#healing waters and scorching flames [ au ]

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 18 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.4k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Library

Chapter 18: You Keep Coming Back Like A Song

Sometimes, it’s like a high-pitched whine breaking through radio static.

Sometimes, it’s a rumble, like water in a big pot coming to a rolling boil.

Other times, it sounds just like an air raid alarm, like a time capsule breaking open of that moment of chaos and screams before all the sound suddenly falls still.

And then it’s back to that strange buzz, or fizz, like gas escaping from a poorly sealed beer bottle.

But it’s always there.

They tell you, you are lucky. 

You didn’t die, and the war is over.

Gently, you brush your hair, trying to ignore how distorted and distant the sound of the teeth of the comb sound as they glide through the strands. It almost disappears in the permanent noise in your left ear. Experimentally, you rub your fingers over the shell of your ear; you just want to assure yourself regularly that you can still hear something from that side. It feels odd. You can feel your touch but can barely hear your fingers rubbing against the skin. It’s like the touch is disembodied from the rest of you like it’s not really happening. It’s hard to describe the sensation of hearing loss: it feels like your ear is stuffed full of cotton wool, both dulling your hearing and filling your head with constant noise.

You feel strange in your own body. 

The fabric of the light blue summer dress sits uncomfortably on your skin. It’s the first time in almost two months you are not wearing something like a hospital gown. The bandages are finally gone. Only a few plasters remain to cover the slowest healing wounds at the creases on your left wrist, neck, and waist. They pull strangely on your painful skin; they feel awkward under the fitted cut of the dress. 

They said you were lucky.

The layers of clothing, your trusty, threadbare green coat, and the way you landed on your side protected you from the fire raining down. Or part of you, at least. You feel anything but lucky when you catch your reflection in the window. Hell, you’re not even sure if you want to stare endlessly at your reflection, pick apart every way you’ve changed, or look away and pretend what you can’t see isn’t there for a little longer.

Your wrist is the only part you can actually see — the skin is an angry patchwork, wrapping all the way around, crawling up your underarm as if the flames spilled down your sleeve. 

You know that the parts you can’t see are worse just because of how much they hurt. Your left shoulder, up the junction of your neck to your hairline, all the way down to your hip: the skin pulls and burns with every move, and the nerves and tendons scream like they are in overdrive when you make the wrong move. When the bandages first came off, you skimmed the skin on your neck with careful fingers. On the right, the skin feels like it always did — on the left, it’s like a flame licked its way up around your jaw, stopping just short of your temple. A chunk of your hair has been scorched away on the nape of your neck, making for a strange wobble in your hairline.

You never considered yourself terribly vain, but you burst into tears the first time you looked in the mirror in the bathroom. With shaking hands, you peeled off your gown, only to reveal what seemed to be never-ending, angry, red, and bumpy scars down your left side. Scalded, melted, torched. You hurried to get dressed again, sobbing. You’ve still barely scraped together the courage to see how badly scarred you really are.

On your nightstand, bottles of ointment, thick cream, and pain relief, a new daily regime. You have enough to start a shop, you think bitterly. But you are lucky, they tell you. The pain will lessen, and the scars will fade — all you need is time and patience, medicine, and physical therapy. 

And accept that you will never hear silence again.

Accept that your body doesn’t really feel like yours anymore.

Accept that the world has moved on without you.

“Excited to go home?” Emil walks in just as you button up your cardigan. It’s too warm to wear a cardigan in summer, but nevertheless, you tug down your left sleeve as you turn to greet him. He’s wearing a new uniform — sharply cut, shining chevrons. His hair is combed neatly. Emil doesn't look anything like the rugged and sullen partisan fighter you met years ago, except for his eyes. There is a weariness in them, a sadness almost. 

In the hazy hospital days, where your heart and soul spent endless days on a sunny beach dreaming about a life with Bradley, Emil dutifully visited you like one of his war buddies. While he brought them cigarettes and brandy, he brought you flowers on your birthday. He would sit with you and softly tell you about what was happening outside. 

It’s over. The war is over. We made it, Anya. Aren’t we lucky?

“More than ready,” You reply, smiling.  “I’ve been packed for hours.”

A small suitcase sits on the neatly made bed. It’s deceptively heavy — while you don’t have many clothes or personal effects here, everything that you had on you in the explosion was beyond saving a disposed — the thick glass jars of ointment and cream add a lot of weight.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something,” Emil starts. He looks strangely guarded. He avoids your gaze as he pulls out a chair, not saying anything. You take it as a cue to sit down on the bed across from him, your legs dangling off the side, even though he doesn’t say anything or make any sort of gesture. 

You shift uncomfortably, your dress pulling on the plaster on your waist. Emil is staring at his fingernails. Swearing softly, you try to find a comfortable position, pushing yourself further back up on the bed. You can feel the muscle twitch in your left shoulder. As you lift your left hand, a slight tremor courses through it from the strain of leaning on it. It’s gone in a few seconds, but the dull pain remains. 

You don’t prompt Emil to speak, just looking at him expectantly as, after a few minutes, he finally looks up at you. 

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring this up,” His voice is monotone. “But I suppose you have a right to it.”

Another silence falls. There’s a tension in the air.

You raise an eyebrow, following his movements with a skeptical look on your face. Emil reaches into his pocket, taking something out in his balled fist. Wordlessly, he flicks something in your direction. Quickly, you cradle your hands, the flicker of silver catching your eye as it falls. The familiar weight that lands in your palm is a comfort you had almost forgotten about. You thought it got lost. You thought you’d never see it again.

Bradley’s bracelet is blackened by the flames, dirt, and what looks to be dried blood marring the once shiny silver. You trace your thumb over the nameplate, every bump, and ridge exactly as you remember — it’s like a weight is lifting off your shoulders. You can’t keep the fond smile breaking out over your face as you realize it’s Bradley's birthday today. 

It’s June 27th, 1945.

Your heart feels full of hope. Like suddenly, everything you’ve been waiting for and dreaming of is so much closer. The war is over. You made it. Aren’t you lucky?

“Jesus Christ, Anya,” Emil sounds pained. “You’re not really -” He trails off as you look up. Emil stares at you, somewhere between disbelief and anger. You quickly wipe the smile off your face, staring back impassively as you quickly tuck the bracelet away in your closed palm, crossing your arms as if to hide the evidence.

“I’m not really what?” You counter, voice forcibly light. Emil rubs his hands over his face in frustration.

“I really didn’t peg you for being this naive,” He grinds out. You purse your lips, offended, but wait to reply. “You’re actually in love with him.” Emil accuses you.

You scoff, fingers tightening around the bracelet. Instinctively, you want to deny it, even if only because Emil makes it sound like a crime. But the words stick in your throat, and your heart wrenches. You are in love with Bradley; you have been all along. You’ve never said it. Not to him — you’ve barely only admitted it to yourself. Somewhere, wrapped in warm, hazy dreams, wrapped in the fantasy of Bradley, it was all so clear. The words came so easily.

Instead, you roll your eyes deliberately. Theatrically. You scoff, but can’t get the lie out of your mouth. It’s a transparent tactic; it's pathetic, really. 

But you’ll be damned if you admit you’re in love with Bradley while Emil is staring at you in wide-eyed disappointment. 

“What did Bradshaw promise you?” Emil’s voice is frosty. The temperature in the room drops to sub-zero from his tone.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“What did he promise you?” His tone suddenly turns sardonic. “That he’ll come back for you? Take you flying? Take you with him to America - marry you?”

Your heart sinks.

“What do you take me for?” You bite out. It’s a feeble defense. You know you don’t stand a chance when you see a flicker of sympathy in Emil’s eyes, but it disappears in a blink. The pinpoint accuracy hurts more than you’d like to admit. The words reverberate down your bones, and you hate to admit it’s shaking your resolve. How many times has Bradley said those exact words? How many girls has he promised the exact same thing? A shiver involuntarily, like your body is physically trying to rid you of the thought.

“Do you think he’s coming back for you, Anya?” He spits out. “Do you really, truly believe that?” You can’t help but flinch at the acid in his voice. But your face pulls into an angry scowl. What does Emil know? Who is he to judge? He only met Bradley once. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” You reply overly arrogantly, trying to get some sort of upper hand in the situation. Wrapping your feelings in a shield of lies and diversion is the only way to keep them yours. 

“The ridiculous thing is you running around a war zone with an American identification bracelet on your wrist.” What do you think would have happened if you were captured? What if the Soviets found you with that on your wrist? You’d be halfway to a Gulag right now.” Emil is raising his voice with every word, thundering at you— he shoots up from his chair, unable to stay seated under the intensity of his anger.  Behind him, a stern-looking nurse looks through the door opening before turning wide-eyed and leaving without saying a word. You refuse to be intimidated by Emil’s posturing while he continues to yell at you: “Seriously, Anya, it’s like you’ve taken leave of all your fucking senses!” 

“But none of that happened, did it?” You counter, slowly rising to match his volume to cut off his tirade. The bracelet's metal is cutting into your palm; you are clutching it so tightly. “And now you’re suddenly trading in what-ifs? That’s rich. What if I got arrested with Bradl- Bradshaw?” You almost stumble over his name; embarrassment prickles down your neck, but you don’t let it deter you. “What if they had found the documents and weapons during that raid — that I stole for you and your cause — what would have happened to me then? They killed Eva for less.” You seethe. “You didn’t seem so concerned then.” 

You were left alone to deal with all that.

Emil looks pained at the mention of Eva and sighs deeply, momentarily deflated, heavily sitting back down again. Your heart is racing. He restarts, more gently, more pensive this time, trying to drive home his point. “I’ve known many men like Bradshaw. I served with plenty of them. The uniform, the charm — so completely aware of it.” He pauses momentarily as if to gather his thoughts, his eyes darting about the wall behind you. “And I’ve seen many brilliant, pretty, young girls, just like you, not stand a chance once they got into the crosshairs.”

“You make it sound like I was a puppet getting my strings pulled,” You assert bitterly, not ready to forgive his outburst so easily. “The choice was mine — I made the first move.”

“The fact you think that gave you the upper hand is just proof of how naive you are.” He easily dismisses you. Again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You exclaim, exasperated. “You are so dead set on casting me as the poor fool in this that you will completely erase my decisions. If —” You swallow heavily. “If I believed Bradshaw, it’s because I chose to. I took every step in his direction of my own volition.”

Emil opens his mouth, frowning deeply. You raise your voice, refusing to allow him to cut in.

“If it was stupid or naive; if it was all just a mistake — then it was my mistake to make.” You’re not even sure you’re telling Emil or yourself. “And don’t you dare forget: no matter what I did or chose to believe, the mission was a success. I got him out.” You are struggling to catch your breath, adrenaline hot in your veins. But the words keep pouring out. “You can sit here and judge me all you want, berate me if you need to — whatever makes you feel better. Whatever makes you feel less guilty. But don’t delude yourself into thinking I need lessons in character judgment from you.”

A painful silence falls the moment the words leave your mouth. That’s below the belt. It’s petty. It’s heartless. Jan was Emil’s friend before he was his subordinate in the army before he was his brother-in-arms in the resistance. Before he betrayed everyone. 

The silence drags on, and the ringing in your ear makes you feel off-kilter. You shake your head, trying to shrug off the noise, but it doesn’t help.

“I’m sorry.” Emil finally admits, with difficulty—his face wrenches in pain. You look away in embarrassment, finally uncrossing your arms, awkwardly pulling your left sleeve further over your wrist in a futile attempt to cover more of the scars. “I should have never allowed you to get pulled into the resistance this deeply,” He looks at you sadly as you blanch. Your heartbeat slows as ice pours into your stomach. “I should have never made the decision to leave Bradshaw in your care.”  

Taking a shaky breath, you wait for Emil to continue.

“I feel responsible for what happened to you — for what you had to do,” He swallows dryly. “You were too young, too inexperienced. You just hid it so goddamn well because you are too clever for your own good. Because you throw yourself at things which such confidence and conviction.” Emil shakes his head, the lingering frustration still evident in his movements. “I should have seen through it and sent you home.”

You blink away the tears that start burning in your eyes. It will just never be enough, will it? After everything that happened to you. After everything you did. Emil will never be able to see you as anything more than the little sister figure that tagged along, someone to project his guilt onto. He’s done terrible things. So have you. He’s made bad decisions. God knows you have. And still, he dismisses you without a second thought. 

You will never be his equal. 

The war is over, and as far as you are concerned, so is this conversation. You’ve spent the past years of your life in service of a greater cause, in the shadow of greater men. There is no glory for you at the end. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? The war is over. You are free. Aren’t you lucky? Getting up, you brush down your dress to straighten it with your free hand, Bradley’s bracelet looped around the shaking fingers of your left hand. 

“Things didn’t quite turn out as I hoped,” A small, sad smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you vaguely gesture at the left side of your face. “But do me a favor, Emil…” You take a deep breath to steady your shaking voice. “Don’t pity me, please.”

You’ll fight him at every turn if you have to, but you don’t think you can handle his pity. Or anyone’s. You don’t want it. Grabbing your suitcase from the bed, you finally look back up at Emil.

“I’ll see myself home,” your voice is even and polite. “Thank you for coming by and for returning my bracelet. I appreciate it.” With that, you brush past him to the door.

“Do you understand that whatever Bradshaw told you, he tells every girl?” All anger has dissipated from Emil’s voice, yet it does nothing to soften the blow of his words. “If he’s still alive, he has long forgotten about you.”

He just has to get the last jab in; lord your moments of weakness over you as if it will suddenly change your mind. As if it will undo anything. How petty. 

