break into a million pieces. “Have you two ever talked about that scenario?”

“No. Of course not. She balks anytime I try and bring up the subject of becoming more serious. Or even making our relationship public. I dare not mention children.” Thor pulled up a piece of long grass growing along the wall.

He wrapped and unwrapped the long blade around his fingers absentmindedly as he spoke, “She says that she does not wish to ruin what we have now.” He paused momentarily as he gathered his thoughts, “I can feel the familiar path to heartache pulling me closer. It is always the same. I speak of love and commitment; ladies flee from me like I have a plague.”

Thor shook his head, “I understand why. I would not wish to fall in love with someone only to have them betrothed to another on the King’s whim. I wish he would just pick someone and be done with it. The anticipation is awful. It feels like I am always waiting for the ax to fall. Or like I am being dangled like a carrot in front of the faces of the most powerful.”

“You are the Nine’s most eligible bachelor. The next Allfather The competition to be the future Queen of Asgard is fierce. Maybe Lady Sif would be more willing to get serious if you were permitted to choose your own wife.”

“Perhaps,” Thor gave Loki a half smile.

“Talk to Father about it.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“Of course, you could. You are his favorite.”

“That does not mean he will alter eons of tradition for me.”

“Oh, you never know unless you ask.” Loki gave Thor a knowing smile, “Perhaps you could phrase it so Father would understand. You could say you are eager to produce an heir. You never know; he might be open to it.”

“Hmmm.” Thor furrowed his brow, “Perhaps you are onto something.”

“Of course I am. I save all my best advice for you.”

“Really? Like when you convinced me to steal Father’s mead so we could get drunk and go skinny dipping with Lord Bjørn’s daughters?”

“That was a very fun night, as I recall. Those girls were very outgoing,” Loki remembered fondly.

“Yes, that night was fun. The next morning, not so much. And poor Volstagg.”

“Little Urszula is an adorable child.” Loki laughed, “And Volstagg seems to have come to peace with the marriage.”

Thor shook his head and laughed. “Terrible council.”

“I did not hear you complaining when the red-haired one had her lips around your-”

“Okay, fine!” Thor punched Loki on the arm, “Your ideas are only half terrible.”

“Fair enough.” Loki laughed, then got serious, saying, “Do talk to Father.”

Thor ran both hands through his sandy blond hair, “I will. Although, I might need more of that mead before I do.”

“Just please save some for the wedding feast.”

Thor laughed, “No promises. I cannot believe you are getting married.”

“Neither can I.”

“I am going to miss you.”

“What do you mean? Lord Anderson is still relatively young and in great health. I will not be going anywhere for quite a while.”

“No, but it will be different after you are married.”

“A little, but I promise not to abandon you completely. We can still train and have dinner in the main hall most nights. Although, I will miss you barging into my chambers unannounced.”

“I cannot come to your new chambers once you are married?” Thor looked hurt.

“Of course, you can. But I will be keeping the door locked.” Loki grinned, “I would not want you walking in and seeing something you shouldn’t.”

“If I had a piece of gold for every time I saw your bare ass…” Thor shook his head as he laughed.

“It is not my bare ass I am concerned about.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“I cannot wait until she is all mine. I will have her on every surface of that apartment. I swear we will not leave our chambers for weeks after the wedding,” Loki grinned.

Thor laughed, “Are you forgetting about the nuptial breakfast?”

“The what?”

“The breakfast the morning after the wedding? Ringing any bells?”

Loki looked at him blankly and waited for him to continue.

Thor exhaled, “The morning after the wedding, all the immediate family and royal court members meet for breakfast so that the evidence of the consummation can be witnessed.”

“What evidence?”

Thor flushed slightly, “Usually the bedsheet with the bride’s blood on it, as evidence of the breaching.”

“That is intrusive,” Loki furrowed his brow.

“Not as intrusive as it used to be. At least you will get to consummate your marriage in private. It was not so long ago that witnesses needed to be present.”

