#flower gleam and glow bitches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weheirsofdurin · 6 months

Text

Beloved Glorfindel 4

I tried making it pretty, but i dont ahve the patience for 100 pages....

It annoyed me more for it to not be pretty so here's the updated 4 and the rest will be updated too.

lordofthegoldenflower

—

Glorfindel stiffened when he heard Fili's voice beyond the curtain, and he was immediately scrubbing harder at his skin, trying to rush. If this damn dwarf would just get over herself and stop distracting him, he could have finished five times over already. He heard the whispered words clearly and knew that he would need to decide how he was going to handle the situation in quick order.

Damn the pain draught that was slowing down his mind.

He couldn't stop the squawk that left him when the water crashed over his hair. But he did manage to get out a waterlogged thanks from beneath his mane. Then he worked as quickly as possible to finish cleaning without hurting himself. Then he was reaching for a towel to dry himself to dress. If it meant he was away from the bitch faster, so be it.

Soon he had pulled on his clothes and held his arm close to his side to keep it from moving and paining him more. "Sorry I am late, my lord. I fear I was not the quickest out of the bed this morning." WeHeirsOfDurin

—

Fili practically glowed as he saw the elf. “Nay was I my lady. Ye are no later than I as I was already late.”

He wore leather pants that shined still yet hindered no movement, his boots reached almost to his knees and the fur that tufted the tops must have kept him heavily warmed. The toes of the boots gleamed even as they were heavily scuffed, dwarven scrawl decorated them, and his tunic was hidden beneith a thick robe. The pelt that lined the garnet made him bulkier yet the cloth lining outside had the slightest sheen to show its resistance to the weather. He was dressed up far more than he had been even to greet the elves. His gloves, belts, buckles, everything was ornate and showed he was dressing to impress he really was trying to show off for the elf.

“If ye are ready I have breakfast prepared by a hearth for us. Twill help dry your beautiful mane.”

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"I am very much ready to share the morning meal with you, my lord," Glorfindel agreed with a small smile. He was still feeling on guard after the...conversation...he had had with Dorglia, but he didn't want to seem like he was snubbing Fili because of that. He just wanted to be able to enjoy the meal shared with the charming dwarf lord.

He ran a hand over the well made leather of his jerkin that was decorated with the delicate yellow flowers of his house with his crest happening to sit right over the spot bandaged on his chest. He was almost hoping none of the dwarves would recognize it.

"I feel I must apologize for not having appropriate clothing for the meal. It is not often I feel underdressed, but I am feeling so right now."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

His smile beamed at the elf and he offered up his arm. He didn’t consider she wouldn’t be able to link arms with him at their height difference, he was just trying to be a gentleman. “Nay, ye are nay underdressed. I fear I am overdressed. Aye that is the problem.” He couldn’t just tug the vest robe off though as the belts that kept it closed were too much to deal with in a hall.

“I wished to impress ye but fear I over thought it.” H I s eyes dimmed a bit and a hint of his exhaustion peeked through. He hadn’t slept much after all.

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"Nay, do not think that is a problem, you look very fine," Glorfindel hurried to reassure Fili. He hadn't meant to make the kind dwarf feel as though he had overdone anything. He reached over to touch his offered arm gently, though he feared taking it fully would have him risk falling over.

"Blame the imbalance instead on my clothing being fit for the trail instead of a civilized meal. Though I am sure I will enjoy food shared with you, my lord."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

Fili chuckled as he led her through the halls. Whispers followed them, everyone in shock less that Fili was with an elf and more that he was obviously enthralled by a lady.

“Aye but that is simple enough of a fix. I can but shed a layer or two of clothes and we will be but equals again.” Arriving by ornate doors he opened them and motioned her in.

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"Only if you wish," Glorfindel said with a smile. Truly Fili was quite charming, and it seemed to come to him so naturally. He stepped through the doors, looking forward to breakfast and especially sitting near the fire to let the warmth dry him after the rushed towel off he had given himself.

"Truly you do not have to feel overly proper or fancy with me, I am naught but an elf that was expecting to be out in the wilds until returning home."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

“I … wish to impress ye.” Fili admitted as he closed the door to the library they were now in. Near a large hearth was a table so they could sit next to it and warm up as they ate. “I ken we do nay ken each other well, but I find ye quite beautiful. I would like to woo ye.” Moving to a desk near by he removed a few belts then his robe and set them there.

Now he stood in a yellow toned tunic with gold embroidery. Belts still adorned him and he smiles at the elf. “If ye wish to also, perhaps we can start with yer name my lady.”

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"Lord Fili, you impressed me as soon as you brought me into your home for my wounds to be tended. Your people are not known for welcoming mine into their homes," Glorfindel pointed out as he carefully took his seat at the table. He kept his eyes on the dwarf as he moved, and smiled at him when he joined him at the table, looking far more comfortable without the extra layers on.

"You must forgive me for not giving it earlier, my only defense is that I have been distracted by my injury. My name is Glorfindel."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

“Glor… findel. Glorfindel.” He rolled the foreign name on his tongue a few times before smiling. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I am honored to have you bestow the knowledge of it upon me.” Getting comfortable in his seat he passed out foods to the elf before serving himself. ‘

“Ye need not worry for I should have asked it of ye too. But this too much to worry about things in the past we can fix now.” Quickly he chugged some ale, burping loudly and hoping to impress her with the belch.

“I did what any should do. My uncle may not have brought ye in, but he would have sent healers out to ye. He is nay fond of elves but he is nay cruel either. He will nay be fond of me courting ye but he will be happy I’ve found a lass I like.”

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"It means Golden hair," Glorfidnel said, leaning forward as though he were telling his companion a secret. "I promise it is normally not in the sorry state that you have seen it thus far. My mother would be horrified to know I had been out in public like this."

He smiled at the belch, though said nothing. It had been quite some time since he had spent time amongst dwarves and when that was paired with the fact that his senses were clouded with the pain draught had him struggling to remember what was deemed polite or not.

"I have never met your uncle, so I will have to trust your words, though I fear he would not be fond of your interest in me. At least one of the healers was rather sure you would be cast to the orcs should I entertain your attention," he admitted, glossing over some of the details while he began to eat his breakfast. The food was delicious, even if he was not overly hungry at the moment.

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

Golden hair indeed. Standing up he moved to the elf and hesitated. “May I? Tie nay something to be done lightly among my people but as ye are injured and unable to tame yer hair tis nay considered taboo at the moment. If ye had full function aye it would be.” Fili had a comb for his own mane of hair on him, tucked away in a hidden pocket so as to keep himself looking nice, but he was sure the elf wouldn’t care that it was considered an intimate gesture. Both him doing her hair and using his own comb on her.

“Uncle is nay fond of elves, but he’s not cruel. He will ne’er seek out yer kinds help, but he would nay leave yer kind to the hands of orcs or a cold death. Nay he will be be pleased but he will nay stop it for - for I have may e’er been interested in courting before.

“I fear I ken who ye speak of; Dorglia. She is old enough to be my dam so I was ne’er interested in her. She takes insult to that as she is heavily taught after. But she is harmless I swear. She will nay hurt ye or anyone. Her threats are nay heavy she ne’er Ken’s anything that would truly cause one to be shunned.”of course Fili didn’t know what Dorglia knew so he couldn’t ascertain just how true she might be to the threat.