You turn and stare at Emil for a moment, the corner of your mouth still quirked up. Anything you will say now will undoubtedly betray how much his words hurt you. Reacting in any way will just validate his anger and your deepest fears. What if Bradley died? What if he forgot? What if he just stopped caring?

What if he never really cared in the first place?

It’s probably the coward’s way out. But you just turn on your heel and leave, gait steady, head held high.

The screeching in your ear resonates through your whole body now, rattling your bones and making your hands shake. 

But you won’t stop now.

***

It’s Christmas by the time Bradley finally sets foot stateside again. The journey home almost felt longer than the war itself. 

Everything is like it was before. Everything about coming home is oddly familiar. Many things changed, but so many things remained the same. The fat cat in the bar just off base was still mean; the diner still had the same menu, and every street looked just like before. The Christmas party on base is exactly like before he left: full of cheer, alcohol, and off-key signing. 

Maybe Bradley just sees the world with different eyes now. Everything shifted. Imperceptibly almost. But just enough to make him feel like he doesn’t quite fit anymore, like the place he carved out for himself in all those years of training, partying, and flying suddenly doesn’t fit him anymore. It pinches, it irritates. Bradley can’t seem to get comfortable. He really thought the feeling would leave once he finally got home.

At least now he sleeps. It’s enough to get him through the day. He still wanders around at night. He thought getting out of the claustrophobic confines of the boat would make the unease pass. That being home would make him forget the powerlessness he felt locked away in the small room. That the blood, the explosions, and the horrors would fade. But it’s only in the early morning sunrise, as he aimlessly meanders over the base or past the waterfront, just as the first beams of sun creep over the horizon, Bradley finds moments of solace. It’s quiet. The sky is clear, with only stars and clouds as far as the eye can see. 

No planes, no explosions. No fiery trails marring the horizon, no black smoke obscuring the first light.

It’s those strange early hours; Bradley feels he can breathe freely. Even just for a moment, he can relax. The cold air doesn’t bother him; rather, it soothes him. If time could stop, Bradley wishes it would be right then, and he could stay in the fleeting moments of daybreak forever.

But the world never stops turning, twisting painfully around him. The moment is gone, but the memories, everything he’d like to forget, anchor him in place. Alone.

And he feels his loneliness more than ever at Christmas. It had never been his favorite time of year since he was an orphan. Sure, his father’s friends and the Navy always ensured he had somewhere to go. There was always something to do. But the time of year never felt special to him anymore, rather an obligation at best.

The officer’s mess is decorated with loud tinsel — it’s obnoxious in its volume — the flickering reflections cast over the whole room. When Bradley closes his eyes, it almost looks like flak explosions during nighttime. Quick flashes of yellow, the rumble of explosions shaking the air around him. His grip tightens on the dinner fork. He blinks rapidly. Like a record speeding up, the cheery Christmas music is suddenly back; Mav’s voice is loud next to him, the smell of the dinner spread wafting through the air.

Dropping his fork a little too loudly, although the clang against the porcelain plate barely attracts any attention, Bradley slumps back in his chair. His wine glass is full again, the mess staff making sure no one runs dry. It’s Christmas, after all. 

That also makes it your birthday. Bradley takes a too-big gulp of his wine to stop the feeling of guilt bubbling up. Your handkerchief is safely tucked away in his footlocker, together with the things dearest to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of carrying it around anymore; he feels like he tainted the luck you bestowed on him. He doesn’t deserve it. But he also doesn’t want to — can’t — let you go.

“Rooster? Rooster!” Mav’s hand claps on his shoulder, pulling Bradley out of his miserable spiral. “Mrs. Simpson wants to know your plans now that you are home,” He half-whispers. 

“Oh,” Bradley looks up at the kindly lady sitting across the table from him, a smile on her face. In contrast, Admiral Simpson, of course, sat next to his wife, is staring him down. “Truthfully, I haven’t had much time to think about it yet, ma’am,” Bradley admits politely.

“Beau told me you started left for the war as a lieutenant, and now you are a decorated captain,” Mrs. Simpson inquires conversationally. “Surely, you have your choice of assignments.”

“I think I need some time to adjust and enjoy being back,” Bradley replies, plastering a smile on his face, refraining from taking another too-large drink from his wine. He never thought he’d get to this point — it just simply didn’t really occur to him to think this far ahead. After the war. But it’s bizarre not to have orders on stand-by, alarms going off, and scrambling jets all hours of the day. Where does he go from here?

“With his flight hours and experience, the test center in Nevada would be a great option for Rooster,” Mav adds his two cents. Mrs. Simpson nods with interest. “If he were to actually apply,” He shoots Bradley a look. “He could be in the air in the latest jet before the year is out.”

Bradley bites his tongue. Mav always does this. Still does this. His decisiveness and insight make him a great leader in the air but a shitty de-facto father figure. It’s not that Nevada would probably be a bad move for Bradley. But Mav completely takes out of the equation that Bradley might not want to go. And now he throws it out there in front of Simpson, Bradley’s superior officer.

“Rooster has proven himself as a pilot,” Simpson agrees. “He has the stack to back it up,” He adds jokingly to his wife, motioning to the rows of service ribbons pinned to Bradley’s dark blue uniform jacket. She titters.

“But I will respectfully disagree with Maverick,” Simpson’s tone has an edge to it now — there’s no secret that those two don’t really see eye to eye on most things. “Being a test pilot is exciting, but if you want to advance your career in the Navy, there are more valuable assignments.”  His sharp gaze settles on Bradley. “You should take this time to prove those battlefield commissions in non-combat. Hone your skills as an officer. Become a real leader.” 

Bradley wants to reply, but another voice cuts in before he can open his mouth. 

“I think you should consider settling down, Rooster,” Penny leans forward, past Mav, looking at him with a teasing smile. Mrs. Simpson makes noises of agreement. Pete and Simpson take a drink in unison, not taking any chances of arguing with their respective wives.

“I don’t know…” Bradley starts laughing. “First, I’d like to enjoy my first Christmas home in almost four years,” He raises his glass, hoping to change the subject quickly.

If only it were that easy.

Mav clinks his glass against Bradley’s. “Nevada — think about it,” He urges, voice low, probably hoping Penny won’t hear him. 

“The base in Nevada is out in the desert,” Penny complains, clearly overhearing Mav’s comment, turning to Mrs. Simpson for support. “Can you imagine? Nothing for around for miles — you need a weekend pass just to make it to the nearest city!” 

“That’s awful!” She agrees. “How is he supposed to meet anyone there?” She asks, turning to her husband.

“It’s a base, not a social scene, dear,” Simpson tries to do away with the whole conversation about settling down and Nevada, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder before turning to Bradley. “The trial at Nuremberg has started recently. If you are ready to cut your teeth on red tape and navigate brass politics, Rooster, that is the place to be now.” 

Nuremberg? Germany? Europe? 

He could go back to Europe? 

Bradley takes a deep breath to steady himself from the onslaught of thoughts that are suddenly cropping up. He hadn’t even dared to entertain the thought of taking up a post in Europe again. His fingers itch. 

“You’d send him away again, Admiral?” Penny pipes up. “Bradley only just got back stateside.”

“Pen, darling,” Pete tries to cut her off gently. Although meant well, it’s not really appropriate to discuss. Serving in the Navy means going where the Navy tells you to, when the Navy tells you so. It’s the life they signed up for.

“No, Pete,” She waves her hand dismissively, eager to finish her thought. “Bradley,” Penny now turns to him, expression earnest. She’s worried about him. Simpson, who was just about to take a bite of his rapidly cooling slice of Christmas ham, is letting his fork hover awkwardly somewhere en route from his plate to his mouth in bemusement. “Think about it. Not even you will meet anyone in Nevada,” She continues. “And by God, don’t even think about Europe right now.” 

“Why not?” Simpson asks, genuinely surprised.

“Who is he going to meet in Germany, Beau?” His wife admonishes.

Where in the conversation did they agree he wanted to settle down? 

“An admiral’s daughter, maybe,” Pete jokes under his breath. Simpson coughs awkwardly to disguise his chuckle. Penny is glaring daggers at Pete now.

Bradley downs the rest of his wine in one go. He expects one of his superiors around him to comment on his table manners, but they seem to forgive him, considering the circumstances. 

“Excuse me,” He says a little louder than necessary, effectively ending the conversation as he gets up. “Admiral, Mav, ladies,” He nods politely before forcing a smile on his face, tone joking. “If we are going to discuss my personal life to this level of detail, I think I need something a little stronger from the bar.” 

With that, he saunters away. Posture relaxed, and pace unhurried, like he isn’t bothered in the slightest. He even playfully winks at Penny as he passes. But with every step, the ice in his stomach becomes colder — burning a hole through his bones.

Sipping on a whiskey at the bar smoking his second cigarette in quick succession, Bradley tries to get his thoughts into order before returning to the table. Everyone has an opinion on what he should do. If it weren’t for daily formation, PT, and inspections, Bradley truthfully would have no idea how to fill his days. Thinking about his future seems so overwhelming. Until recently, he wasn’t sure he’d even make it home alive. 

Now, his head feels full from the alcohol and agony. Nevada, Nuremberg, settling down. How can he explain that the only person he would settle down with is someone he was never supposed to meet in a country where he was never supposed to be and he hasn’t seen or spoken to in two and a half years? 

How can he explain that you are the only person he is sure he’d ever marry?

He doesn’t even know for sure you are still alive. He has no idea if you moved on in the meantime. Maybe you were never going to wait for him. 

It’s all too much to think about. He waves at the barman for another round as he presses his cigarette butt into the ashtray. Rubbing his eyes, Bradley tries to summon the energy to be sociable again before dessert is served.

“Hey, Rooster?” 

Tiredly, he looks up. Penny walks up to him, looking a little apprehensive. He nods in acknowledgment as he takes another drink from his freshly served whiskey. She slides onto the barstool next to him. Bradley automatically signals for another drink. Within less than twenty seconds, the barman slides another whiskey in front of Penny. Her gloved hand picks at the napkin for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Bradley,” She starts.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” He replies automatically, smiling at her, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tension in his shoulders. Penny has known him for so long, that she sees right through it.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,” She continues, honestly. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” He dismisses her apology easily, clinking his glass against her instead, signaling to take a drink, and all will be forgiven. “It’s nice to have someone worry about me in my old age.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling, shoulders relaxing just a bit.

“The old age of 31?” Penny retorts, taking a small sip.

“I’m surprised I’m not graying yet,” Bradley adds dryly.

“You’re not a young upstart lieutenant anymore,” She jokes, lightly hitting his shoulder, before her face turns earnest again. “I’m so proud of you,” She adds softly. “And so happy you came back to us. Pete thinks so, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“The war is over, Bradley,” Penny continues in that same soft tone. “It’s a good time to start thinking about the future. Your future in the Navy and beyond that.”

“You’re right, but I -” Bradley hesitates. He plays with his lighter between his fingers. He can’t talk about it. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s for me, Pen.” 

“It took Pete all too long to figure that out, although he’ll probably never admit that to you,” Penny’s voice is low, wistful. Her pain is evident. “Don’t go down that path, Bradley — it’s lonely. Follow your heart.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Bradley chuckles dryly. If he could follow his heart, he’d be on the first boat back to Europe if he could follow his heart.

“If it were easy, everyone would do it,” Penny winks at him as she flips open her cigarette case. Bradley offers her a light. “You already beat all the odds; you’ve already proven yourself over and over in the air. Forget about your next professional milestone for a moment.  It’s time to show yourself some kindness, Bradley.” Penny exhales a cloud of smoke, a kind smile on her face again. 

Bradley hesitates, swirling his drink before emptying it. Show himself kindness? Kindness to himself would be to forget everything that keeps him awake at night. Forget the horrors, forget the noise, forget you.

“I think they’re serving dessert.” Bradley pushes his empty glass away, offering his arm to Penny with a smile. 

Maybe he just hates himself so much that he won’t allow himself to forget. The swirling memories, the echo of your voice, the glimmer in your eye — it’s like shards of glass under his skin. If he were to pull out every single one, he’d bleed to death.

***

The haphazard pile of magazines is balancing precariously on the off-white side table. There is barely anyone in the sterile-looking waiting room; a few fellow officers are trying to make themselves comfortable on the hard wooden chairs, staring out the window, playing with a lighter after going through a pack of cigarettes, or just napping. The only real movement is the assistant, sometimes breezing through the room, everyone perking up for a moment, but she leaves without saying anything.

Getting a medical evaluation is the most tedious process in the Navy. Sure, it’s nice to have at least a place to sit in a quiet room as an officer rather than waiting in the overcrowded halls with the enlisted, but it doesn’t make it any less goddamn tedious. Bradley stretches his legs in front of him, trying to find a position where the back of the chair is not digging into every part of his flesh. He’s been here for an hour already. His appointment was 45 minutes ago. It’s a gray afternoon in late February 1946.

Bradley unthinkingly grabs the top magazine from the pile to alleviate some crushing tedium. He leafs through it, not really registering anything. Just going through the motions of doing something. He grabs the next. And another one. 

Only five minutes have passed.

Bradley sighs and reaches for the next magazine on the top of the pile. Life Magazine. He starts leafing through it again, skimming the large pages full of pictures. Nothing sticks.

Victory in Europe.

The large letters are emblazoned over the large picture spread. It is the first thing that Bradley really notices. He slows down, scanning the pictures more carefully despite not wanting to. What starts with pictures of people celebrating will inevitably turn into a report of the horror of the final days of the war. Bradley has seen enough of that. The images of the camps, the burned and bombed-out cities, turn his stomach. He can feel, smell, and hear them right through the ink on the page. 

It’s like his vision is glazed over as he goes through the motions — flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes — no, flip back.