“Perverts,” Loki was thoughtful for a moment. “Sigyn comes to me with experience. I have never lain with a virgin before. How much blood should there be?”

“Never?” Thor looked at him, disbelieving.

Loki shook his head. “Never. The last virgin I encountered was a laundry maid. We spent our time together trading oral pleasures.”

“This surprises me.”

“It shouldn’t. I am very good at it.”

“No,” Thor chuckled, “not that. I find it hard to believe that out of all the people you have been with, not one was a virgin.”

Loki shrugged, “It was a level of intimacy I did not wish to deal with. I did not wish to make those encounters mean more than what they did or add any ceremonious emotions into the mix. It was easier to stay detached that way. Why? Did you expect I was traveling the Nine, snatching young girls from their beds, and deflowering anyone I could get my hands on?”

Thor shook his head, “No, not exactly.” He clapped his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “All these years and you are still surprising me, Brother. I learn something new about you every time we converse.”

“Got to keep the relationship fresh. I cannot tell you all my secrets at once, Brother.” Loki stood and stretched. “But seriously, about the blood. How much? I need to make it look authentic.”

Thor stood beside his brother, “Let us spar first. Then I guess I will draw you a picture.”

The men laughed together as they made their way into the armory.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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XOXO - Rayne 💚

Tag List: @gigglingtiggerv2 @chantsdemarins @superficialdomina @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @smolvenger @trickster-maiden @simone818283 @gruftiela @huntress-artemiss

[amazingbaboon]

my whole dash is just an echo chamber of orange hearts and i think that's beautiful

[ticklygiggles]

Oh this looks like fun. For either pink or orange, can we have lee Lan Xichen and lers Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao? I'm in a 3zun mood.

[2k followers celebration event] - entries closed!

🧡 Orange: bondage/trapped tickling

3Zun - Lan XiChen x Nie MingJue x Jin GuangYao

A/N: aaaaaaaa love me some venerated triad tickles dndkfkff I hope you enjoy this!

Lan XiChen whimpered, shyly pulling at his bound arms above his head. He felt exposed, not only because he was, but also because what kept his arms tied to the wooden pillar was nothing more than his precious forehead ribbon.

His cheeks were hot and the corners of his lips trembled, trying to keep from smiling at the two men who were watching him from above with matching smirks.

Oh, how had he gotten into this?

... He knew it perfectly well.

Recently, Lan XiChen had discovered that Nie MingJue was ticklish and in the past few weeks, it had been his never-ending task to tickle him until the Sect Leader had tears of mirth in his eyes.

Many of those merciless attacks happened at Jin GuangYao's residence, and although there were times when Jin GuangYao joined him in wrecking Nie MingJue, (never missing a chance to mess up with his Da-ge), he usually chose to stay at bay.

Now Lan XiChen understood very well why. From the beginning, Jin GuangYao knew that all those little pranks would end up backfiring and a merciless revenge was simmering in Nie MingJue's heart. A punishment that Lan XiChen would suffer alone, clearly.

"You should be there too," Nie MingJue suddenly said, poking Jin GuangYao's ribs, "but I'll let it slide for now."

Jin GuangYao flinched away from the touch, but held back a squeak very well. "Oh come on, Da-ge," he said, only after he felt the bubbly feeling in his throat go away. "After all, this was my idea, wasn't it? Besides, I know all the most sensitive places in our Sect Leader Lan," he said and Lan XiChen felt the heat in his cheeks grow.

He was not lying. Jin GuangYao was the first one to properly introduce Lan XiChen into tickling. It had been an accident, just an innocent, playful poke to the side that had Lan XiChen jumping, gasping and immediately asking what was that sensation and Jin GuangYao having to show him exactly what it was.

Of course he knew all of Lan XiChen's sensitive spots, and that made him even more nervous.

"N-Now," Lan XiChen started, jolting when two pairs of eyes were back on him. "Are- Are you really going to do this? MingJue-Xiong, p-perhaps an apology will be enough?"