If he knew he might have hesitated in going against her as what she knew isn’t something he’d be ready to have in the open.

lordofthegoldenflower

—

"Tis not something done lightly among my people either, but yes, you may," Glorfindel agreed softly, looking down at the food on his plate with a slight blush on his cheeks. He knew he would only feel a shadow of himself until his hair had been taken care of. "Just please be careful, I...One of the worst memories of my long life includes my hair being pulled. I would not want to ruin this meal with those memories." He settled back into the chair to let Fili have access to his hair. He paused his eating, knowing he was in no state to split his attention. "Aye, I believe that was her name. She was naught too pleased when I told her perhaps it was her inner ugliness that made you reject her advances," he admitted with a smile. "She...She said you were not interested in her because you would prefer the attention of males."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

Slowly and carefully he worked on fins hair, any possible snags he removed the Combe and used his thick fingers to separate so as to not tug at all. Glorfindel said the worst memory was of it being pulled so he silently bowed to not pull.

Not until Glorfindel asked him something he himself would never have entertained even considering. The comb caught just lightly and gave the tiniest tug before he let go and pulled away. He moved to grab his ale and finish it in a single chug. “I am nay into men.” It was harsher than he intended. “I am heir to Thorin Oakenshield, heir to the king under the mountain. I am going to carry on the bloodline as is my duty.

“Dorglia knows naught of me other than what she likes to think. That tis why I do nay court her. I do nay like liars or those that lie by omission.” Taking a tankard from the side he refilled his alt then downed it.

Standing behind Glorfindel he took a moment to recompose himself. “Tis why uncle will like ye enough to allow the courtship. I finally found someone to court so he will be pleased with that. Now, do ye have any braid preferences?”

lordofthegoldenflower

—

Glorfindel winced at the harsh words, hearing the echo of his own father's opinion in them even though there were many, many years between the times they were spoken. "I told her it was easy enough to keep courtships quiet while feeling each other out without the entire realm knowing," he said softly, fighting with himself about just what he should be telling the dwarf. "When one lives their life in the public eye, you do not necessarily wish everyone to watch your courtship as well."

He swallowed hard, fighting against the ghost of his father in his mind. "Just a simple plait would probably be best, valar know my hair hates to be contained and will escape any braids in only a few hours."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

Simple bah! “Not even hair as fine as an elves can escape a dwarven plait. There will be a few light tugs, just firmness to the feeling not a pull. Will that be acceptable?”

He began to work from the top, pulling parts of it to the center back and beginning to twine the strands together. The only tugging sensations came when he added new hair though that was less tugging than even he had thought as the hair just slid off itself easily. But as he wove the braids the smallest of knot kept it in place. Taking fingers or a comb through the braid would untie it easily enough but just existing wouldn’t. Fighting wouldn’t neither. More and more hair was added to the braid yet a hand amount stayed down. When he finished he stood back and admired his work. It was simple, a child’s braid almost. Not like what was put onto a child but a child first braid with several extra strands added in for dwarven flourish.

“Done. It will nay come out unless ye wish for it to.” Letting her hold shoulder he grabbed his ale, realized it was done, and filled it up before sitting heavily in his seat. “Aye, living in the public eye is nay for the weak. There’s little that can be hidden least when it’s serious. A stolen tart or two from the kitchen is naught, but you breathe in the wrong direction and all are upon ye.”

Pinching his nose he groaned as he knew he’d have to do something about Dorglia. “I told her plainly I was nay interested in a dam older than my amad. She pushed for it and I told her I was nay interested in her specifically. It was dropped after that. I will speak with her again and she will nay bother ye anymore.”

lordofthegoldenflower

—

Glorfindel closed his eyes as he felt the comb moving through his hair, amazed by how gentle Fili's hands were as he worked. Even still, he had to fight to keep his mind on the present when it was so fogged with the pain draught. He did doubt he would be able to be up and about like this without it though. He agreed to the braiding immediately though, knowing his mane needed to be contained

"Thank you," he murmured quietly, lifting his good arm to feel the braids, relieved to feel that they felt as secure as any ever did. He offered Fili a smile before returning to his meal.

"Do not fear that she bothered me beyond reminding me how little I know of the dynamics of dwarven courts," he admitted easily. "I was raised in the high courts, she would have to try much harder to be as manipulative and cut throat as some of my family. If age is something that matters to you though, I fear I am even older. I was a child before the sun and moon were in the sky."

WeHeirsOfDurin

—

“Nay tis nay truly the age. ‘Twas me trying to be gentle in telling her nay. Is it may kinder to say ye are not of my interest because of something ye can nay control, or me saying I dislike ye for being ye? I do nay like hurting others so I try to let them down easy. She needs harshness though I have learned. Tis a bit weird to think she ken my amad as children together, but the age is may the problem. Ye didn’t ken my amad as a child did ye? Then tis not a problem.

“plus she lies through her teeth. She has told all she is the one who pulled me and my nadadith from tween our amass legs, but twas some woman of man. I remember when he was birthed, twas bloody an I never wish ya see any but my own barins born again.” He shuddered as the memory that likely caused him to go onto his path of sexuality reemerged. “I do may wish to court one who ‘may have’ pulled me from there. Would ye? If yer amad gave life to ye and the one that pulled ye out said they was interested, would ye be interested?”

“Bah! I’m a dwarf and I barely know the dwarves courts- the courts barely know the courts!”

#lordofthegoldenflower #beloved glorfindel

0 notes

rogue-ufo · 4 years

Text

SO YOU'RE REALLY GONNA TELL ME THAT NOT ONLY DID THE GIRL WHO WAS APPARENTLY SUDDENLY MAGIC JUST STOOD THERE WHILE OUR WONDERFUL BOY DIED, BUT ALSO THE CASTLE IN WHICH THE LITERAL KING LIVES DOES NOT HAVE A HEALER NEARBY? NOT A SINGLE KNIGHT THAT KNOWS HOW TO STABILISE A SWORD WOUND??

WACK.

#the letter for the king #bury your gays #jussipo #foldo #foldo x jussipo #Just go 'flower gleam and glow' and HEAL THE BITCH #Netflix can suck my dick #spoilers

9 notes · View notes

dienamights · 3 years

Text

Not Your Best Man | D.Kaminari

✎ Denki Kaminari was resentful of all the things Katsuki Bakugou has, the high hero ranks, the fame despite his demeaning behavior, his intelligence, and most importantly, you.

✎ Protagonists: Denki Kaminari x Fem!Reader

✎ Word count: 5.2K

✎ Category: Smut MDNI, angst

✎ Caution(!): Smut MDNI, swearing, denki is jealous, bakuhoe is an asshole, mommy kink, loss of control of quirk during sex, degradation, praise, oral (male!receiving), unprotected sex, orgasm denial to a certain point, mention of puking, doing denki dirty in so many ways and I’m sorry but I’m also… not sorry.

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! Hope everyone’s well! I’m here with @forrest-fern’s Seven Deadly Sins server Collab! I snatched Denki and chose Envy! I wasn’t able to get bakugou but you know damn well I’m squeezing his ass in there lmao (peep the banner you can see the boom boom boy) (shut up im not late shush)

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

Her hair is piled up and back, showing more of her delicate yet strong features. Skin so flawless his hands feel bound when he wants to touch it, afraid of staining it with his fingertips, not deeming himself worthy to taint it. Eyes brought out beautifully with makeup products she knew how to work to make her look even more gorgeous than she already is. Lips perfectly coated in lipstick, always formed in the littlest smile, and he feels compelled to kiss the product off of them.