Bradley’s heart suddenly beats so hard he almost gasps for breath. On that page is a small picture—strangely familiar spires and towers on a skyline, thick clouds of smoke. In the foreground, a wounded man, clothes torn and splattered in blood, is being lifted into a truck on a makeshift stretcher. Chaos frames the man like in a Renaissance painting: the smoke, the people yelling, gesticulating. But it’s not that. It’s none of that. It’s the smallest thing. Negligible even.

At the bottom of the frame, right at the corner, a small hand is holding onto the stretcher: a ratty coat sleeve, the hem unraveling. The picture is black and white, but Bradley knows that the coat is that exact shade of moss green. But it’s not even that. Just above that sleeve, a bracelet peeks out. A chain too chunky, plain, and loose for any piece of jewelry on a wrist so fine. A round plate at the center of the chain, its weight pulling the chain slightly askew — it’s too small to tell if there is anything written on there. But Bradley doesn’t need to see it. Because he knows what it says; after all, it’s his.

It’s like a weight has lifted off his shoulders. You were alive. Feverishly, Bradley’s eyes fly over the text. You were alive on May 7th, 1945. 

You were alive a day before the capitulation of Germany. He tries to calm himself down enough to read the whole text, trying to find any other clue — anything about you. It’s hard to stay seated; Bradley feels like he should be moving, pacing, doing something. It’s the most energy he has had since his last combat flight. His leg is bouncing, trying to release some of the sudden surge of energy. It’s getting him annoyed looks. Folding the magazine over, Bradley uses his free hand to rub over his face, trying to focus on the words swimming in his vision.

“Moments before disaster: the old city of Prague goes up in flames after final air raid. The Red Cross reports… major loss of life…site of the picture leveled.”

The text is going in and out of focus before him. Whatever levity he just felt, the crushing weight of reality is coming back tenfold. Bradley’s leg stills again as he tries to understand. He tries to reason. You wouldn’t have died. You would have found a way out. You would do something clever, have an escape. 

His stomach churns. The dream. V.E. Day.

Were you really saying goodbye?

He thinks of you bathed in the sunlight. So soft, so free.

Unceremoniously, Bradley shoots up from this chair, tearing the page from the magazine before quickly folding it and tucking it in his pocket. He ignores the sounds of protest around him, ignoring his name finally being called by the doctor’s assistant as he decisively walks out of the building.

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do, but he doesn’t want to feel this pain now.

***

There are a few things Natasha hates. 

Cold coffee.

Wet socks.

The way her new uniform heels pinch before they are broken in.

Dragging her drunk lug of a best friend from a bar in broad daylight on a Tuesday before his chain of command finds out while it’s her goddamn afternoon off. 

Rooster has changed since he came back from the war. Sometimes, it’s almost imperceptible. He still sings, jokes, and basks in every sort of attention he can get. Girls orbit him as they have always done, and he smiles and flirts — but then it’s like the light in his eyes flickers, like a darkness is trying to claw its way up in him. 

Sometimes, it’s like night and day. Rooster was never reckless, erring on the side of overthinking and, if anything, choosing to stay put rather than take an uncalculated risk. But now, he seems to oscillate between apathy and what Natasha can only describe as stupidity. Today falls firmly in the stupidity category. 

The bar just off base is every bit as dirty and seedy during the day as it is at night. A drunken sailor stumbles out. Natasha is unimpressed. Serving with the Women Air Service Pilots during the war, she has learned that the uniform on a man means very little indeed. She has undergone the same flight training as her male peers, has plenty of flight hours, and has worn the uniform. Despite that, she never got the same respect. Which was, in the most unpleasant way, eye-opening. 

For all his faults and skirt-chasing ways, Rooster was one of the few male aviators who would speak to Natasha and her colleagues as equals.

Impatiently, she pushes into the bar, ignoring the several pairs of eyes looking at her hungrily. She glances at the bartender, the person who called her, and he just nods at her.

At the far end of the bar is Rooster. He’s hunched over, forehead resting on his hand, shielding his eyes from the world around him. How long has he been here? His khaki uniform shirt is wrinkled, liquid from his glass sloshed around his elbows on the bar, and his hair messy, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration. 

Natasha slows her pace. It’s not the happy-drunk Rooster that just tired himself out, outshining everyone in the room. 

He looks like he is grieving. 

“Hey, Rooster,” Natasha pokes his shoulder. He jerks but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her. “Get up,” She encourages him, worried about his unnaturally quiet state. Bradley still doesn’t acknowledge her. Natasha is not in the mood for this — she will not spend her afternoon off cajoling a grown man having a drunk sulk into going home. Swiping Bradley’s car keys off the bar and stuffing them in her coat pocket, she grabs Bradley’s cover, forcefully planting it on his head.

That finally gets a reaction out of him, although it’s only a grunt. “Get up, Captain,” She hisses at him. When Bradley finally looks up, she immediately pushes his sunglasses on his face.

“Ow!” He exclaims, followed by a string of incoherent curses. Natasha makes most of the momentum, grabbing Bradley by the elbow and practically dragging him off the bar stool and out of the bar. She can’t stop — if Rooster gets it in his head, he doesn’t want to go, she can’t kid herself — there’s no way she’s making him go physically. So she’ll have to use shock-and-awe tactics at least to get a stumbling drunk Bradley to his car.

“God! Rooster!” Natasha is getting increasingly annoyed as he stumbles, nearly taking them both down. She will rip him a new one if he rips her new nylons. “Can you get it together for five fucking seconds?”

She’s this close to just dumping him at the base gate and having the duty take care of him. “Get in the fucking car,” She hisses, pushing him forward. Thankfully, he was predictable enough to just park behind the bar.

Bradley, completely uncoordinated, slams straight into the car. He groans in pain, leaning heavily against the passenger door. Natasha rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the driver’s side and unlocks the doors. She watches Rooster attempt to fold himself into the car, long limbs flailing. It would be funny if she weren’t so mad. When he finally sits down, Rooster burps so hard that Natasha flinches back at the off chance he is about to throw up — thank god it’s his car.

“You done?” She snipes at him. “Or do you need to hurl up that whole bottle of whiskey first?”

“Fuck you,” Rooster croaks out, leaning back, eyes closed. 

“Oh look, it speaks!” Natasha mocks as she sticks the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life. “So, care to explain? Or do you prefer to wallow in your shitty drunkenness in silence?” Rooster doesn’t reply. Natasha didn’t expect him to. Bradley is really good at pretending he wears his heart on his sleeve — but when things get too real, he clams up. She’s known him long enough now to understand he’s hurting. She’s also known him long enough she knows he won’t talk about it until it stops hurting, which may very well be never.

“Anya called me a shit drunk,” Rooster suddenly blurts out.

Natasha stares at him in disbelief. Is this about some girl? All this over some girl? “Well, she was right,” She scoffs, unsure what else to say.

“I never told her I love her,”

Bradley’s voice is soft, and for a moment, Natasha isn’t sure she heard him correctly. Killing the engine, she turns to face him, mouth hanging open. Rooster is staring off into the distance, a lost look on his face. 

“I left her… there,” He sighs heavily. “I had to — but I could have said it. I don’t even know why… I just didn’t.”

The sentences are coming out disjointed, but his voice is earnest. Natasha is stunned into silence. 

“And now I’ll never see her again,” Bradley’s voice is uncharacteristically small.

“Why?” Natasha is confused. Rooster is actually so out of sorts about a girl, the vague and dramatic statements — he is suddenly like a lovesick puppy. Rooster has been in love, he’s been heartbroken, and he has grieved. Part of him is always grieving. But this is… different. New. Raw.

“I can’t talk about it,” He groans. “About anything — Anya, that — that place. And I’m so scared… I will forget everything about her. She will forget about me. Fuck!”

His sudden exclamation makes Natasha flinch.

“I’m an idiot. I should have told her — that I love her — when I had the chance.” Bradley slumps forward, forehead on the dashboard.

“Rooster, Ro - Bradley!” Natasha shakes his shoulder urgently. He can’t fall asleep now. “Who is Anya? Where is that place?”

“I can’t tell you!” Bradley’s fist lands on the dashboard loudly as he pushes himself back. “I can’t tell anyone, ever.” He hesitates as if he’s already said too much. 

“What did you do?” Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely concealing her horror. 

“I fell in love when I shouldn’t have,” He grinds out. “With someone I knew I couldn’t have.”

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha mumbles under her breath. “So, what — Rooster got into Rooster trouble?” She asks icily. This is the strangest drunk mood she’s ever seen him in.

“Something like that.” 

“But then the tables turned?” Natasha shakes her head, voice softer. Rooster just nods in reply, leaning back again, eyes closed. It’s hard to be really sympathetic to her best friend in this situation — for every broken heart he left behind, Rooster always got away unscathed. If it hurt, he never let on. And if the girl crying in the ladies' room were anything to go by, there were a lot of broken hearts. But still.

Natasha has known Bradley for long enough. She’s seen him in the deepest stages of grief, consumed by anger at the world around him. Bradley lost so much — and because of that, he allowed so little to really get to him. Let alone admit that anything got to him in the first place. Rely on Rooster to always have a joke or a throwaway line ready to defuse the situation. 

“I’m sorry, Rooster,” Natasha finally concedes as she starts the car again, shaking her head. “You’ll get over it.”

***

“Dropped out of college, no typing certification, no secretarial experience…” Sharp blue eyes framed by thin golden reading glasses peer over the paper of your neatly written resume. You straighten your posture, although you could possibly not sit any straighter. Your gray dress starkly contrasts the colorful, tastefully decorated room. The floral sofa you’re sitting on is pretty but anything but comfortable. It’s stuffy in the room and strangely dusty. With every move, the specks of dust flutter through the air in the thousands. 

“Why should I hire you as the ambassador’s personal secretary?” The question is not unkind, to be expected at an interview, but the meaning is not lost on you. Why are you even here?

“I am a quick study, I work hard,” You explain levelly, hands neatly folded in your lap. The high collar of your dress itches against your neck. “I may not have the certifications and diplomas, but I have the work ethic — you’ll see on my resume, that I worked...” 

You trail off. The middle-aged woman sitting actress from you, not looking at you as you speak, stares at your resume unimpressed. You swallow. 

“I worked all through the war to support myself and my parents.”

The woman sighs, finally putting the paper away on the low coffee table between you.

“I’ll be honest with you, miss S-…” Her flickers to your resume again.

“Anna is fine, please.” You interject politely. 

“Anna.” Mrs. Parker echoes. “I will be honest — I invited you for an interview because your letter was well written. Better than most, more qualified candidates. You also have a commendation letter from the president for your service to the republic during the war. It has me intrigued.”

Oh. 

So you’re here just to be gawked at rather than seriously being considered for the job?

“And now that I see you…” Mrs. Parker’s gaze lingers on the left side of your face. “Well, let’s just say that you’re not likely to attract my husband’s wandering eyes,” She clicks her tongue. “That’s a good thing, trust me.” She adds under her breath. You strain to hear the comment. 

You don’t flinch. You don’t fidget or move. You’ve heard it all before by now. The scars on your face slowly become lighter — they’re not as red as they once were, but they are there. They will always be there; no careful curl framing your face or fashionable veil will fully obscure it. At least Mrs. Parker is blunt about it, you suppose. Most people just stare.

“You’re a tough cookie.” She continues with a smile. “I like that. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?” You inquire.

“Why did you drop out of college?” Mrs. Parker comes straight to the point.

“Because the Nazi regime closed all universities in 1939,” You reply stoically.

“Allow me to rephrase: why aren’t you going back?” She retorts immediately, fidgeting mindlessly with her pearl necklace. Mrs. Parker looks like a lady of leisure — fancy clothes, expensive jewelry — but it’s clear she’s a sharp mind. “The semester has barely started; surely you are still admissible.” Mrs. Parker’s gold-framed glasses glint in the September sunlight.

“It’s not for me anymore,” You answer simply. Of course, re-enrolled the moment you could. You just couldn’t even make it through the first week. Maybe you’ve built it up too much in your head. But sitting through lectures and sifting through political theory just left you feeling hollow. It was too busy. Too noisy. Too strange.

“What do your parents think about that?”

You blink. At 26, you didn’t expect that question to come up at a job interview.

“My parents are dead, Mrs. Parker.” You reply softly, blinking against all the dust in the air. You don’t really listen to the apologies and commiserations. You’ve heard them all by now.

When you told Emil that things hadn’t exactly turned out how you hoped, you could have never dreamed about the situation you found yourself in now. When you got home that sunny day in June, the pile of overdue bills and notices on your doorstep should have been the first hint that something was deeply wrong. You sent your parents money, but your father always took care of all the bills and rent. Everyone that you called was relieved and surprised that you were alive. But no one had heard from your parents since April 1945.

As the SS were withdrawing from the Red Army advance, they razed villages, burned crops, and executed whole families without prejudice. Your tiny, defenseless ancestral village was wiped off the map in less than one afternoon. The house you grew up in was no more than a pile of ashes. Not even the trees that you climbed as a child still stood. The place you once knew so well is now an alien landscape. 

There were no bodies to bury. There was no church to hold the funeral mass. There was not even a graveyard anymore. 

You commissioned a small memorial stone for your parents to sit at what once was the gate to your beloved garden and called the priest from the neighboring parish to say a few words. It’s all you could afford.

That’s the next dump on your ever-growing pile of shit. With a lawyer for a father in a high government position before the war, you never exactly had money troubles. But you were in the hospital for two months, and you still need physical therapy and treatment. The large family apartment is more than you can afford. Whatever money your father left you, whatever hasn’t gone up literally in flames with your childhood home, you’ve had to sink into paying off your debts.