Nie MingJue arched an eyebrow and Jin GuangYao laughed behind his hand.

"Hmm, I don't think an apology will be enough, Er-ge."

"Oh, shush, A-Yao. You are a little traitor. I remember you were tickling MingJue-Xiong just as much as I- n-no! G-Gihive me one s-sehecond, I- ahahaha! Plehehease!"

Lan XiChen's laughter echoed through Jin GuangYao's private chambers at Koi Tower and both Sect Leaders flushed at the beautiful sound. Light and bubbly and warm, that was how they described it later on in little whispers when Lan XiChen was not in the room.

Nie MingJue had barely started, just pinching Lan XiChen's sides, perhaps a little too rough, making Lan XiChen groan softly.

"Softer, Da-ge," Jin GuangYao said with a soft laugh and he gentle pushed Nie MingJue's hands away so his could take their place.

"Gahahaha! N-Nohoho, A-Yahahao!" Now those giggles had turned a little more frantic and Lan XiChen trashed heavily. "Lihihisten!"

"You see?" Jin GuangYao asked, not listening to Lan XiChen and looking at Nie MingJue. "If you do it any harder, you'll hurt him."

Nie MingJue nodded and he tried again and Lan XiChen shrieked, giggling harder as now two pairs of hands tickled his sides with quick pinches and then scribbles and then thumbs sinking into his skin and massaging circles against the muscles of his lower sides.

He squirmed and kicked and tried to pull at his arms, but he didn't want to rip his ribbon, so his movements were limited.

"Hohohold ohohon!" He giggled, shrieking again when one hand moved to his tummy. "Nohoho! Plehehease!"

He reflexively raised his knees to protect his middle, but was surprised when he felt two hands grab each of his knees, pushing his legs back against the wooden floor and each of his lovers straddling one of his legs. However, his surprise grew even more when he felt hands latching to his thighs.

"N-No!" He gasped, trying to move his legs. "N-Not there, I- AHAHAHA!"

Lan XiChen tipped his head back with boisterous laughter as four hands squeezed his inner thighs. He tried to close his legs, but they were pinning him good.

"Er-ge's inner thighs are really ticklish, Da-ge," Jin GuangYao said over Lan XiChen's laughter. "He freaks out if you squeeze up his thigh, like this."

Lan XiChen nearly screeched when he felt Jin GuangYao's hands going up his thigh to that horrendous ticklish spot near his crotch and when the hand finally landed right there, his cackling became nearly hysterical.

Nie MingJue chuckled charmingly as he copied Jin GuangYao's technique, driving Lan XiChen up the wall.

"You go around life being this ticklish, XiChen?" He asked, teasing Lan XiChen as he saw him losing his mind. "That's dangerous, don't you think?"

Jim GuangYao chuckled too, "I think so as well, maybe we should tickle you until you stop being ticklish, Er-ge?"

Lan XiChen shook his head. "NAHAHA! I'll dihihie! Leheheave my thihihihghs alohohone!"

He heard Jin GuangYao and Nie MingJue chuckle before they finally stopped tickling his thighs to scribble all the way up to his ribs, towards his armpits. Lan XiChen widened his eyes, he shook his head and arched his back off the floor, trying too dislodge those evil fingers poking and clawing up his ribs.

"Nohoho! Plehehease, nohohot thehehere!"

Nie MingJue looked at Jin GuangYao curiously and Jin GuangYao chucked.

"Er-ge is the most ticklish under his arms, Da-ge," Jin GuangYao explained calmly, giggling as Lan XiChen's laughter grew desperate the higher his fingers went.

"MingJue-xiohohong, hahahave mehercy! I wihihill nohohot- AH!"

Lan XiChen's sentence was interrupted by a loud shriek, (for a moment he almost doubted that it was a sound that had come from him), when Nie MingJue's fingers moved into his armpits without warning. The sensation was so sudden than Lan XiChen could only gasp, whine and squeak, but as Nie MingJue wiggled his fingers against the sensitive spot over and over and over, it didn't take long for Lan XiChen to break into hysterical laughter.