The dress is perfect, it sits on her body as if it has been made just for her. Its fabric folds hugging her figure, following her curves. It’s color is gorgeous against her skin with long sleeves that cover her arms, the backless dress shows skin that begs him, taunts him to touch it and to guide her along with him. The collar exposes enough shoulders that teases him to bite and mark up. It's tight skirt pooled till the floor with a slit up to her left thigh. She looks stunning and he couldn't stop but linger his eyes on her.

She looks as though she is an angel, in the form of the most beautiful girl on earth. Mesmerising eyes, so crystal clear that he could see rivers, oceans, the whole world through them. No flower, no goddess, not even Aphrodite could ever compare to her beauty. She has the body of a dancer, lithe, supple and oh so beautiful. With every step she takes, it looks as though she’s floating, and Denki only became more convinced that he had been around an angel for the majority of his life and he -regretfully- only was able to realize it a bit too late.

Regretfully, because she wasn’t his, isn’t his, will never be his. Not the measly unimportant groomsman. No, she is the best man’s, Katsuki Bakugou’s, meant to be his forever.

Bakugou’s BakugousBakugousBakugous… Dammit

“I do.”

An adorable little boy dressed in a black tuxedo walks up and hands Kirishima a ring. He slips it on Mina's finger. The pastor smiles and turns to Mina. She wears a strapless wedding gown with embroidery on her bodice. Rhinestones and pearl beads sewn on her gown. She wears a two-tier veil, with a matching crystal head-piece. She holds a French rose silk bouquet. Kirishima is stunning. He wears a black, single-breasted, satin tuxedo with a white-wing collar shirt.

The pastor repeats the question and receives the same reply. You watch her take his ring from a small girl dressed in pink and place it on his finger. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

"You may now kiss your bride." He does so, placing his hands on her shoulders and pressing his lips against hers. The pastor holds up his hands, bringing the cheering crowd to their feet.

Kirishima and Mina leave the gazebo, arms linked, with huge smiles on their faces. The best man, maid of honor, and the groomsmen and bridesmaids follow suit, falling in behind them. They stop near the end of the walk, forming the start of the receiving line.

The family and guests file down, pausing for hugs and kisses and congratulating the young couple. Mina then turns around and throws her bouquet of flowers behind her. The women collide with each other as they try to catch it.

She cheers loud when the bouquet falls in your hands, and you giggle and wave it around, the women’s disappointed groans muffled in your ears when you catch the beautiful vermillions of your partner, oblivious to the golden specks that have been eyeing your every move since you stepped foot into the wedding.

“You could’ve been more obvious about wantin’ me to put a ring on your finger.” Katsuki chuckles against your ear, standing behind you with his hands on your hips, both of you looking at the newlyweds as they enter the reception with everyone awwing at them as they did their first dance as husband and wife.

The sun has set long ago, the full moon hanging and illuminating the area beautifully, the fairy lights and lamps circling the area, making the happy couple look absolutely glowing, and you smile at the scene from outside the dance floor.

“They fell in my hands ‘Suki.” you giggle, lacing your fingers between his, “Besides, you already did, didn’t you?”

“Hmm,” his breath tickles your ear, fingers twisting your engagement ring around your ring finger, “was forced to, after all that whinin’ ‘bout wantin’ to settle down and not knowin’ when we’ll see each other when we’re goin’ on missions, and cherishin’ the lives-” he fakes a snore and rests his full weight on your back, both of you laughing as you tip forward and he catches you in time, placing his hand on your waist again and swaying with you as you see your friends happier than they ever were.

You look perfect, standing there holding each other, absolutely and utterly disgusting. Denki stares at you, fire spreading in his abdominal, his lungs constricting with every breath he takes the longer he looks at you. Swaying together, Katsuki’s lips pressing against your temple and you letting out the most beautiful laugh, Denki can’t help but clench the front of his shirt at the sight, wishing, hoping for nothing more than to be in his shoes, being the one lucky enough to be able to hold you that close, the one that has the privilege to hear your laugh, the one to make you laugh.

“Hey Denki,” He is snapped back to reality when Kirishima stands in front of him, blocking his view from the flawless couple. “H-hey Eiji! Congratulations bro, you’re finally a married man!” They hug, Denki’s eyes never leaving you while Katsuki twirls you to face him and peppers kisses across your face. “Thanks man! Hey sorry, could you get Bakugou for me real quick, we’re taking a few pictures with the best man and the maid of honor.”

“Right away, man of the hour.”

Oh God, oh God, he isn’t ready to face you yet. You look too pretty, he doesn’t feel worthy to be in your presence, driven to bow down and ask for forgiveness for even breathing the same as yours. And yet, you smile upon his arrival, even letting go of Bakugou’s hand to wave him over, and you’re blessing him with your smile, giggles sounding like the singing of angels when he waves back excitedly.

“Hi!” you beam up at him the minute he’s close enough to be graced with your voice, “Where have you been, it’s like you were avoiding me all this time,” you pout for a second and Denki could swear he felt his heart skip multiple beats when your lips wobble and a smile makes it way back up at him.

“H-hey, ummm, Baku- uh.” he laughs at himself, trying to collect whatever dignity he has left. “Uh, Eiji is lookin’ for ya bro, something about a photoshoot with the maid of honor?” The groan Bakugou lets out is enough of a confirmation.

“Fuckin’ pain in my fuckin’ ass bitch” he grumbles, pressing his lips against your temple again, promising to come back after the ‘Motherfuckin’ bitch shoot’ is done. You only reply by squeezing his arm, a silent reassurance that you’ll be waiting for him when he gets back.

It's so revolting, the way he swears up and down, having the filthiest mouth with his words, not even respecting the beautiful goddess that tries to calm his nasty self down, he should be more considerate of you and your feelings, God he loathes the way he treats you. The way he mistreats you.

You deserve to be treated so much better than that, the way Denki would, he’d downright kiss the ground you walk on, remind you every day that you’re the best thing that ever happened to him, the best goddamn thing to ever grace this earth.

Okay, you’re staring. God, has she been staring too? Denki, people always say you never shut up, use it to your advantage for once in your life.

Denki extends his arm to you, curses under his breath, wipes his sweaty palm against his pant leg before extending it again. "Would you like to dance?" You raise your eyebrows. "Would you like to dance?"

"Well, dancing is what a charming gentleman like myself would do.” He beames at the chuckle you let out. “Besides, you're beautiful and I want to show you off.” He pauses. “You know, while Bakugou is busy with his best man duties and all."

You smile, your pretty lips letting out a little giggle at his posture as he starts wiggling his fingers persuasively, and shake your head. "You know what? Yeah, I would like to dance."

Arm-in-arm, you and Denki head into the dance floor and step onto the wooden ground. You felt him move easily with you, agile and confident with the music as he takes the lead. His hands slowly yet surely reach to your lower back, but you shrug it off.

"Ah, expect tango music after this," he says. Eyes gleaming as they shift over to the DJ that nods in acknowledgement to him. He frowns when he sees your averted face, shifting your eyes away from his, observing, searching for him, your fiance, the person he wishes he could be, someone he could never be.

Denki trips over his words in an effort to regain your attention, “A-anyway, uh, um. Hey! Did you know that uh, t-tango is banned in other places of the world?" you raise your eyebrows.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, wanna know why?”