It’s ultimately, ironically, you suppose, what brings you to the residence of the U.S. ambassador and why the ambassador’s wife seems to be grilling you for her own amusement. You need a job, but you can’t do physical labor. At this point, you would have jumped at the chance to go back to a factory if you had to.

You’ve already sold almost everything you still owned in the apartment, except for two trunks of personal items and heirlooms you couldn’t bear to part with. When you were younger, you thought you’d probably be married by 26, not living four to a room in a dorm with other working girls. 

Things didn’t turn out exactly as you hoped. But you suppose that’s also freeing. 

There’s only one thing you want. 

That dream. 

Bradley and the beach.

“Well,” Mrs. Parker recovers smoothly. “I think you can handle me being honest with you, Anna,”

You nod.

“You’re not getting the secretary job,” She announces curtly. You didn’t expect to. “But I require someone with good English, and I see you’ve worked as a cleaner before.”

You hold your breath, plucking at your left sleeve and pulling it down out of habit.

“This place is a nightmare.” She fumes, waving her hand around theatrically. Dust swirls violently. “No one has lived here since 1938, and it shows. But I can’t get the maids hired to do the job properly — I’m not sure if they don’t understand me or just don’t listen.” 

You wait for Mrs. Parker to continue, trying to breathe lightly to stop yourself from inhaling all the dust. “I’m opening a head housekeeper position.” She glances at you as she finally stops wafting new waves of dust around her. “You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and your English is excellent. I encourage you to apply.” Trust your gut.

“Then consider this my application,” You reply immediately, motioning to your resume on the table. Head housekeeper is not what you came here for. You shouldn’t be doing any physically strenuous activities, let alone manual labor. The nerves and tendons in your left shoulder and wrist were damaged. When you put too much pressure on it or move it too much, painful tremors incapacitate your whole arm.

“How is your sewing?” Mrs. Parker inquires, tone businesslike. 

“Excellent.” You lie. You are awful at handiwork, but you will sew till your fingers bleed if it means you get this job.

“Perfect — my daughter will be joining on our posting here, and she tends to be demanding about the hems of her dresses,” Mrs. Parker leans back as if to signal that the formalities are over. “And I am particular about the necklines,” She adds, almost offhandedly.

“Understood,” You reply. “When do I start?”

Mrs. Parkers bursts out laughing, clapping her hands in delight. You crack a small smile in response. You really hope that was the right move. 

“Come by tomorrow to pick up your uniform and discuss salary.” She replies, still laughing. “You can start right away, and get all this goddamn dust out of the house.”

That night, when you are in your tiny dorm bed, you think of that beach — it calms you: the summer sun, the soft sand, and the salty breeze. But when you think about Bradley, you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You are not naive. It’s been three years. Emil was most likely correct — if Bradley is still alive, he’s probably forgotten about you and moved on. 

It’s perhaps for the better. The thought hurts, but you try to get used to it.

You can’t fool yourself into thinking, you wouldn't even dare to dream, that Bradley would still want you. 

Who would?

It doesn’t matter. He deserves to be happy, even if that’s without you. Tears prickle behind our closed eyes. You will get used to this feeling. Accept the things you cannot change and seize what you can.

You can go to Virginia Beach. Even if you can’t find Bradley, even if he doesn’t want you anymore, it won’t matter. You just want to feel it once more. It doesn’t matter that it was a dream or a delusion — it was the real in your heart and the happiest you’ve ever felt. 

Maybe you’ll finally find something you've been missing there. 

Maybe you’ll let the ocean wash you away. 

Maybe you’ll finally find some peace there.

note | ffff i caught TWO separate strains of the flu since the new year and holy shit it took me out. still here though. thanks for reading and reblogging!

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

[365daysofsasuhina]

                                                [ @sasuhinabigflash2020​ ]                                                      [ 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 ]

#sasuhina #sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #some a:tla inspo! #since i love writing naruto characters in that universe n_n #(commenting in tags so i don't muddy the post lol) #consider this day 30 / first free day!

[kusunokihimea]

"Some Other You"

[ Send “Some Other You” and I’ll introduce you to an AU version of my muse ][ @crybaby-ninja ][ Accepting ]

     Even after all this time, she still has trouble dealing with the heat of the Fire Nation. The weeks she’s spent on the island nation - stolen away and forced to heal the ill heir to the royal family - have done little to help her adjust after a life lived in the ice of the South Pole. But at least her diligent work has earned her a few scraps of freedom…otherwise she wouldn’t be permitted to be out on a palace balcony alone, trying to find some scrap of breeze with which to cool off.

     Even now, her duality is a painful one. Aiding the elder prince is an act of treason…but with her people held as ransom for her work, she can’t say no. All she can pray for is the swift end of this hundred year war, with the Avatar stopping the Fire Lord once and for all.

     …she just hopes the prince won’t be harmed. Traitorous as it may be, she’s come to enjoy his company. He’s a kind soul…something she never expected, given the attitude of his younger brother, let alone the warmongering of his country.

     Lost in her thoughts, Ryū startles at the sound of footsteps, still a touch nervous around any firebenders besides her patient. Turning, she catches a man walking past her perch in the hallway. He looks to he a typical Fire Nation soldier, but…as he in turn looks to her, she catches sight of the scars along the side of his face.

     The healer in her immediately wonders what happened to leave such a mark, but she catches herself quickly, not wanting to be rude and stare. Is he…here to fetch her? Maybe the prince is taking a turn. “Did…did you need something?”

#how can i help you today? [ ryū replies ] #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #crybabyninja #hello! :D #no idea if you know avatar: the last airbender or not #but i've done a few threads with it #all with this same backstory #i don't get to write it very often kdfjgghgf #so i'm a lil rusty lol #i guess? this can be a starter if you want??? #but no worries if not! #i wasn't even sure if it was supposed to be ic #or just...me talking about it lol

[kusunogatari-a]

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Two: Yin and Yang ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ]

Ten years. Ten years since they’ve all had the time to meet. Their duties to their nations have kept them busy and apart...but with a decade of peace to celebrate, there are no more excuses to avoid one another.

The celebration is held in the Earth Kingdom. Ba Sing Se plays host, the liberated city dressed for the occasion. Benders of all elements gather in the streets to give thanks for the first ten years of harmony after a hundred of war and hatred.

Naruto greets all with wide smiles and warm embraces. Kiba howls hellos alongside an aging Akamaru, the polar bear dog. Sakura, vivacious as ever, gives claps on shoulders that stagger the most solid of men.

And as Sasuke and his brother approach, Hinata offers polite bows and soft salutations.

He almost has to do a double take.

They saw each other last several years ago when trades were finally fully opened to the Fire Nation again. Still a teenager growing into herself then, Hinata had hidden mostly in the background as those older than her handled the talking. But now...now she’s come into her own.

Garbed in a sapphire dress that glitters like a moon-drenched ocean, she holds herself with poise and grace. Last Sasuke heard, she’s become matriarch over all of the Southern Water Tribes. Clearly having learned how to handle such a title, the welcome she gives them is genuine, yet well-mannered.

“Fire Lord Itachi. Prince Sasuke. It’s been so long.”

“Too long,” the elder brother agrees, matching her bow. “You look stunning, Hinata.”

She laughs politely into a hand. “You flatter me. And you both look well - have your treatments been holding up?”

“They have. And anymore are few and far between. A full recovery may yet be out of reach, but I am simply thankful for what I have.”

A knowing glint shines in the waterbender’s eyes. “Well then, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure the others are eager to say hello.”

Nodding, Itachi takes his leave, and Sasuke gives a small scoff. “Is there anyone who won’t tease him about that?”

“Do you not?” Hinata asks, still smiling coyly.

“I’m the worst of them. Mostly I’m just glad to think of Father’s face when he hears his heir is sweet on a waterbender. You’d think by now they’d both stop denying it.”

“Perhaps your brother merely wishes to be cautious. Such a transition may still be...difficult for some of your people.”

“They’ve endured bigger changes since the war’s end. All that matters to me is that he ends up happy.”

There’s a soft hum of agreement. “...yin and yang, hm? Fire and water.”

“The sun and the moon,” Sasuke muses, mostly meant to be to himself.

“So...it doesn’t bother you?”

“Hm?”

“That she’s a waterbender?”

Sasuke can’t help a slight pause. “...if you’d asked me that ten years ago, I’d laugh in your face. But times have changed...so have we. There’s still a chance for a firebending heir. I’m not worried.”

“I suppose there’s always your offspring to consider.”

He can’t help a barking laugh. “Yeah...sure.”

Hinata’s head tilts. “...have you no thoughts to start a family?”

A long moment of silence passes, Sasuke’s brow furrowed and slightly dark with thought. “...I’m not sure. I…” He hesitates. “...I spent several years of my life being a horrible person. I nearly threw my brother aside for power. I treated his healer like dirt beneath my heel. I hunted you and your friends like animals, all to prove my worth to a man who was more monster. A monster I nearly became. I’m not sure I’m suited to having a wife or children.”

Expression somber, Hinata glances aside. “...and yet you’ve changed. You said it yourself: none of us are who we were as children. War did terrible things to us all. But you put that aside: your pride, your lust for power. You helped us. We’d not have won the war without you.”

“And yet it would have been far less terrible without me and my prior deeds in it.”

“Sasuke...we all have good and evil inside us. In the end, you chose good. And you continue to choose it, every day. Do you think you might someday change your mind?”

“...I don’t know. And that scares me.”

Silence falls between them again, each lost in their own thoughts.

“...I know...I distrusted you at first. It was hard not to. But eventually you proved me wrong. Proved all of us wrong. If you could bring yourself out of that hole of anger and jealousy you were in, then...you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Sasuke.” Lifting a hand, Hinata lets it rest gently against his cheek, feeling him stiffen but guiding his gaze back around. “...I trust you now. We all do. Why can’t you trust yourself…?”

Staring down at her, flickering his gaze between her eyes, Sasuke tries to think of an answer. “...no one knows me like I know myself.”

“...then maybe you just need to let someone in so they can.”

Her calm logic against the coals of his self-deprecation douse them like icy waters.

...how had she put it? Yin and yang?

“...I don’t know who would want to take that risk,” he murmurs, her palm still cool against his skin.

“...well, I -”

“Everyone!”

Jolting, the pair of them stagger apart as Naruto’s voice booms over the gathered crowd. Arms lift as he smiles like a sunrise. “The banquet is about to begin! Please, take your seats and join us for just the first phase of this celebration of a whole decade of peace!”

As his speech concludes and the crowds begin to murmur and shift, Hinata and Sasuke give one another a glance, a bit sheepish at the broken atmosphere. “...I’ll...see you after the feast,” Hinata offers, stammering slightly as she once did when younger.

“...right.” Giving a stiff bow, Sasuke seeks out his brother, taking the seat at his side.

“Where have you been, little brother? Did Hinata keep you occupied so long?”

Mind still jumbled, the prince flickers his gaze over. A few seats away, on the other side of the table, his brother’s healer engages the other waterbender in smiling conversation. Ah...he didn’t know they were friends.

“...yeah. Guess she did.”

     Word count: 1074      Cumulative: 2003      Golly this took several tries to get right, and even now dunno if I 100% like it, but it’s late...again...so we’ll call this good lol      I love this verse and need to write more of it. It’s an awesome crossover and the fact that SasuHina thus parallels Zu///tara makes me a happy camper lol - it started mostly from an RP with an Itachi blog, but branching it out into other characters is so much fun!      Just a heads up, irl is hoppin’ for me lately, so I might be late on the next few entries of this, possibly more. But I’ll do my best to keep at them until either we finish, or Life just get too outta hand!      Day two, check!

#sasuhinamonth #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #sasuhina #sasuhinamonth2018 #shmonth2018 #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ]

[xhanisai]

Knowing

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Ladrien + Adrinette (With Ladynoir dynamics?)

Summary -

"Quit it. Quit all of these pretences. I'm sick and tired...so tired of being forced to pretend that I don't know who you are...pretending to not hear your pained whimpers when you sit behind me...pretending to accept your excuses when you're extra clumsy from all the fatigue..." His forehead was on hers now, dark lashes lowered as the remnants of his tears clung onto them like diamonds. "Pretending not to recognise the bandages and wounds that I worked on," "Adrien...you're going to be compromised-"

"I'm sick and tired of not being allowed to be by your side, Marinette."

.

Just as mentioned, he was no angel.

(Or, AU where only Ladybug's miraculous is released and the healing light does not protect her whilst Adrien is her self-proclaimed sidekick/partner).

~(x)~

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.