"Oh, Da-ge. You're so mean," Jin GuangYao teased, his fingers clawing at Lan XiChen's ribs. "Do not do that~, it tickles our poor Sect Leader Lan a lot!"

Lan XiChen couldn't form coherent words as he laughed and laughed and laughed. Nie MingJue was merciless to his exposed armpits and he had to force himself to not lower his arms because his ribbon was in danger - and what would Lan Qiren say if he sees him coming back to the Cloud Recesses without a ribbon? He didn't even want to imagine!

But it was really hard to keep his arms still when Nie MingJue was picking up a rhythm between rapid scribbles and his thumbs digging right into the center of Lan XiChen's armpits, that were making him see stars.

The feeling was maddening. It didn't matter how many tickle fights he had with Jin GuangYao, it was always overwhelming how ticklish he really was.

"M-MingJue-xihohohong!" Lan XiChen laughed, tears of laughter clinging to his lashes. "M-My rihihibbohohon!"

"Hmm?" Nie MingJue hummed and only then seemed to noticed how hard Lan XiChen was trying to save his ribbon. He smirked. "Oh, don't worry, I'll help you out, XiChen," he said, faking a kind voice as he grasped Lan XiChen's wrists in one of his hands, pinning them above Lan XiChen's head.

Lan XiChen gasped and he pulled at his arms, but was imposible to move them now. What was worse, Nie MingJue kept tickling one of his armpits with his free hand.

"Oh, let me help too!" Jin GuangYao chirped and Lan XiChen squeaked out in protest when he felt his other armpit under attack once again.

Were they trying to kill him tickling his most sensitive spot like that?!

He kicked his legs and arched his back, laughing his head off. "PLEHEHEASE! Plehehease, I gihihive uhuhup!"

Nie MingJue chuckled, "Will you stop tickling me then?"

Despite everything, Lan XiChen shook his head no. "N-Nohohoho! You hahave a pretty smihihile! And I lihihike you're lahahaugh!"

"And he also likes being tickled!" Jin GuangYao said excitedly, poking at Lan XiChen's armpit repeatedly.

"LIHIHIHIES!" Lan XiChen squealed, feeling the blush spread all over his face, all the way to his ears, which he had only seen on WangJi before.

"Oh? You like this?" Nie MingJue asked to poor, hysterical Lan XiChen. He shook his head, lying. "I'm not sure why but I do believe you do like it."

No matter what he believed, either way, Lan XiChen couldn't do much more than laugh until his body was growing weak and he could barely squirm under their attack to his underarms.

He knew they wouldn't over do it, but he was reaching his limit and was a little worried until he heard Jin GuangYao over his hysterical laughter:

"Okay, Da-ge," he said gently, giving a final poke to Lan XiChen's armpit. "I think that is enough. We don't want him to start hating this, right?"

Nie MingJue chuckled and with a last scribble, he also stopped. "Yeah, you're right."

Lan XiChen barely noticed the movements around him: his forehead ribbon being untied from around his wrists and being tied properly in its place. Hands gently massaging his sore arms, making him giggle with anticipation as they neared his armpits but never tickled him there; two kisses pressed to his now covered forehead, a glass of water pressed to his lips and four hands helping him sit up.

"Are you alright, Er-ge?" Jin GuangYao asked, playfully bumping his arm against Lan XiChen's.

Lan XiChen nodded, a shy smile on his lips. "I am alright, thank you."

A comfortable silence fell upon them, happy smiles pulling at the corners of their mouths as they enjoyed each other presence, their hearts content for being able to be playful and forget about Clan Sect Leader responsibilities even for a little while.

"I think we should get A-Yao next," Lan XiChen suddenly said, looking for Nie MingJue's eyes.

Nie MingJue smirked and he nodded, "Yes, let's do it."

"W-What? N-No, please! I don't think- gahahAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHERE!"