“Didn’t expect you to know honestly.” He smiles as you laugh lightly, but something tugs at his heartstrings, its because you think of him as nothing but stupid brainless dunce face, depsite him entering and graduating one of the best hero courses in all of Japan, alongside you of all people, despite his hero work, the people he saves, the villains he captures, fuck.

You don’t miss the way his face falls after your remark, an almost sour expression passing through before he clears his throat and looks behind your shoulder at basically nothing. “S-so,” you start, “Why was it banned?”

The blond’s eyes flicker over to you and soften at the way you’re cocking your head and smiling at him, despite him getting upset with you. What is he doing? He’s experiencing something straight out of his fantasies, having you pressed so close to him, dancing with him and smiling at him. No one else.

“Oh, okay okay, so. It was considered the dance of the low-lifes at the worst places of society when it first emerged, and so the church banned it, because they said it had the music of the “immoral” factions of society”

“Oh? Why’s that.”

“It was considered an oversexualized dance. Portraying the sin and seduction of the Devil. It represents the Devil's nostalgia, his unrequited aspirations, loneliness, rejection, and misery. The longing of someone who will never fit in, who has never had love nor passion.” He takes a deep breath.

“It's like sex, except with clothes on.”

In a failed attempt to seduce you, he stumbles and steps on your heels. Earning a weak yelp from you as you back up from him.

It's okay, it's okay, he can fix this. Oh God the music stopped. Okay he gets to dance tango with you now and press you even more against him and hold you even closer, okay. God, are his hands always this sweaty?

The silence that follows the stopping of the music makes him panic, you’re so close, he just needs to reach out and hold you against him again. Press your tender body against his, let him pretend you’re his, pretend that he’s lucky enough to take you home with him. Help you take off your dress, press kisses against the curves of your body, make love to you all night.

Put all of that is cut short when he feels a daunting presence behind him, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. Because the way your face lights up at that presence is enough to stop his blood from pumping, enough for him to see only red, for him to dig his nails into the palm of his hands until he feels it piercing his skin.

“Hey,” the taunting voice of Katsuki Bakugou reminds him how beneath him he really is. “Yer havin fun with my girl.” it wasn’t a question. Despite that, in a desperate attempt to feel your touch one more time before you’re swept away by your big strong hero, that he would never be able to match to.

With trembling fingers, Denki grasps your hand and brings your knuckles close to his lips, eyes boring into each other while he kisses them, and you only grin in appreciation at his manners, doing the most adorable courtesy he has ever seen in his life, almost forgetting the looming presence of his former classmate.

Bakugou moves around Denki to reach you, and Kaminari knows at this point all hope is lost for you to dance with him, or better yet, have any interaction with him again for the entirety of the night. Katsuki held your hand with surprising firmness, caramel scent wafting through as you feel how sweaty his hands really are.

“Are you warm?” You mumble, lacing your fingers through his when his reaction is to pull his hands away to wipe them at his pants.

“No.” It's firm and it's rough, yet it isn’t directed at you. It’s directed to the other blond that surprisingly still hasn’t backed down and is still standing straight, eyeing how you two act as a couple, how he wishes you would hold his hand, ask him if he was warm, embrace all his insecurities.

As your fiance leads you back to the center of the dance floor. Hand starting at your waist but quickly slipping to grab a handful of your ass, chuckling when you squeal and slap his chest. Something wicked gleams in his eyes when the first tune of the violin starts playing, drifting with the harmony of the accordion.

“You and I both know that my knowledge of tango is as much as my knowledge for knitting, that’s right, nonexistent.”

“You know my body, don’t you?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Follow my lead, let your body do the talking.”

“You’re crazy.” yet you still laugh, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as he pulls you impossibly close to him, raveling in the feeling of your chest pressed to his. You’re rolling your eyes a little at the way his smirk stretches when he pinches your butt, but you instantly shiver when he places his warm calloused hand within the cutout of your dress on your lower back, skin to skin. And just like your body is made to be molded against his, you place your arm over his shoulder while the other is engulfed in his.

He steps close, too close, scandalously close. Pressing his cheek against your temple and only then meeting the eyes of Denki, that's when his smile drops, every playful act with you is gone. His magma filled eyes staring into the soul of the electrical hero.

Mine MineMineMine

Neither were stupid, Katsuki knows what Denki is doing, and Denki is well aware of Katsuki’s ability to piece shit together.

Denki is left lonesomely standing by the DJ, watching the way you two dance, the way Bakugou steps forward in your space and you stepping back to accommodate him. He seethes in his stance as you two rock on your feet, the way Bakugou handles your body with firmness and strength, yet softly watching you when you giggle at the way he spins your body effortlessly. Kaminari sees the way you let yourself be led, the way you trust Bakugou to handle you, hold you, care for you, in ways he could only hope for you to see him.

You are perfectly synchronized, almost fluid like, an extension of each other, like you had done this a million times before, practised day and night to perfect it. Bakugou takes his time twirling you across the room, seductively slow. Thighs brushing against each other with every stupid turn.

His body whispering commands to yours, daring it to misbehave, you step and lean and sway, every movement perfect and precise, like an intricate choreography that you have never learned, but your bodies remembering them. He dances with you the way he has sex—with exquisite control, infinite patience, and aggressive moves.

Huh, that's what Denki must have meant.

At that moment, your eyes catch him standing outside the dance floor, and you almost don’t recognize the man alone, filled by ugly emotions they couldn’t help but spill and show on his expression. Sour and hateful and just plain cruel looking.

Katsuki’s mouth curves in a lazy smile at how your brows furrow, spinning you in a vigorous turn so he’s the one facing him instead. You aren’t dense, you feel the eyes on you, well aware who they belong to as they burn through your back. He lowers his head, forcing you to look back up at him, your lips grazing against his, too close.

“Yer puttin’ on a show for your boy?”

“A show- no you ass, weren’t you the one that wanted to dance?” you try to lean away to scold him -yes, middance- but the blond lowers further, until you think he’s trying to get you to shut up by kissing you. Suddenly he’s dipping you low, his face stays only a few inches away from yours, your back arching beautifully.

A static sound dwells on you, followed by the buzzing of electricity. The lights flicker and you instinctively grab at Katsuki, tightening your hold against his bicep, your eyes searching his when he doesn’t lift you back up, only to find him not even looking at you.

His fingers are tingling, tips wiggling as they shoot little sparks at the sight in front of him, his golden eyes illuminating in the momentary darkness as they clash with the magma filled rubies, challenging him, taunting him, mocking him.

MineMineMine

And when Denki accidentally short circuits the entire DJ booth, the dance hall instantly quiets, a blanket of silence weighing them down and daring someone to break it. And yet, Bakugou has other plans, of course.

Sneakily, he slides his hand down from your back to your knee, firmly grabbing your leg as his eyes meet yours before lifting it to his hip. Fingers slipping under your dress and grazing your upper thighs, sending goosebumps racing across your skin, not having the courage to break eye contact until you hear the gasp of a few of the attendees. Only then does he close the gap between to press his lips against yours, the little audience you collected clapping and cheering you along.

The whistling and cheering is loud enough for you to miss the sound of Denki’s fist slam against the table and the sobs wrecking him as he drags his feet away from the scene.

BakugousBakugousBakugous

Sero grunts as he struggles to push the hotel room door open with Denki leaning his full weight on him. It takes him a couple of tries to finally get the drunk man on the bed, slapping his hands away as Denki tries to grab at and kiss the man.