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"...You still seem quite mad at me," Ladybug timidly peered under her lashes, the fabric of the makeshift mask shifting from her furrowed brows whilst her kwami chewed silently as she rested on her generous plate of cookies. The duo were sat on the edge of a giant, expensive bed that belonged to the other presence in the room who was also the owner of said wonderful bed and said ginormous room. Though, Adrien remained tight-lipped as if to ignore his Lady's sentence, nose still slightly flared as he gently carried on in redressing the bandages on her arm with a precision that would make many in the medical field take notes. A precision that came from countless experiences in having to patch up the girl over and over again which in turn continued to crush his heart from the sight of her covered in such painful wounds... The heroine couldn't help letting out another pouty sigh as she continued to receive the silent treatment from her self-proclaimed partner despite the boy lacking any supernatural powers or having any abilities to aid her in Akuma battles without becoming a liability. Yet, it didn't make her think of him any less and every bit of help and nosing around proved to be so much more beneficial than she'd stubbornly like to admit. If it weren't for him, she would have probably drowned that one time an Akuma got lucky and delivered a horrific blow against her skull, causing her to lose consciousness and fall in la seine like dead weight. She remembered the bloodcurdling cry of her name on his lips, Adrien tailing the battle in order to keep an eye on her and make sure to pull her aside if the fight got too brutal. She remembered the blistering feelings of glaciers seeping through her skin when the impact of hitting the water made her regain back consciousness yet her body refused to cooperate with her brain. A splash from above as she continued to sink below. The sensations of strong, firm arms crushing her into a familiar chest as she passed out anew. Soft, soft, soft on her lips whist the harsh, hot breath rushed through her mouth and hands crushed her chest until she coughed out the river water in her system and opened her eyes. "...Dieu...Dieu merci...oh my Lady," And scorching tears that belonged to him dripped down on her face as if he was rain and she was a parched, dying plant stranded in a desert. . "Is it because the Akuma broke my arm again? I swear I was being extra careful." She got a low scoff in response, his emerald greens continuing to seethe in a rare but dangerously fiery rage. . But Ladybug was well known to always throw herself within the depths of even the most deadliest of flames. . "...Or, is it because of...of our conversation from yesterday?" Her question was the final straw for the blond, his hand slamming the first aid kit shut, surprising the little red kwami, and then finally stood up to face the love of his life with an expression so stoic, it would have given his negligent father a run for his money. "Can't really call it a conversation when you wouldn't let me speak a single word." His tone was like ice burrowing through her veins like a parasite and his broader frame practically towered over hers as she cooly remained seated on his bed. "Come on, Adrien. It was a really dangerous subject and you agreed to never approach it-" "And you know who else doesn't let me speak? Père." Suddenly, she felt like she was plunged into the icy, freezing depths of la Seine once again. The mere thought of being compared to such a horrible human being that mistreated her loved one on a daily basis was the equivalent of getting knocked around against buildings by a gang of ruthless akumas. Ladybug absolutely hated it.

"Wha- don't compare ME to HIM!" Ladybug sat up instantly, having to strain her head up just to meet the boy's heated gaze due to their stark height difference as their chests were almost pressed against one another. The stabbing and persistent pain and aches of her wounds and broken arm were thrown to the back of her mind as she narrowed her eyes further at Adrien. "The only reason I couldn't let you say anything else is because of your safety, Adrien. I do this not just for Paris, but also so you're always safe and sound! I wouldn't know what I'd do if you ever got hurt because of me." "By letting yourself carry on getting thrown around by villains regularly without any help whatsoever!? By still refusing to see doctors or hospitals to check on your broken bones just to keep your secret identity!?" His trembling hands were now on her cheeks as he pulled her closer. "By forcing yourself to come to school every day??? Pretending that you're okay and not nursing ungodly bruised ribs and concussions-" Ladybug couldn't help but slap her free hand against his mouth, shaking her head, internally begging him to not say it. To not make it a reality. To not break the illusion of the line she placed between her vigilant side and civilian side. But, over half a year of knowing this boy has made her more than aware that he's no angel. A cunning, sneaky little black cat instead. One that nonchalantly inserted himself into her life on both sides of her mask and refused to leave because she is his Lady whether she liked it or not and probably, definitely knew that she liked it quite a lot. And that's why she tried so hard to maintain the wall between them because she knew that she would be completely destroyed if anything happened to the boy she loves more than life itself. Yet, he continued to crash through without a beat. . "Quit it. Quit all of these pretences. I'm sick and tired...so tired of being forced to pretend that I don't know who you are...pretending to not hear your pained whimpers when you sit behind me...pretending to accept your excuses when you're extra clumsy from all the fatigue..." His forehead was on hers now, dark lashes lowered as the remnants of his tears clung onto them like diamonds. "Pretending not to recognise the bandages and wounds that I worked on," "Adrien...you're going to be compromised-"

"I'm sick and tired of not being allowed to be by your side, Marinette."

.

Just as mentioned, he was no angel.

.

And when he threw the mask off her face and captured her lips in a desperate and raw kiss, it was anything but angelic.

His piano fingers dug through her hair, snapping the ribbons so that the midnight locks spilt downwards and tangled up within his digits. His lips slanted against hers, greedily taking in everything that was humanly possible as if to emphasise just how much she meant to him whilst his eyes remained tightly shut and his nose took in the sweet scent of her body in a frenzy.

Marinette's blood was lit up in the most delicious, fiery way she's ever experienced and she could have sworn that she was melting from his touch itself, let alone his lips taking captive of hers in a head-spinning, heart racing kiss.

Much to her dismay, she had to pull back too soon, far too breathless and winded from the boy's affections alone. That didn't stop him from chasing her lips, brushing his mouth against hers again and again and again and then trailing his lips to her jaw, his arms firm as they pressed her against his body yet being mindful of her injuries.

.

"Marinette..." He whispered into her skin, his body arched over hers whilst battling the temptation to push her into the bed behind them. "

My Marinette," The slight possessive tone in his voice had her quietly giggling as she brushed her fingers through the shorter locks on the back of his head.

"Adrien...that was dangerous," The light tone of her voice juxtaposed her sentence but she earned another protective squeeze from her partner.

"I don't care." His words were muffled since his face was buried into her neck, almost whiny and childish. All Marinette could do was sigh and continue to hold him, eyeing her kwami who now floated up to meet their gazes.

"As dangerous as this is, it was inevitable," The little Goddess started, gaining a victorious smirk from the blond whilst the heroine scowled in return. "And if nothing has happened to him so far despite knowing your identity, then we should be slightly assured that he'll continue to be fine in the future,"

"Wait. How long exactly did you know that I was...well, me?" Marinette scrutinised the boy who now sported a slightly sheepish expression as he led them back to sit on the bed. "...Adrien???" Her eyes continued to narrow.

"I think...around the start~?"

He should have known, broken arm or no broken arm, the love of his life was capable of destroying him with a bunch of his pillows. Even Tikki joined in! It took a few more minutes of him withstanding the brunt of the plush objects being thrown at him with a never-ending smile on his face for Marinette to give up with a harrumph.

"I can't believe you! All this time, all this time you knew! Ugh! No wonder you were always hovering around me like some bodyguard at school and always bought my excuses when I had to suddenly leave to fight an Akuma!" She tossed one last pillow at his head, causing it to bounce off and fall onto the floor like the rest of its family. Adrien continued to watch her with an amused yet adoring smile, unable to stop himself from giving her another kiss, earning a surprised squeak from her.

Unlike the last one, it was quite brief but never less loving and certainly had both of their hearts ricocheting within their chests. When he pulled away, the duo wore matching lovestruck faces and rosy cheeks, the older of the two interlacing his hand with Marinette's uninjured one.

"As Tikki said, it was inevitable. We're in the same class. We're best friends. Our best friends are dating." He then leaned into her face, grinning like a feline who got the cream. "So of course, I had my eye on you throughout the whole time. It wasn't long till all the extra pieces and parts were glued together as I watched you," And of course, since he was such a greedy little devil, he pressed his lips against hers once more, smiling from the feel of her lashes fluttering shut and tickling his cheekbones.

"Adrien...you can't keep kissing me to avoid the consequences of you now officially knowing my identity- mmph!" Marinette let out a warning growl whilst the boy smirked in the umpteenth liplock, playfully nipping her bottom lip and emerald greens twinkling at her dishevelled face. "I hate you."

"Oh no~ you love me. Love. Me~" He emphasised each word with a kiss on her nose and then finally gave her some space, cradling her hand with both of his and then brushing his lips against her hardworking knuckles. "I know you're worried. I know you're scared. But not once have you ever let Paris down...ever let me down," He kissed her forehead, combing her fringe with his fingers affectionately.

"But still, Adrien. Anything could happen and..."

"I'm very careful, Marinette," He tilted her chin up with his finger so that she met his eyes. "I've been trying my best to help out behind the scenes and not once has an Akuma nor Le Papillon caught a whiff of me. Or that I'm linked with your alter ego." His smile softened from the way she relaxed under his touch, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her cheek and her baby blues twinkling.

"It's...it is a huge risk...we've seen what happens to those who are close to superheroes in films and books." She gripped his hand tightly, the one that wasn't caressing her face. "I would become a monster if anything happens to you," Adrien furrowed his brows at her declaration, placing his forehead on hers.

"I'm no Louis Lane and I'm certainly no Gwen Stacey. I'm Adrien. Your Adrien. I know I can't aid you in Akuma fights despite being a champion in fencing so that Le Papillon doesn't target me. But, I can protect you like this, in secret. Where that cowardly man can't harm us and where the paparazzi can't even get a glimpse of my interactions with your masked self." He was now tracing mindless shapes on the back of her hand, massaging the bones and savouring the softness of her skin.

"And honestly, whether we have a relation or no relation. Whether I know your identity or not. That hasn't stopped that deranged man from sending in puppet villains that mercilessly hurt innocent civilians." His expression was determined and pleading, hands quietly trembling from all the feelings and emotions that coursed through his body.

"...Tikki? What do you suggest?" Not knowing how to respond to Adrien and unsure of what decision to make, she turned to the ancient little Goddess.

"I think you're better off taking this risk rather than continuing to fight Akumas without Adrien's aid in the background. Usually, my holders are healed by the miraculous lights but because the damages you fix is so vast and so magnificent, it balances out by not healing you. Marinette, do you understand how amazing you are? You have brought the dead back to life." Tikki placed her small hands on her friend's cheek. "You're unconsciously just so selfless, you ended up becoming one of the best Ladybugs I've ever had...but because of your selflessness, you're unable to look after yourself properly,"

She then floated towards Adrien and landed on his shoulder.

"I've suspected that he knew who you are for quite a while. And I never said a word about it because he was doing everything to look after you as much as he could. He's covered for your absences in school. He's read and studied medical books just so he knew how to treat your injuries right. He always brought you coffee and breakfast because you're always so exhausted. And he loves you so much, he would do anything for you," She smiled sweetly at the flustered model. "I think...no. I know it's best to keep him in the loop. To let him continue to protect you in his own way. You deserve to be happy too, Marinette,"

All the chords within the heroine's heart were hit with flying colours, overwhelming her tiny body with so much love and emotions that her eyes began to water.

"...You really love me...?" Marinette's voice was shy and small. She wasn't entirely blind to his feelings to her with how he treated her in and out of the mask. Heck, even their friends would always tease him about being an overprotective husband and the way he would bristle if anyone he didn't like or know got too close to her.

Not to mention that they have kissed multiple times too.

For Nino's film. To snap each other out of Akuma spells. When a villain got a bit too close to either of them. And even now.

"Well, duh." He jokingly flicked her nose with a finger, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. "It's like everyone in the world knew I'm head-over-heels except for you. Ma Princesse, your parents even call me their son or son-in-law. And I only have ever kissed you." He pecked her hand, marvelling at the way the sakura hue continued to bloom across her cheeks. "Now I think the question here is, is my feelings mutual?"

.

That little shit.

He knew and yet he wanted her to say it?

.

"Duh~" Marinette parroted, her iconic alter ego's smirk now playing on her lips as she watched her partner's face melt with indescribable joy. "But you knew that anyway, like the sneaky cat you are." She was met with a shameless chuckle and he brought her into his arms.

"Not as long as I knew your identity but it's still nice to have some verbal confirmation. I think I figured it out when hit me on the shoulder for getting too close to the battles and then kissed me right away~"

"Ahh. So that's why you became even more touchy and bold at school."

Adrien pulled away just a bit, enough to face her but still having her frame within his embrace. His golden hair endearingly bounced when he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

"As if I'd leave the love of my life alone~" Just as he was leaning in to snatch another kiss, all the pain and aches came swarming back like a tsunami and caused Marinette to wince from the injuries. "Oh, shit- first! We are taking you to a hospital to have a thorough look at your injuries. I'll make up some excuse about how you got them but you really need to see a professional."

"Ugh...Fine. What is the excuse gonna be?"

Once again, she was reminded that her Adrien was no angel.

"Oh~ that you were so captivated by my beauty, you tripped and fell down the stairs of course~!"

"...I want a divorce."

"Oh? We're married???"

"I mean break up!"

"No, no, no. You said divorce~ So I should introduce myself as your husband at the hospital, non?"

"We're still in le collège! That wouldn't work! Tikki, help!"

"I'll take good care of you, ma femme~"

.

.

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~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #tikki #ladrien #adrinette #ladynoir #ml au

[whosjunglejim4322]

Alpha!Hybrid Au, SMUT, PWP, soft dom Yuta bc ur his baby, bestfriend!to lovers, arguing, pussy eating, jealousy, BREEDING KINK, unprotected sex (pls wrap ur willy), monster cock agenda

He's in trouble. The huge, colossal, has to hang his head in shame type of trouble. The worst part is that, he doesn't really feel bad about it, that kid had it coming and - fuck, no, he shouldn't think like that. But he can't fight the instinct, as hard as he tries.

"I'm so sorry, I really am I-" he stutters, trying to find the right words as you stomp away from him towards your room, continuing your maddening silent treatment that he knows only means he's really fucked up.

"I shouldn't have done...that, I know, I know." His voice is strained, desperate in his feat to prove his sincerity. It's nearly impossible to describe its magnitude when he has yet to admit how he really feels about you. It makes the whole situation that much worse.

"You...you actually growled at him, Yuta. Mark Lee. He's a friend of mine, a good friend! And you-" you've finally turned to face him, kicking your shoes off and slinging them to the nearest corner, your anger a tangible force. "you nearly scared him half to death!" You scold, still shivering at the thought.

He looks like a puppy whos just been reprimanded, no pun intended. He allows you to push past him to the kitchen, following behind you with urgent footsteps and continuing his pleads of understanding. This is eating at him in more ways than one.

"I couldn't help it, you know that-" you scoff, interrupting him while you turn to meet his wide, guilt ridden gaze.