“C’moooon, Hantaaaaa, s’not like you don’ wanna, look atchu, you’re takin’ off m’clothes but you don’ wanna kiss me?”

“You ass, I’m taking off your shoes because you stepped in your own vomit.”

The man gags, chugging the shoes in the trash can and helping his friend ease off of his suit jacket. “Yer a good man Hanta, say, you wanna be m’best man?” Sero laughs, shaking his head as he tries to help him lay on his stomach, “y’know, when I marry y/n.”

The silence that follows is deafening, Sero not having the heart to talk when he catches the sound of Denki sniffing and burying his head in his pillow.

“I- “

“Jus’ leave me alone, Sero.”

And he does, the only confirmation of his solitude is the echoing click of the door’s lock as Sero leaves Denki to brew in his own self loathing.

It takes Denki a few minutes to collect himself, the nausea forcing him to take off his shirt and pants, lying down on his back to feel the cool air on his chest. He doesn’t realize he has his eyes closed until he snaps them open when he hears his door click close.

There you are, radiating, mesmerizing, you’re practically glowing, standing there by his door, adorned by your… nightgown?

God, please don’t say you’re in the wrong room, please don’t say you’re in the wrong room.

“You sure you’re in the right room y/n?”

You don’t answer, you just simply, untie your robe. And Denki’s eyes practically bulge out when the silk robe slips right off of your shoulder and drops in a pile on the floor by your feet. He can’t look you in the eyes, he’s looking at every inch of exposed skin he can muster, committing every curve, every dip, every contour, every fucking thing to memory.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” that’s when he looks back up at your eyes -after shamelessly staring at your peaking nipples for a second too long - blinking twice at your words. He sits up with a struggle, “W-wait, what about Bakugou?”

“What about him?”

And honestly, that alone almost made him bust a nut.

You’re pushing at his chest until he lays back down, throwing your leg over his figure and straddling him. Instantly, he feels your warmth pressing against his strained length and his body shivers at the thumbing against it.

“You’re so good to me Denki,” you breathe, fingers combing through his hair before you take a fistful of it and lightly tug, rolling your hips against his and relishing in the whines he lets out, slender fingers reaching for your thighs and grabbing handfuls, his eyes begging for you to do it again, and when you do, he throws his head back and moans.

“You treat me so well,” you pout, nails tracing his sweaty flushed chest, peppering kisses along it, moving up until you reach his ear, biting at it and giggling when he ruts his hips up against you. Feeling your slick dampen the front of his boxers as his leaky cock does the same. “So pretty for me” he whines again, eyes blown out and chest heaving at the feeling of being kissed by you, held by you, touched by you, hell, looked at by you.

“Fuck, again, ah- d-don’t stop, pleaseplease-”

“Use your words baby, wadda you want?” he thrashes against the bed when you grind your hips against his again, the tips of his fingers buzzing and twitching when you’re lowering yourself to press your chest against his face.

“Fuck, wanna feel your pretty pussy, feel you squeeze my cock, please, just -ah, put it in.” it's all muffled from the spit collecting on tongue and the way he’s smothered by your tits but honestly he wouldn’t have it any other way.

His body refuses to move as you scoot lower, straddling his thigh and grinding your hips against it, wickedly smiling as he whines ‘nonono’ when you do, “m-my cock, my cock, please stop teasin’.” the tip of your finger traces the elastic of his boxers, giggling at the way his body jerks up and at the gasp he lets out when you snap it against his hip. Before gliding your finger against his strained cock, enjoying the way it twitches under your touch, feeling it harden against you.

You coo at him as you pull off his boxers, when you see that there is no initiation from him to move. The sight of his pretty cock with its fiery head welcoming you and you can’t help but grab at it. “Pretty boy all needy for me, hmm?” You give it a lick from the base to the tip, sucking on the head of his cock and feeling it twitch inside of your mouth, hollowing out your cheek and looking up to see the way his face flushes, his body illuminating with the crackling of the thunders around him, twitching his body before he breathes out a few times to calm himself down.

How is he so lucky? How is he blessed with having your lips wrapped around his cock, just looking at you is tightening a knot in his belly, and he can’t help but throw his head back and close his eyes in an effort to prolong his orgasm to feel even more of you.

He doesn't open his eyes until he feels a looming shadow on him, and that's when he catches sight of you again, the moon hitting your face, your glistening precum-covered lips smiling down at him.

“Want me to take care of you?” You tease, chuckling breathlessly as Denki feels your pussy on his cock, your slick covering it as you roll your hips and feel your pussy gush at the way his body shivers in ecstasy at your touch. “Yes! Please mommy ye-”

“Mommy?” Did he just say it out loud? “No, ah- fuck, no-no I didn’t say that I-” you don’t even let him talk, gyrating your hips again, covering his dick with your slick, without having your walls flutter around him just yet.

It takes a few teasing grinds of you against him to have him sobbing at this point, “m-mommy please just please! I wanna, ah” he thrashes when the tip of his leaky cock catches your clit, the lightnings he’s producing passing by his eyes and obscuring his blurry vision for a while, before he’s blessed with the sight of you beautifully arched on top of him. “In, in, wanna feel the pretty pussy, please please lemme feel the pretty pussy.” it's just meaningless babbling at this point, anything to get your walls tightening around his cock, all sensitive from being rubbed against you for god knows how long.

And when his head catches your cunt, he all but cries out at the way it clenches at the head, bucking his hips up to feel more of you. Wanting you to swallow him whole, take him all the way in. “Y’gonna just fuck into my pussy like that, hmm? Is that how you’re treatin’ mommy now?” “n-no! Ah, m’sorry pleaseplease, I just, you feel s’good, you’re s’tight aaah, wanna feel more, please I want more more more,” and he does. So, without a warning, you drop your hips and impale yourself on his cock, and for fuck’s sake all of what Denki saw what white for a few seconds, he could’ve sworn he heard a few angels singing, even.

“That what you want, hmm? Want her to take care of her pretty boy?” you pout mockingly, bouncing yourself on his lap as he tries to grab hold of your hips to guide you, but the way you’re jerking his body has his head dizzy and his sight swimming, the low buzzing of his quirk muffled by the wet slaps of your skin against his, your ass clapping against his thighs and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that sound, and he just settles for letting you please yourself with his cock, because if you’re gonna use him as a fucking dildo, then he wouldn’t fucking have it any other way.

Weakly snapping his hips upwards with the drops of your hips, Denki’s leg shake and it takes a few more times for his cock to fully seath itself in your tight walls for him to let go, feeling your pussy squeeze his cock for all his worth as your pants turn into whines, suddenly they’re very afar, almost like you’re underwater. Yet he’s the one feeling like his lungs are constricted when he hears the name you’re calling, and it isn’t his. “Ka- ahh- suki…”

Only then does Denki realize that you aren’t in his room, your discarded rope isn’t thrown haphazardly on the floor by the door, your slick isn’t covering his thigh or coating his dick, and the worst of all, your pussy isn’t the one that has been squeezing his cock, oh no.

It was his hand, those slender fingers wrapping around his softening cock, smeared with his cum. He lifts his hand in horror, disgust and shame eating him up, especially when his ears perk up at your sound.

“Fuck, Katsu- yesyesyes, right there, yes!” Whatever nausea he felt subsiding is coming back tenfold, burning his throat as he slaps his hand over his mouth, anything to stop himself from puking on himself.