"Don't give me that alpha bullshit." You know it's a low blow, probably the lowest you could muster but you're just so damn annoyed. He doesn't know what it's like to be a human so close to such a guttural sound as the one he used to establish dominance earlier tonight. It's like being next to a hellcat, the roar of an engine that reverberates throughout every bone in your body.

You'd been so shocked, so embarrassed for Mark that you hadn't even registered the fact that it licked such a hot flame inside of you, furthering your outburst and only igniting feelings that you shouldn't be having in the first place.

Your unrequited feelings for your best friend probably just add fuel to the fire, considering you're mostly angry at yourself for the way your body actually had the nerve to like the prospect of Yuta being jealous. You should be embarrassed.

"Hey, that’s not fair," He practically whines, losing his sanity with each passing second. "I'm not lying when I say that I couldn't help it." You know he's telling the truth, and he knows that he couldn't have fought it off even he wanted to.

He could smell Mark's change in scent whenever you laughed at one of his jokes, could see the way his eyes would linger on you whenever he thought no one could tell. It came to a head when the human boy actually had the audacity to slip an arm around you while in one of his laughing fits. The feeling was like a dam bursting, hot lava through his veins pushing the sound from within his chest.

You rip open the door of the fridge in search for a bottle of water, and he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his ears like thunder.

"He'll probably run for the hills next time he sees us, if he even wants to talk to me again at all considering the stunt you pulled-"

"Why is that such a bad thing?!" The words spill from his mouth like he hasn't got a choice, the truth so close to trickling off of his tongue. "He clearly has such an obvious, nauseating crush on you and actually thought he was being oblivious - he wanted his scent on you."

Yuta takes a step back, shoving his slim fingers into his raven hair before rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustrated. Your heart suddenly thuds at an uneven pace in your chest, belly flipping wildly with a mixture of emotions.

Without even having to think about it you're stepping closer towards his trembling figure. He's got his fists clenched and you know his nails are likely digging into his palm, a habit formed from nervousness, or other emotions when they become too overwhelming for him.

"What are you even talking about, He doesn't-"

"Yes he does, I would know what it's like firsthand," surprisingly the words are easier to say than he previously thought, cathartic from the way he's held them in for so long. It's like once he starts he can't stop.

Your jaw has gone slack, body sweltering as you stare at him from a few feet away. He looks like he's holding on to the edge of ration, trying so desperately not to scare you away.

"I can barely think straight when I'm around you, it drives me crazy and that human - he was practically glowing from your presence alone and I couldn't stand it I- he doesn't even know what it's like to love you."

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you, feet planted steady on the ground but somehow you feel like you're spinning. Your body feels like it's been lit like a live wire, his utter vulnerability and the sheer magnitude of the feelings swarming in his warm irises, spearing heat through your lower abdomen.

He looks pained, suddenly. More so than before and the need to reach out and touch him, to do something to soothe the agonized furrow between his sharp brows, feels borderline unbearable.

"I should go - fuck, I'm so sorry I'll leave I never should have even come tonight."

He's backing away further, nails still digging into the meat of his palms when your feet finally unthaw from shock, moving towards him before he can twist the doorknob.

It's like placing your hand on a heater, the temperature almost scalding. He's still shaking like a leaf in autumn, his breaths ragged and skin glossy.

He's still flinched away from you, as if scared to so much as glance up at you, and it feels like your chest is being cracked open.

"Don't leave, stop, okay?" The break in your voice catches his attention and suddenly his eyes are boring into yours, low and dark, riddled with too many emotions at once.

Your hands are suddenly grabbing his, much cooler than his scorching skin as you uncurl his fists. The crescent moons are already healing.

"You don't have to be sorry, I haven't been honest with you and I - I love you, too." You speak softly, bashfully almost as you pull him closer, stroking his cheek with the back of your knuckles. He feels as though he might combust.

"You...you do? Really?" He's dumbfounded, shaken from his core in a way that has him trembling in a different way all together. He steps closer and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

You reach out, moving his dark, disheveled hair from in front of his eyes, chills rising from your skin as he leans into your touch. He looks dazed, lost in everything you say. He's so beautiful up close, golden and silky and glowing. You squeeze your thighs together.

You don't miss the way he glances from your lips and back to your eyes, nostrils flared slightly as you nod back at him. You even forget how easy it is for him to sense your emotions, to know exactly what it is you're feeling.

"Say it again." The timbre of his voice has lowered substantially and it has your knees weak as you grasp onto his sturdy shoulders, his pink tongue darting out to wet his unfairly plump lips. You're the one with the fever now.

"I love you, Yuta. I love you."

He groans.

"Oblivious, so oblivious. Don't even know how fucked you have me, do you?" His hot fingertips graze the side of your neck and you press your chest against his, the surface of your lips barely skimming past one another, noses touching.

Finally, with a fleeting permissive gaze into your eyes, he closes the space, giving air to your lungs and dousing gasoline on the blaze.

All at once he's crashing against you, soft mouth feverish in the way he suckles your bottom lip, wet tongue lapping into your mouth. He swallows your petulant whine, shoving you as gently as he can against the kitchen counter, needing to keep you steady against something.

Your fingers grip handfuls of his hair as your pelvises meet, rubbing against the other with a roll of your hips. It's like a magnetic force, stronger than anything either of you has ever felt.

"Please, please." He begs sweetly. your hardened nipples rubbing him through his thin tee shirt, thigh suddenly hiked up around his narrow hips. You don't even have to ask what it is he wants, ready for any and everything he offers. It's like nothing else, kissing him like this, hearing the product of your effect on him. Your fantasies could never do him justice.

"Yes, Yuta." You reply through the desperate kisses he presses to your mouth, his forehead against yours, one hand locked at the nape of your neck. A sound a bit less menacing than the one that started this whole ordeal in the first place, vibrates through his chest and he's all too aware of the way it sends a satisfied tremor through your body.

"I've dreamt of this," he strains, as three dexterous fingers slip into the waistband of your bottoms, yanking them down at inhuman speed. Your gasp is against his cheek, before he's gone suddenly.

Not gone, in between your legs. You look down when you feel a hot puff of breath against the soiled patch in your underwear.

"so many nights I would cum to the thought of you, just so I could come over and not make a fool out of myself. Fuck, you have no idea."

His admittance has your thighs wavering as he pulls them apart, marveling at your clothed sex and running the tip of his slim index finger over your covered slit. He keeps you steady by the back of your knees.

He gazes up at you through the thick of his lashes, eyes topaz and thick with fog from the way your arousal has gotten him worked up. You can't believe this is actually happening.

"I- I do have an idea." He keeps his eyes on you while he mouths the innermost skin of your thighs, the feeling warm and ticklish, causing a whimper to fall from your lips.

"Tell me, baby, go ahead." Fuck, he still sounds so sweet despite the pure desire dripping from his tone. It's need in the rawest form. His teeth nip at your skin, softly, and it pushes the words from within tour throat.

"I've touched myself so many nights- to the thought of you and - ohhh, mmm," You throw your head back, muscles twitching as he places his mouth over the wet spot in your underwear, licking and sucking as if to torture himself. You feel the faintest prick of his nails against the back of your thighs before the feeling disappears, most likely him trying to stay centered.

"Yuta, please." You reach down, pushing his dark muss of hair away from his forehead, being driven mad by the way he's mouthing your pussy through such a thin layer of fabric. He's tempted to hear you beg some more, the sound unbearably sweet.

But he's too hungry for you to not only deny your pleasure, but also to deprive himself of such a delicacy. He all but rips the flimsy fabric from your lower half, lips parting with unbridled appetency from being so close to the sweetest source of honey.

He can't find it in himself to tease anymore, succumbing to his all consuming desire before you can gasp for the second time tonight.

It's heat, seering and wet and sloppy with the way he takes your clit into his mouth. The sounds are so raunchy, he's practically cooing against your sex while his thick pink tongue comes out to lap at your entrance.

If he weren't holding you up by the backs of your thighs you would have fallen straight to the floor by now, entire body fizzling with a burn that melts you to his touch.

"Mmm." He hums against your slit, dark lashes fanning against the highs of his cheekbones as he closes his eyes in bliss - nose pressed against your mound as while shakes his head back and forth. His plump lips - lips you've dreamt of being right where they are now, on your most sensitive of parts - suckle your folds before circling your swollen bud with the tip of his pink muscle. His wild hair tickles the inside of your thighs.

He's practically bursting from his jeans but he channels that energy elsewhere, cock throbbing angrily at it's neglect but he's too focused to care. He's wanted this for so long, never thought it possible. He always knew you smelled different around him, sweeter. He's not dumb. He knows the effect he has on you.

But now that he's sure, it's a whole different experience. You're dripping, barely able to hold yourself up as he eats you like a man starved. He kisses you as passionately as he did earlier, these lips just as soft and addicting as your others.

He takes his index and ring finger, spreading you open and licking at you with deliberate, indulgent stripes. The sight is too much to even witness, your best friend, your Yuta, heartbreakingly beautiful as he's always been. Except this time he's eating you out in the middle of your kitchen.

"Y-Yuta m'gonna - oohhh, fuck." He doesn't take this as a warning, he takes it as a challenge. You're not sure you can handle anymore, body on overdrive, spilling over with pheromones. This makes him all the more hungry, all the more enthusiastic.

After all, that is your bestfriend. Always going the extra mile for you, always there when you need him. His eyes open and he's peering up at you like you're the sun, strong hands wrapping around your soft hips and rocking your hips against his mouth.

You can all but read his expression, the urgency in which he wants you to fall apart. He coerces you with his penetrating gaze, and you wonder how you've held out from cumming this long.

All at once it hits you, a stroke of his skilled tongue while he moves you against it, making up for your lack of strength. The sound he lets out is close to a whimper, forcing your thighs open when they threaten to close around his head.

It's like having every single one of your nerve endings doused in pure euphoria, it fills you like a balloon and bursts into a thousand sparks. You're almost afraid he's not going to stop, that he's gonna lick you raw until he's kissing you again.

Your eyes are still closed shut from the magnitude of your orgasm, the taste of yourself suddenly on your tongue as his lips move against yours. Despite your state, you're quick to respond, spent but not completely satiated. Not when you know that this is really happening, that the line has already been crossed and more than that - he actually loves you back.

He's still holding you steady when your shaky hands paw at the waistband of his jeans, missing and stroking the firm appendage that's bulging out to the right.

He convulses, lurching against you before you're wrapped around his waist, being carried into another room you suppose but it doesn't take very long. Your back hits a bed and you realize he's carried you to your room.

So many nights spent with him here, binging countless shows that are really only entertaining because he's there to watch them with you, him letting you play with his hair and styling it every which way when you're bored and have nothing else to do.

But even bad nights as well. Nights where everything in the world felt so overwhelming, crying in his arms seemed like the only thing that could give you some sort of release. And he'd always be there, waiting and ready for you no matter what mood the day might have put you in.

You arch against him when he begins to mark your neck, right over your carotid artery, moving to the sensitive skin under your ear. You suddenly feel very alone in your nakedness and your patience is wearing thin, your eagerness to see him in all of his glory an emotion that you hadn't realized was so strong.

His chuckle is warm and familiar in your ear, his smile bright and provoking a strange surge of urgency to move through you when he hooks his finger onto the hem of his shirt and pulls it from his body.

You almost want to yell at him, to curse him for ever holding out on you this long. You've seen him shirtless before, he's spent the night and showered at your place plenty. It's just that, now, it's different. Completely different. And you're grateful for the way he allows you to marvel openly.

He's panting while your palms are placed on the lean, tanned planes of his body. From his shoulders to his chest down over his sides, you wish you could kiss every inch of him.

It's when your fingers pass the fine dark hair just under his navel that your eyes finally land upon the intimidating hard on he's sporting, his stare heavy as you go to to undo his button.

He helps you in pushing them down his thighs, before he places his forearms on either side of you, caging you against him while he kicks the garment off. Your hands wander any expanse of his brilliant skin as they can reach, and you know that he's basking in it.

Especially the way you breathe his name when his clothed cock nudges your naked center, reminding you that this is really happening and that he's going to be inside of you.

It's thrill, swirling in your belly, and as potent as pure adrenaline when your curiosity and desire overpowers your nerves and you cup him through his underwear. Your expression gives away your exact thoughts, the unabashed surprise and wonder at feeling him like this.

His eyes seem to darken even more, if possible, as he tongues the inside of his cheek, smug.

"You want it bad, don't you?" He taunts, this side of him making you feel whiny in the best of ways. It causes you to pulse around nothing, the way he peers down at you with such a cocky, avaricious expression.

"Yes, Yuta I want it bad," you wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the soft hairs there as you pull him down to your mouth. "Please fuck me, please."

He grunts, his hand cupping your jaw one second and gone the next. You feel his knuckles graze your pelvis between your bodies, and you realize he's taking his underwear off, the butterflies suddenly in your throat.

You feel it before you see it, bare and naked against you, that is.

It's big. Bigger than you expected, and you already suspected that with confidence like his, it was generous in size. He drags it through your folds, hugged between the softness of your lips, nose nudging your jaw.

"You're so beautiful....m'so lucky baby, so so lucky." He pants, your thighs tight around his torso, heels digging into his lower back. Your cheek is pressed against his hair and the scent of his shampoo calms your raging pulse, your heart is surely giving away just how much this is affecting you.

The tip of his dick grazes your entrance and you throb, bucking up against him in a manner that causes him to groan, further grinding his hips against you and allowing just the head to begin pushing into you - the easier portion of him to take at first - before he suddenly stills.

"Condom, fuck I didn't even think-"

You interrupt his pained admittance, the words spilling from your mouth before he can even finish, your senses overpowered.

"It's okay, just fuck me raw."