“Ha, that what you want? Getting dicked down after havin’ fun with that fuckin’ dunce face.” The wet sounds of Bakugou’s hips slapping yours is almost making his ears bleed. “Havin’ that prick touchin’ ya like that. Fuckin’ slut, all of that to rile me up so I can fuck that tight lil pussy, that what you want?”

Denki doesn’t know what’s the last nail on the coffin, the absolute filth being spewed to you, tainting your angelic ears, that aren’t meant to hear anything but praises and confessions of love and gratitude, the fact that you’re squealing and moaning for him to fuck you even harder, or the fact that he’s listening to every squealching sound, every creak the bed made, every slam of the headboard against your shared wall, every breath, every moan, every scream, everything.

That's when Denki flings himself off of the bed and empties his stomach, right on the floor next to his bed, tears stinging his eyes as he tries to trick himself that it's because of the way his throat is burning and not because of the way his heart is shattering, feeling it wrenched from his chest and thrown on the floor, stepped on and spat on and just beaten to the point of no return.

Sniffing and lifting his head up, Denki can’t help but see red, his whole body crackling with newfound vigor, his whole body is numb, like his quirk is taking the lead, putting his consciousness on the back burner. He chuckles, despite you moaning out Katsuki’s name when you find your release, despite him calling yours as he finds his, despite hearing your giggles and the kisses he’s pressing against god knows where on your body, despite the tears streaming down his face.

The last thing Denki remembers before he lets his quirk take complete control over him, is the humming of energy, the fleeting blinding brightness, the shattering of the light bulbs all around him, the loud deafening bangs, almost like music to his ears and finally, the sound of you screeching in horror.

Hope you like it! Kithes kithes

#im not even sorry #bnhacity #denki smut #kaminari smut #denki kaminari smut #denki x reader smut #denki x reader #kaminari x reader smut #kaminari x reader #denki angst #denki x female reader #kaminari x fem!reader #nami writes

499 notes · View notes

author-morgan · 3 years

Note

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something

i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.

Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.

“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.

There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.

You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.

Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”

Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.

You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.

“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”

“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.

The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.

HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.

Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.

“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”

HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.

There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.

He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.

Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.

Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.

ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.

The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.

Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.

The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.

Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.

Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.

You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.

Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.

[taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

170 notes · View notes

aphroditestummyrolls · 3 years

Note

👀👀👀 8 or 53 (or 8 and 53?) for the intimacies prompts?

Take drabble prompts, she said to herself, you can keep them short, she assured herself. (She was lying). This is almost 1.5k hahahahaha I’m insane, but this was also so much fun and I’m really glad I decided to do it. Thanks so much for participating, friend! I loved the ones you picked.

8. Brushing noses, and 53. Listening to each other’s breathing

He was much more grateful for the heavy weight of his new winter finery out in the purple glow of the terrace than he was in the heat and light of the ballroom.

For all your bitching and moaning about the soupy summer, the cold of the mountains makes winter it’s own beast… Yusuf griped, pristine snow crunching under his dancing shoes. Mama would have told you to be careful what you wish for, silly boy.

He took slow steps to the bannister, puffy with white flakes, and let himself sigh out a long breath. He was still hot, reveling in the refreshing chill of the air. And the quiet. The swell of music and the titter of laughter was more distant now than the short distance would usually imply.

Yusuf’s exhale curled past his lips in a swirl, dissipating fast before his eyes.

The snow covered gardens of il Palazzo seemed to glow with a lavender light, radiating up into the deep night sky. It glimmered like a sheet of diamonds, illuminating everything under the moon— both pale and dark, muffled and crystalline clear, Yusuf felt like the world was all his own.

Perhaps it’s cold, he found himself smiling, flexing his fingers with his need for a warm hand in his own, but at least it’s beautiful.

He hadn’t been able to stop his racing thoughts all night. What would Nicolò look like in the fine dancing clothes of noble northerners? Even in Yusuf’s? Would he be well suited to cyan velvet, to silver constellations glittering in the fabric over his collar, and up the soft gossamer undershirt at his neck? The crown weaved into his curls would look so handsome, maybe even more fitting, on his gardener’s head. Yusuf thought he was as elegant, as kingly as any of them.

Could that ever be? His heart swept up like a bird in the cage of his chest, trying to fly at the thought of a world where Nicolò could share his life. He and Nicolò, Princes, husbands and partners— it was a nice dream.

He could dream. He was good at dreaming.

Even the company of Andromache and Quynh was not enough to keep his mind from wandering. Yusuf wished for him with every round of dancing, and every stolen moment.

Like now. He wished for him now— an arm at his waist, or callused fingers intertwining with his cold hand.

The snow crunched under feet that weren’t Yusuf’s, and he turned, glancing back at the golden light of the gauzily shrouded ballroom. The only track of footprints were his own. The night went quiet again, only broken by the warble of strings, but something had shifted in the air on the snowy terrace.

Yusuf couldn’t help the curl of his smile as he turned back to face the bannister, looking down and into the glittering expanse of reflected moonlight.

“Che bellissimo.”

The words curled into the air on a swirl of frost. Pale eyes blinked up at him, taking in every stitch of thread, every gleaming jewel on Yusuf’s most regal tunic. Nicolò was slack jawed, staring up at him as if he were every star in the sky. He hardly resisted the urge to preen, instead reaching out, leaning down where the bannister held them apart, and took his hand.

“Yusuf, you are the sun.” He breathed, taking his outstretched hand in both of his, kissing the knuckles. It made him warm, like the tingle of wine in his bloodstream.

“Ya Amar,” he barely breathed his reply, “you are too far away, all the way down there.”

Nicolò chuckled against the hand at his lips, curling into a smile against Yusuf’s skin. He looked up, playfully through long lashes, and kissed again.

Them, he hurried away, and Yusuf scrambled along the bannister to the far side, following Nicolò’s steps on the other side of the marble— away from the lights of the ball and the tittering laughter of stuffy nobles.

The shadows of the side of the palace were cold, but not for long.

Nicolò was up the small side steps in a blur, hands on Yusuf’s waist, walking the both of them back into the stone corner. No windows, no prying eyes— Yusuf warmed his hands by twining them into the silky brown hair, pushing the hat from his head.

His lips were dry from the winter air, but it didn’t matter when kissing Nicolò. Broad hands stroked up and down his velvet covered back, and Yusuf ached for him.

“It’s been days, where have you been?” He panted between fervent presses of lips.

Nicolò pulled away, only far enough to press their foreheads together, brushing the tips of their frosty cold noses past each other.

“Preparing for the festival, just as you’ve been, your Highness.” He breathed in, slow and steady, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Yusuf’s beard before fixing him with a proper look. “You received my gift?”

The twinkle in those green eyes said he already knew. Yusuf nodded, humming at the memory of the vase of jasmine and roses at his bedside. “You bring the springs of home to this far away winter. You got my note?”

“I hold every word in my heart.”

He squeezed him round the waist, whispering the words as a secret. They were secret— every word, every stolen touch, every flower in Yusuf’s chambers.

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the warmth of the ball, alone. He could not stand a single moment of genteel, political dances with fake smiles and simpering small talk— he would be itching out of his skin.

He wanted Nicolò at his side. He wanted arms around him and kisses on his knuckles, pressed close.

He wanted to dance with him in front the eyes of anyone who could see. But the music was no more than a faint melody lilting through on the swirls of snowy breeze.

Listening to the soft echo of the tune, Yusuf found his hands slipping down from that hair, cradling the nape of his neck. He looked Nicolò in his eyes, the moon just barely lighting the planes of his face, and he loved him. He wanted to show him to the world.

He couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Nicolò’s breath curled in the air, and he barely broke the hush of the snowy night.

Yusuf cupped his cheek, holding him, studying him.

He shook his head, clearing it as well as he could. Just as he was about to dismiss the furrow of Nicolò’s worried brow, the song changed. It seemed to wrap around them— a waltz.

“Would you dance with me?”

His surprised laugh was more of a muted snort, but Nicolò was smiling. Yusuf felt his heart in his throat, even after all these months of tender steps into each other’s orbits. Nicolò did not have to say yes.

“Dance with you? Right here?”

“We have everything we need— you, me, music, and the moon.” Yusuf only stood straighter, extending his hand just like he had to many a noble guest that evening. But this time, it all felt real. His smile was soft, his frostbitten nose was rosy and cheeks flushed— the snow under his feet crunched, and it felt real. “May I have this dance?”

Nicolò’s palm was broad and warm in his own when he took it. They stepped in close, close enough that the clouds of their breath curled together, mingling. Yusuf took Nicolò’s waist, wrapping him in his arms, and led them in a slow, gentle waltz, never stepping too far from their corner of the world.

It was nearly silent— the muffle of snow and the secrecy of their corner keeping the bulk of the sound away from their ears. There was only the thin strain of the waltz, with its violins and warbling clarinet, and the soft rhythm of breathing. Yusuf could picture it even with eyes closed, their cheeks pressed side by side, the way Nicolò’s tendrils of silver breath caressed over his ear, along his neck and shoulder. He felt so secure. So loved. Hoping his gardener could feel it too, Yusuf took a measured inhale and a long, contented sigh. He pressed his warm lips to the sensitive skin of his neck, nosing at his pulse just to listen to Nicolò’s answering hum.

They turned in slow circles, leaving footprints in the glittering whiteness beneath their shoes. The music was an afterthought. The dancing, even, was beside the point.

Yusuf felt Nicolò’s heartbeat pressed flush to his own, the cage of his ribs expanding and deflating with his soft breaths as he spun them in interlacing circles. What was important was the man he held, the hand that cradled the nape of Yusuf’s neck, and the footprints in the moonlit snow, declaring that they had been here. That their love was real.

Perhaps, he thought, winter is not so bad after all.

#tog #the old guard #tog fanfic #joe x nicky #nicolo x yusuf #yusuf al kaysani #prince Yusuf #nicolo di genova #gardener nicolo #the fairytale au #color and light intimacy prompts #dancing in the moonlight

91 notes · View notes

cloud-9ine · 3 years

Text

Roses are pretty cliché, don’t you think? (pt 2)

⤷ pairing - bakugo katsuki x (fem) reader

⤷ fandom - bnha

⤷ warnings - swearing, very slight angst

⤷ summary - bakugo was already out of his element when he went to buy flowers; so he didn’t take kindly to you criticising his preference for roses

⤷ word count - 2.5k +

⤷ pt 1, pt 2

“I’m sorry.”

Her side of the bed was cold when Bakugo woke up. The sheets were neatly tucked in, and the pillow fluffed up as if she had never in slept in it at all. He could only stare at the empty space for a long moment before forcing himself to move and get out of bed. A vase sat on the windowsill, curtains already opened. The tulips had begun to droop, and the carnation petals- previously a stark white- had begun to turn black.

Bakugo’s eyebrows furrowed. He had only given them to Ochako a couple of days prior, certainly not enough time for them to be in such a state already. With a weary frown, he stripped off the sheets, inspecting them a bit more closely. Alas, he knew nothing about flowers, and couldn’t ascertain whether this was normal or not.

Not wanting to expend more energy on tulips and carnations, he stepped out the bedroom, quickly locking on the smell of freshly roasted coffee. Ochako was stood by the pot, seemingly motionless. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was still half asleep, despite the fact it was obvious she had been awake for much longer. Bakugo froze himself upon the sight of her, itching to reach out yet realising that it wouldn’t help.

With a shallow gulp, he took a cautious step forward, gaze tracing her face for any indication she had heard him. If she had, she was doing an excellent job in hiding it. Another step. This time, Ochako flinched, eyes darting towards him. Bakugo could feel his pulse skyrocket as her lips parted before closing again, her eyelashes fluttering.

Ochako was not one to be quelled with tulips and carnations.

Her eyes were dark, lips pursed as she swept past him, coffee left on the counter. Bakugo didn’t need to turn around to know that she had left. With a heaving sigh, he ran a hand over his weary features, fixing himself a cup of coffee which he sipped, more to occupy himself with something rather than a genuine desire for the drink.

Denki’s party was today. Ironically, it was the anniversary of his and Kyoka’s marriage, which only served to form a pit in Bakugo’s stomach. Idly tapping the ceramic, he silently pondered if it was too late to cancel. He cringed, rationalising his thoughts. Denki was one of his closest friends, having stuck with him through him being an asshole for most of his youth, and he wasn’t planning on forsaking that relationship now.

Now, leant back against the cream walls in the corner of Denki’s living room, observing the carnage that was occurring he beginning to he almost wished he had. The bright blue lights and loud music was doing nothing for his headache, but he wasn’t about to leave before anything had really started.

Although they had arrived together, Ochako had left his side the moment they walked through the doors. He hadn’t seen her since, with exception of a few glimpses of her chatting with Asui and Momo in another room. He contemplated trying to talk, but it wasn’t the time nor place to start a confrontation.

Every once in a while Denki would appear- already hammered- thank him each time for showing up (which begged the question as to whether he was just that drunk, or if Bakugo was so unreliable that just seeing that he had stayed for more than 10 minutes was enough of a shocker) and hand him a drink. He had gotten about three beers this way, without even having to move from his corner.

Kirishima, Midoriya, and a few others had attempted to talk to him, but none of them had been particularly successful to withstand him relentlessly brushing them off after every sentence. After a while, they stopped trying.

Bakugo wasn’t going to act as if he wasn’t at least a little self-destructive.

He knew pushing away his friends, self-containing his pity into his own isolation was the perfect recipe to spiral, but he couldn’t seem to care. His mind would go blank on occasion, like now. He couldn’t move his eyes, staring at a singular point in the room. Bakugo wasn’t much of a drinker, but he couldn’t blame this on the alcohol.

The noise around his dissolved into a low static, ringing around in his head like firecrackers. Colours became bleak, and the faces of his friends blurred, the lines between them and the background becoming worryingly hard to differentiate.

For a moment, he thought he was dying.

“Fancy seeing you again,” The colours regained vibrancy and the faces snapped back into focus, the static fading away in favour of your voice, “you come here often?” You were teasing, he knew it, but he still couldn’t formulate a response. There was a beat of silence after your words, Bakugo’s eyes tracing your face as if he wasn’t quite sure you were real or not.

“Should’ve known you’d appear,” he settled on after a minute. He bit back a groan at his brash greeting, but it didn’t seem like you cared.

“Yep. There’s no reason I wouldn’t, after all,” You looked down at your nails, picking at your nail polish before glancing back up at the blonde, “beer? Really?” Bakugo frowned, looking down at his drink and swirling it around in his cup.

“Yeah? So what?” You hummed, taking a sip from your own beverage. It was an electric blue colour, glowing surreally in the low pink light Kyoka had settled on a couple of minutes earlier.

“It’s just a little cliché, isn’t it?” You grinned smugly at his groan, covering your mouth with the glass.

“Do you ever get tired of that bit?” He questioned, glare thinly veiled under a mocking questioning look. You shook your head.

“Not really. Do you ever get tired of being a basic bitch?” Despite everything, Bakugo chuckled, his chest lightening.

“I suppose. What would you suggest, then?�� He took the bait, crooked smile gracing his lips as your eyes sparkled.

“Follow me.” With little reluctance, he trailed after you as you darted around the others that were in attendance, once in a while stopping to greet someone or another, before glancing behind to check he was still following and continuing on. He was a little shocked at the amount of people you knew, but figured as a close friend of Denki’s you would probably be accustomed to them by extension.

Out of the corner, Bakugo felt weirdly exposed. Logically, he knew that no-one was looking at him- or at least, for no longer than a passing glance sent in his direction, but his mind was playing tricks on him. There was a large population of the party that he didn’t recognise- heroes that Denki had met and befriended throughout their years in the field. It was unnerving to be in a house with who were essentially just strangers with the exception of about 10 or 20.

He knew had hadn’t exactly made the effort to keep contact with the new people he met during his time as a hero, so it wasn’t a surprise the only people he could really call friends were the ones who he had met during school, but god did this make it so obvious. Hell, even you knew more people here than he did.

Bakugo wasn’t sure at what point he became so lonely, when did he start isolating himself in this way? He glanced around. The fuzziness was beginning to blur the sides of their faces again.

“Hurry up, the night is young, but I’m not gonna be at the rate you’re going!” You yelled over the music, and Bakugo was brought back to the present. Right, he was following you. You were going to get him a great drink, and hopefully it would be strong enough for him to forget himself for at least a few hours.

In all honesty, your voice was a good anchor. He picked up on the fact this was the most animated he had heard you talk, and maybe it should have been some sort of warning that it came with the topic of becoming intoxicated, but Bakugo decided to gloss over it.

“So? What’s the drink of yours?” Bakugo asked once the two of you had arrived at the home bar he distinctly remembered helping Kyoka install for Denki’s birthday a few years back. The lights had faded to blue at this end of the room, the coolness easing the throb in his head only slightly. You slipped around the back of the counter, appearing at the other side with an easy grin on your face. For a startling second, Bakugo was brought back to you in your store, the air of professionalism you held in your disposition hard to ignore.

“Give me a minute.” You called over your shoulder, back facing him as you rummaged around in Denki’s alcohol cupboards. You re-emerged with several bottles in hand, drinks he hadn’t even heard of. With the trained practice of someone of skill, you mixed the drinks together, and Bakugo could only watch your hands move, colours swirling in a mix of pinks, greens, yellows and reds.

Mixing drinks. Add that to the list of things you could do that he couldn’t.

Tapping salt around the rim and sliding a lime slice onto the side for a finishing touch, you pushed the drink before him, the same self-satisfied smirk on your face. He squinted at your creation. It was a starling pink, almost unnaturally so, with a weird gleam of sparkles flowing around the liquid. He glanced up towards you in distrust, down at the drink, then once more at you. You merely levelled him with a composed stare, eyebrows raised expectantly. With an unconcerned shrug, and a sudden indifference to his own bodily autonomy, Bakugo knocked back the drink, taking a few large gulps before setting it back on the counter.

It didn’t burn as it ran down his throat as he expected (and half-wished for, to take the edge off). Rather, it had a bursting sweet flavour, spreading out a warmth in his chest the moment he swallowed. The buzz was immediate, dulling his senses and causing a pink haze the cover his vision.

“So?” You asked, seemingly satisfied as you watched him scan the room with an awe that he couldn’t hide.

“It’s… not like a beer.” You laughed, and Bakugo turned to look at you. Your face, clear as day to see, was silhouetted with purple, the lights mingling to soften your features with an unexpected gentleness.

“That’s sort of the whole point.” The two of you took a sip. He could feel a flush growing on his cheeks, the alcohol beginning to kick in much earlier than he would have liked. The numbness that was beginning to take over wasn’t a particularly unwelcome feeling, however, and Bakugo was for once grateful for his light-weightiness.

“How’s your lady-friend?” You were leaning on the counter, fixing Bakugo with an even stare. He sighed, sobering up slightly at the thought of Ochako.

“Not good. Those flowers I got from you barely survived two days, by the way,” he grumbled, the slight growl in his voice making you purse your lips.

“That’s not good.” You mumbled, taking another sip from your drink. Seeing you, Bakugo did the same, taking a few large gulps that made his thoughts hazy before slamming the glass back down. Wordlessly, you began fixing him a drink, deep in thought.

“Yeah, I know it’s not good! What kinda flowers die in two days?” He barked, cheeks going slightly pink. You shook your head, gesturing to something across the room that Bakugo had to squint to realise what it was.

Irises and magnolias.

Kyoka’s bouquet. One you had made in advance, older than his by at least half a week. It was perfectly alive, purples and yellows glowing almost brighter than the first time he had seen them.

“Hah?” He gaped. You shook your head again, displeasure written on your face.

“There’s a reason my shop is so popular, you know,” you spoke, drawing his attention back to you. Another pink, untouched drink lay in front of him, and he took a nervous swig of it. The taste wasn’t nearly as sweet the first time, but he just pinned that down to having an idea of the taste.

“Why?” He responded, feeling something more serious weigh on his mind.

“It’s my quirk. Anything I cultivate- like flowers- adapts to its environment.” He tilted his head, and you sighed, evident that he wasn’t getting it.

“It takes in the atmosphere. For example, you bring a bouquet of flowers home to a house of love, affection, and- above all- happiness, it will reflect that. Never dying. Looking even better than when you got it. On the other hand, if you bring flowers home to a house of regret, hate and sadness…” you bit your lip, looking away from the stricken expression on Bakugo’s face. His breath hitched in his throat.

“Don’t say it.” He gulped, “Please.” With a sad sigh, you crossed your arms.

“They’ll die.”

Bakugo’s drink suddenly tasted very sour.

“I gotta go.” He mumbled, patting down his jacket for his keys. The barstool screeched against the ground as he stood up, protesting against the sudden movement. You sighed; bringing his drink back into the mixer and combining it with yours before pouring it back out. He almost stopped to admire the purple shine.

“Where are you gonna go?” You asked, voice veiled by a monotone that he recognised as some sort of weird disillusionment you used to hide whatever you were feeling.

“Anywhere.” He growled, rifling through the pockets of his pants. You rolled your eyes.

“Ochako has your keys.” He did stop this time, shoulders slumping down in realisation. You frowned, “I saw her with them earlier, if it helps any.” There was a momentary silence, and despite the music, all Bakugo could hear was a ringing in his ears.

“Sit down.” It should’ve been a question, but your tone suggested anything but. With a sullen resignation, Bakugo did as you said, slipping back into his chair. You pushed the glass towards him, offering the purple concoction with a look of pity in your eyes.

Without a question, Bakugo gulped the drink. It was a weird mix of a coolness that washed down his throat and a fiery heat that bloomed in his chest, a burn in his lungs that he recognised from breathing in air far too cold. He didn’t bother to ask you what it did, but he could feel his muscles relaxing, grip around the glass loosening.

“Thanks.” He muttered. You waved a hand, moving back out from behind the counter and patting him on the shoulder.

“No problem. Let me make you feel better for a while. It’s the least I can do.”

Under the purple lights, he could only nod.

39 notes · View notes