This has his body convulsing again, a guttural sound reverberating in his throat as one hand suddenly cups your face, like its as breakable as fine china and as delicate as a honeysuckle. The expression on his beautiful face has you pushing up against the head of his dick again, his jaw tight.

"Don't just say that, please," He fights back the urge to plunge into you all at once, honey eyes locked onto your half lidded gaze as you writhe underneath him. "such a dirty fuckin' mouth, do you really mean that, darling?"

You're nodding fervently but he needs an answer.

"Yes, I mean it I really mean it, Yuta." You whimper, and its the confirmation he needs to continue. Slowly but surely - only as to not hurt you - he's sliding into you, and the stretch is more overwhelming than you thought it'd be, nails digging into his skin.

He watches your expression the entire time, thumb stroking your face and lips kissing the swell of your cheek.

When he's finally bottomed out, the fullness makes it hard to move, though it's not much of a setback when he's being so caring and attentive, prepared to make you feel good.

"Are y-you okay? Does it hurt?" He stutters, expression laced with genuine concern as he swallows. You don't even pretend not to stare at his neck, his chest.

"Just...it's just a lot, you're so big," He stifles a gruff sound in the crook of your neck, your hand rubbing up and down the hot expanse of his smooth back. The discomfort doesn't last long when you're here with him like this. "you can move Yuta, move."

You don't mean to sound so pressing but your body feels touch starved, like you want more and more and more. That desire is fulfilled when he begins to drag himself out of you before pushing back in, clamping his teeth into his bottom lip as he does so.

He's not slow for very long though, not by a long shot. In between making out he's on his haunches, looking down at the sight before him, taking in the squelch of your wetness around his thick cock while you paw at his waist.

It's different, so different and so good. You're all but shell shocked, mouth agape while he rolls his hips into you. Every time he thrusts back into you you’re jolted, squeaking due the depths he's managing to hit.

"Oh baby, you're taking it so well. Knew you would, always knew you would." He's breathless, gripping onto your hips with fervour, kissing you sloppily.

Everything feels so vibrant with him, so visceral. You're barely able to speak coherently, and it's causing a stir within his belly that threatens to burst. You claw at his waist when he thrusts at a particular angle and you keen against him.

"Ooohhh,Yuta Yuta Yuta." You coo, face suddenly covered by your own hands as you feel tears welling in your eyes from the way his bulbous tip massages that spongey spot deep inside of you.

Between just a breath, you're on your stomach, the absence of his dick leaving you feeling all to empty just for a second, before he's plunging back inside.

You fist the sheets while you rock back against him, the sounds leaving his throat deep and resonant. You're not propped all the way up, he knows it might be too much for you like that right now but it's enough. Enough for the dirtiest thoughts and needs to boil inside his blood, to spill from his mouth. Like he can't even help it.

"Mmm, wanna fill you with my cum like this, have you dripping with it. Bet you'd look s-so pretty, fuck." He's dissapearing inside of you at a faster pace and you go limp, his strength too much to try and keep up with along with the fact that his admittance is leaving you even more fucked out than you were before.

"Y-Yes, want you to fill me up Yuta. Oohh!" You're sure his fingertips will leave bruises but you're too gone to think about it, not when he's suddenly got a hand around the back of your neck, front pressed against your back while he pumps himself into you.

"Yeah? Bet you'd like that, walking around being stuffed full. I want you all - shit - all to myself, get you big and swollen." He shudders against your neck when a ripple of pleasure has him momentarily reeling, pace sloppy and fierce. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life.

"Fill me up, I want you to give me your babies. Want you and only you."

This provokes something inside of him that he hadn't ever thought really existed, at least not when it came to how he would feel in this particular situation. It's a carnal feeling, seeping down his spine and into his hips and has him pistoling into you too fast-

He keeps going as thick ropes of his cum fill you up, more abundantly than you thought possible. You can feel it, the warmth in your insides and even as it trickles out and down the back of your thighs. He kisses the cheek that isn't pressed against the mattress, still groaning while he pumps it into you.

And he doesn't stop.

His dick is still rock hard, covered in his release and your arousal alike and the glide is like silk, the sound loud and invasive and perfect. You're reaching back now, carding your hands through his hair and he senses your need to touch him.

Once again, it's a blur before you realize the position has changed. You're on top of him and his knees are locked underneath you, heels raised on the mattress while he takes you like this from below.

You openly adore him for a second, like this. He's glowing in his post orgasm state, ethereal in all forms. His broad lips are pursed, slightly parted and kiss bitten to a pretty plum shade. His high cheeks match, and his hazy eyes stare up at you with all the admiration in the world.

"You like when I fuck my cum into you like this baby? Gonna make an even bigger mess for me?" He says it so sweetly you feel like you might cry, everything far too much for a moment while you bury your face in the safety of his neck, the scent of his skin sweet and familiar.

All you can do is whine really, the wanton sound pathetic and weak and adorable in every sense. He wants to give you the world more, the moon and stars.

"That's it baby, I got you. You can let go for me, my sweet girl. Bet your little pussy just wants to cum so bad."

His strong arms wrap around your body and cage you to his figure when the pleasure finally overflows, wracking your body like an earthquake and leaving you unable to do anything other than bear it.

He kisses the side of your head, makes sure to circle his hips while you pant his name over and over in his ear, pussy clenching around him and fluttering wildly. He can hardly believe he's actually just gotten to make you fall apart, that he is the one who has you nearly in tears against his chest with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

He doesn't dare move. Even after a few minutes, you're still shaking and twitching, and he holds you all the while. It's more than perfect, it's everything. That might be dramatic for some but for him, for you, it's like finally coming home.

Because, it's been so long. So long since the moment you two first met, and since you realized that this person was not someone you could live without. For so long, it felt impossible to admit your feelings.

The risk of losing each other was too great, excruciating even.

But now that you're together, in the purest form there is, connected in the most intimate of ways, and he wishes that he would have told you sooner. You both do.

Never again. You'll never slip through each others fingers, ever again.

#yuta #nct yuta nakamoto #yuta nakamoto #nct #nct x reader #nct drabble #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 drabble #nct x reader drabble #nct 127 x reader drabble #yuta x reader #yuta x reader drabble #nakamoto yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta x reader drabble #nct smut #nct fluff #yuta nakamoto smut #yuta nakamoto fluff #yuta nakamoto x reader smut #yuta x reader nakamoto drabble #nct imagine #nct x reader imagine #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 x reader imagine #yuta nakamoto x reader imagine #nct x reader smut #nct 127 x reader fluff #nakamoto yuta #yuta drabble

[kusunokihime]

[ tag dump ]

#a life anew [ canon verse ] #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ] #at the beginning [ canon verse ] #cold heart in red moonlight [ canon verse ] #ryū no ryokan [ canon verse ] #what could have been [ canon verse ] #what remains [ canon verse ] #white hands of healing [ canon verse ] #wild child [ canon verse ] #we’re not in konoha anymore… [ crossover verse ] #best years of your life [ au ] #catch ‘em all [ au ] #divine light [ au ] #drake by day [ au ] #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #his angel fallen [ au ] #like magic [ au ] #make ends meet [ au ] #of monsters and men [ au ] #river runs deep [ au ] #to rule them all [ au ] #when dead walk [ au ]

[blossom-hwa]

inspired by the ocean, shawna, and virginia woolf.

wc: 1.4k ~ sunwoo x gender neutral!reader ~ slice of life!au ~ triggers: none ~ the boyz masterlist ~ hongjoong (ateez) version (NOT PLAGIARIZED)

[ 7:14 pm: oceans burn in your eyes ] There’s a careful line on the beach, drawn by the ocean, that separates soft, shifting powder from an expanse of dark sand, wet from the waves. Sunwoo crosses that divide, mixing pale dust with damp earth, footprints marking his path in sand cool with the water of the previous high tide.

An orange sun sinks on the horizon, casting warm light over the ocean. Where blue and green used to reign supreme, the waters now burn purple and orange and red, reflecting the sky, and Sunwoo marvels at the change in color as he sits on the wet sand. Part of him knows he’ll have to wash his clothes after this, which won’t be fun, but with the sea breeze ruffling his hair and water pooling around his feet, Sunwoo can’t find it in himself to care.

Waves roll around his body, soaking his already damp shorts and a bit of his shirt as well. They tug him forward lightly, almost playfully, water pulling at the fabric of his pants as it swirls the sand and shells around his sitting figure. If the ocean so wanted, it could swallow Sunwoo whole, dragging him into the dark depths until he sank to the bottom, and if it did, honestly, in this moment, he might not even fight. A certain beauty lies in the dangers beneath the water’s surface, in the way its waves can crash and fight, and what could Sunwoo do but accept it if it came? Right now, though, the waves choose to lay that beauty aside in favor of a calmer sparkle, cheerfully splashing Sunwoo’s feet and soaking the hems of his clothes. It almost makes him smile.

Push and pull, thrust and tug. Sunwoo watches the movement of the waves, listens to the music of its rhythm. Some people paint. Others compose. Sunwoo only does the latter, but from his experience, try as he might, he could never capture nature’s raw beauty on canvas or in a melody – some things, he knows, are meant only to be experienced in person, firsthand. The beauty of creation doesn’t lie in copying the natural world. It lies in observation, inspiration, drawing on what the senses collect to make something different. Something new.

Sunwoo pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, temporarily blocking out the world. If he could just find that inspiration right now…

But no. He didn’t come to the water’s edge to make a track or paint a canvas. He didn’t come to stoke the flame that had already burned too bright. He came to escape if only for a moment, to lose himself in the gentle tug of the ocean waves.

It isn’t hard. Sunwoo brings his knees to his chest, feet digging into the sand as he wraps his arms around his legs, chin resting on top. His eyes close against the burning of the sun, against orange that lights the purple ocean aflame, but it’s okay because he can still see the image splashed across the backs of his eyelids, purple fire on sparkling water fueled by the setting sun behind. It makes him feel a little warmer even as the sea wind flutters by his skin, tugging gently at his clothes and hair.

The tug of the breeze, the tug of the sea. The salty wind is pleasant, to be sure, but Sunwoo leans into it less than he leans into the water pooling around his body. They’re different – air is fickle, ever shifting in one direction or the other and sometimes not blowing at all, but while the ocean may not be as dependable as the solid earth, it never ceases its swirls of push and pull, and Sunwoo likes it. Appreciates it. Might surrender himself to it, even, if only he didn’t have so much fire burning within.

Fire or water. Given the choice, Sunwoo would choose the former, always, even if it burned too bright and scorched him, because without the flame that burns in his heart and fuels his existence, he wouldn’t be alive. Someone like Jacob might choose water – his existence is steady and he knows the constant push and pull, knows when to smother and when to step back. Even more than that, he has the teasing playfulness of the little splashes that nip at Sunwoo’s feet. Sunwoo is different, though. He needs the flame, needs the fire, needs the orange sun burning in the distance – the waves are not enough to soothe him fully, after all.

But a fire cannot burn forever. Sometimes it must die down to glowing coals, to ashes that flutter away in the capricious wind. Sunwoo’s eyes stay shut, a fiery sun still painted across the black wall of his vision, but the waves hum and sing in his ears, caressing his skin and patiently dousing the long-burning flame in his heart, bit by bit, until all that remains are embers waiting to be stoked once more, sometime in the future, but not now. Not yet. Not when the ocean has yet to fully soothe the previous burn.

Give it time. Give it time. Sunwoo sighs, relaxation finally settling his shoulders, previously held tight to his ears. Give it time. Give it time.

The ocean will heal you.

Lost in the waves, Sunwoo doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, the soft pitter patter of bare feet on the sand. Only when he opens his eyes does he even sense the presence for the first time. It’s familiar, familiar in a way that lifts the corners of his lips even when the waves themselves couldn’t manage.

Sunwoo gets the idea that you’ve been standing there a lot longer than he thinks, but somehow, you still know exactly when to speak. He can almost hear the smile in your voice.

“I thought you might be here.”

Sunwoo turns around then, and the sight, even more so than the burning waves, takes his breath away.

You stand not against the sun but in its rays, golden orange light bathing your eyes, your smile, the hand you extend to help him up. It casts a halo around your figure that Sunwoo wishes he could paint, if only he had the ability. He tries to memorize the vision, but even if he could remember every detail perfectly, Sunwoo knows it still wouldn’t be the perfect picture that he sees now, hand held out like an angel to bring him back to earth.

Your fingers wiggle teasingly, one eyebrow rising with the gesture. Sunwoo takes your hand, letting your fluttering fingers pull him up, steady and strong unlike the waves that push and pull, rhythmic but wavering, beautiful but unsure, nothing like the certainty of your hand wrapped around his.

Certainty was what Sunwoo wanted to escape – deadlines for new tracks, commissions for lyrics. The flame of determination had grown too large, scorching his heart, and in the moment, alone, he had no one to ease the burn besides the undulating waves at the beach’s edge.

Now, though, he has your hand, warm against skin cooled by the breeze and wet sand. Your touch doesn’t burn like the sun does, even as you glow in its setting rays – you are warm, yes, but warm in a way that stokes the glowing embers of the fire within, gently fanning the flames until they come alive once more, burning cheerfully with a subtle heat that Sunwoo can handle.

Sunwoo doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand. Your unruffled appearance tells him you weren’t worried, anyway – you knew just where to find him. So he only smiles, squeezing your hand in thanks after you tangle your fingers with his, warmth soaking into every crevice of his skin. “Ready to go home?” you ask.

It isn’t home, the little beachfront inn where you two have stayed for several nights already. Home in the physical sense is far away, back in the city. But Sunwoo doesn’t correct you, because he knows what you mean – that home for you is wherever he is, and home for him is wherever you are.

The ocean is an escape, a pleasant one that douses his fire when it grows too intense, soothing it with its rhythmic crash, the push and pull of its waves. But you are home, where the hearth lies, gentle flames tickling the embers and ashes of Sunwoo’s heart until it is ready to burn again.

Sunwoo’s smile widens as he nods. “Yeah,” he says, lost in the sparkle of your eyes. An ocean dances in them, flames leaping above the water, a mirror of the scene behind him – only more beautiful, because it’s you. “Let’s go home.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for Sunwoo because he deserves all the hugs :D and then maybe punch him in the shoulder bc he’s a shit)

#tbznetwork #destinyverse #kpopscape #the boyz #tbz #sunwoo #kim sunwoo #the boyz sunwoo #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #the boyz sunwoo scenarios #the boyz sunwoo oneshots #the boyz sunwoo imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz sunwoo x reader #sunwoo x reader #kim sunwoo x reader #fluff #slice of life!au #oceans burn in your eyes #scriptura-delirus

[glitxhwayventeen]

Lonely Hearts Club

Seokmin: Chapter 2 (The Heart Wants What It Wants)

Characters: Seokmin x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), bondage (sort of anyways?), pet names, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, angst, fluff, potential blood mentions, genocide mentions, mental illness (depression implied), sexual mentions, mentions of death, violence mentions. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: I had the thought to use the song The Heart Wants What It Wants by Selena Gomez for this chapter. Don’t ask me why. I just did. And I’m too sick to change it so here it is.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

Slight 🥀 but mostly just pure 💋tbh

Lonely Hearts Club Master Club

Chapter 2: The Heart Wants What It Wants

“Come on Sol! Hurry up! By the time we get there it’ll be dark!” Seokmin complained to the younger wolf, wanting to reach their destination as quickly as possible.

“Aya! I’m moving as fast as I can. You ever think that maybe you’re just a little TOO excited to go see her?” Hansol smirked as he sped up his movements slightly to appease his brother.

It was true, they both knew it. Hell, at this point, Seokmin was sure you’d even realize that he had been counting the seconds before he could come see you again. It had been five days. FIVE DAYS. He felt like he was going crazy without you. His pack tried to cheer him up as best as they could, Jihoon even asked if he wanted to wrestle around outside with him, something Jihoon had hated more than anything. But still, he wanted to do nothing other than sit in front of the window and wait the minutes out till he could see your beautiful face again. Since he met you, he’s never wanted anything more than to spend time with you. And you being gone… well that made it impossible. So you could say he was just a TAD too eager to get back to you…

“Shut up and just- just hurry up would you!” Seokmin growled, slightly out of annoyance that the younger wolf was taunting him and slightly because he had been taking away his newly promised time with you.

It was bad enough he had him carry all the supplies he needed in his backpack, now he was slowing him down too. It was exhausting.

“Geez, you sure are grumpy now. What’s gotten a mate done to you hyung?” Hansol chuckled gently while poking fun at his brother innocently, knowing full well that he was actually being quite tame compared to what most mated wolves would’ve done without seeing their significant other for as long as he had.

“Nothing! I just- I just want to see her is all! You don’t understand. You don’t have a mate yet!” Seokmin groaned while hiking his way up the start of the mountain your cave was located in. He didn’t even have to try to remember how to get there like Hansol did, he could sense you, it was one of the reasons he agreed to bring him along even though he knew it was most likely annoy you.

“Pfff. You’ve had a mate all of five minutes and you’re already acting like you’re a love expert. You’re a piece of work you know that? I didn’t even have to let you come with me today. I fought with Seungcheol Hyung to get him to let you tag along. Don’t make me regret it yeah?” Hansol rolled his eyes, trudging along right behind his older impatient brother. He felt for him, he really did. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do in his situation, but he wasn’t about to let Seokmin be a dick to him just because he hasn’t seen you in a week. Surely it couldn’t be THAT hard for him to be less of an asshole.

“Look- I’m sorry okay? I just…” Seokmin halted his actions of climbing up a rocky trail before he turned to his friend, “Its bad enough she doesn’t love me. But with her not loving me AND being gone for almost a week, it feels like- like all my insides have been scooped out and… and I can’t find them anymore. I feel like an empty shell.” He continued, “But I know that if I could just- if I could just see her again, all of it would just heal over and I’d be happy to wake up in the morning again. So I NEED to see her, okay?” Seokmin gripped his hair tightly, partly in frustration and partially in defeat.

He wasn’t even sure what would happen when you’d see him again. You could really just slap him and tell him you never wanted him in your presence again. But he HAD to try, he NEEDED to smell your sweet scent again. He HAD to look at your angelic face again. He felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t.

“I don’t know what’ll happened if I don’t. And trust me when I say, you don’t want to find out.” He finished as he started his trekking back up, leaving his brother taken aback by his sudden exposed fragility.

“It’s okay. I get it, I mean, I may not have a mate, but I’m not an idiot. We can all see how it’s killing you not to be around her man. She’ll come around. Don’t worry. It all just takes some time. Especially after everything that’s happened to her.” Hansol assured as he sat his hand on Seokmin’s shoulder in a comforting manner, causing the older wolf to smile at him in gratitude.

“Thanks Sol. I hope you’re right. Because I’m gonna start worrying for my sanity if so have to wait much-” Seokmin suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence once he sensed that something was… different about you as they had gotten close enough to your den for him to feel you.

“Hyung? You good? Is everything alright-” Hansol tried while waving his hand in front of his brother’s zoned out face.

Seokmin quickly grabbed his hand and pushed it away before growling, “You need to leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean leave? We have to check on (Y/N) remember?” Hansol laughed aloud, attempting to start his walking back up.

Seokmin wraps his hand around Hansol’s wrist and spun him around to look at him.

“No. I’ll check on her. You need to go back to the house and make sure no one else comes up here. Got it?” He lets out, tightening his grip on the young boys arm without even realizing it.

“Seokmin, what the hell? Why on Earth would I do that? I have to help her-” Hansol tried to reason and attempted to break the hold he had on his wrist.

When Hansol met Seokmin’s eyes, he could see that they had turned blood red. He jumped back slightly, startled at his brother’s sudden mood shift.

“No. I’m the only one that’s allowed to help her the way she is. You need to leave. Now.” He growled as he released his hand from Hansol’s limb and started to continue walking to your den.

“And DON’T wait up for me.” He declared to the younger wolf, leaving him standing there stunned in his spot as he watched him stomp up towards the cave’s opening.

-

You had been pulling and pulling to no avail. You needed out. You felt like you were a living flame that needed to be put out. You moved your hips a little too quickly one way, causing a small whimper to emit from your lips. You were too fucking sensitive. Everything hurt.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that this-” Seokmin surprised you as he gestured around your cave, “Was your important business?” He chuckled out as he knelt down beside you.

Before he walked into your cave, he could already feel the change in your energy, he wasn’t sure what it was exactly. But he just knew he didn’t want ANYONE ELSE but him to see you in your current state. Red flags went off in his head the second Hansol stepped even one foot too close to the vicinity of your cave. He got territorial without even knowing why he didn’t want anyone else around you.

Now that he had actually entered your cave, he understood why. You were against the farthest rock wall from the opening. You were wearing nothing but your small green tank top and a pair of lacy panties. Your hair was damp against your skin, your lips were chapped, and you had a thin layer of sweat adorned on your glowing skin. You were growling out in frustration. Chains laid above your head, your wrists tightly held in place as you winced in pain. Not from trying to get out of your restraints, but from the obvious discomfort between your legs. Your panties had, at this point, been completely soaked through, the wetness clear to anyone who would have dared to witness your display.

That’s when he understood why you had been trying so hard to get away from him: you were in heat. You needed to run away so you wouldn’t go crazy around his pack. So you came back to your den to ride it out. Alone. Even though you had a mate.

“I thought you would’ve figured it out by now” you respond, lolling your head to the side from exhaustion with a seductive smirk on your face. Heat was truly fucking horrible chained to a wall. And now that Seokmin was here, it was like the Gods had finally answered your prayers for release. You HAD to have him and you had to have him right then and there.

“Help me- Please!” you whined out, tugging on your chains hard hoping he would get what you were hinting at.

“I don’t think taking them off you is a good idea. Who knows what you’d do” Seokmin replied before he took off his pack and pulled a rag out from the biggest pocket.

He drenched it in one of your buckets of water and placed it on your scorching head, you hissed at the feeling of something so cold having touched your flaming skin.

You let out a dry chuckle before responding, “You. I’d do you. Now help me out of these. Please.” You begged, eyes turning emerald green at the thought of finally getting your neediness taken care of by the man in front of you.

“(Y/N)- I- I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.” He attempted to reason with you, trying his absolute best to remain unaffected by your current state.

But it was hard. You were half naked, chained to the wall in heat, pleading with him to help you. And God, did he want to help you. Every instinct in him was telling him to ravage you and make you his.

“I know exactly what I’m asking you to do. Please Seokmin- It hurts! Please take my pain away. Please!” You groaned out as you shook your chains in impatience, “Don’t you want to help me?” You questioned him with an innocence face, but your eyes couldn’t have been more dirty. Fuck. You were gonna kill him with that mischievous little glint in your eyes.

“I- I do. But I cant. (Y/N), you’ll regret it if I help you that way. The best I can do is-” His sentence broke as you rubbed your foot against the crotch of his jeans, causing a cut off hiss to expel from his lips, “Is- is help you ride it out by taking care of your symptoms.” He stuttered as he denied you, it was taking everything he had to hold himself back from attacking your lips. You were making everything EXTREMELY hard for him. Literally.

But he knew you’d be upset with him if he did what you wanted him to do right now. He’d be taking advantage of your vulnerable state. That’s not how he wanted his first time with you to go. Or anytime with you for that matter. He wanted you to be fully aware of what would be happening and he wanted you to be glad it was taking place because you loved him, not because you were a sex crazed animal in the middle of mating season.

Tears started to form in your eyes and began to slide down your cheeks. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was right there, and touching you, but not in the place you needed him most. It was killing you. The ache between your legs was getting to be too much for you to bare.

“PLEASE SEOKMIN PLEASE! I can’t take this anymore! You’re so close but you’re too far away. I want you to take care of me. Please!” You wailed out, thrashing yourself around as you tried to find some stimulation, hell, ANY stimulation you could get to rub against your heat.

“(Y/N), I can’t. You’re just saying that because you’re going through your mating cycle. If you were thinking normally, you would probably have already pushed me out of your den by now. You don’t want me, you want your pain to go away. And that’s not reason enough for me to break, I’m sorry. ” Seokmin spoke softly, upset that he had to speak his reality into existence.

He wanted you to want him, but he knew that normal you didn’t. Hormone you only wanted him to scratch an itch for you. And as much as his inner wolf was pleading with him to heed to your request, he couldn’t. Not if it meant you’d hate him more afterwards.

“You think I don’t normally want you? Do you know how hard it is to stay away from you? Do you even know what it takes to be as cold towards you as I am? It kills me. I want to be sitting in your lap all the god damn time for fucksakes. All I want to do is get on my knees for you 24 hours of the fucking day and suck your soul out. I want you to hold me down on a bed and fuck the living daylights out of me. I want you to pound me so hard all I know is your name. But it’s just my natural instinct to resist you after everything that’s happened. But PLEASE, I can’t take this anymore. I want you to help me. I NEED you to help me. Please Seokmin?” You yelled out to get his attention with one final plea, looking at him with watery red eyes and a pushed out lip.

He stared you deep in the eyes as he debated what to do. On one hand, he didn’t want you to be remorseful over this. But on the other hand, his cock was already scrapping his jeans because of how aroused your current state had made him. You were ducking dripping onto the cave floor and it was all because of him. It was all FOR him. Oh, fuck it.

He quickly attached his chapped lips to your near bloody ones from biting them to suppress groans, feverishly moving his in an effort to make up for lost time. You whimpered into his mouth and tugged on your restraints, showing him that you wanted them off. He gave you a dirty smirk before he grabbed the key setting juuuust out of your reach and unlocked your chains. Once free, you all but threw yourself at Seokmin, smashing your lips back onto his like your life depended on it. You were gripping his hair roughly while forcing your mouth to his with such force, you could feel your teeth clashing. You had to have him touch you more, you NEEDED him to touch you more.

He stood the both of you up and rid you of your shirt and panties in a flash. Soon, his own articles of clothing were gone and, before you knew it, he was holding you against the cave wall, you legs wrapped around his waist as you grinded against his member for some sweet friction.

He grabbed your hair and forced your head to the side for better access as he started making small love bites up and down your neck and chest. You scrapped your nails through his hair, the little pleasure starting to affect you in ways you had never even dreamed it would. It felt like he was the only thing holding you to earth as you held onto him for dear life, both of you far too gone to care about anything else but the feeling of each other’s touch.

The hand that was still in your hair pulled you to look back at him as he spoke to you with soft eyes, “Are you sure you want this baby? We can stop if you want to. I don’t want to do something you’re not ready for.”

He knew the chances of you wanting to stop while you were in heat were slim to none, but he also knew that you wanted nothing to do with him most of the time. He didn’t want you to be angry with him later. He needed fo be SURE you knew the consequences to what you were asking him to do.

“Yes. I’m sure. Now PLEASE just fuck me before I go crazy. Please!” You replied as you held his hair in a death grip, slowly rubbing your slit against his member. This let him shallowly dip into you and caused a light squeal to emit from your chest.

He positioned himself fully in front of your entrance, giving you a final look, wanting you to give him another form of assurance before he continued with his actions. You nodded your head at him as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss of approval.

He hurriedly buried himself completely inside of you, both of you moaning out from pleasure in the process. A deep growl came from Seokmin’s chest as he dug his face into your neck in an effort to try and hold himself still so you could adjust to his long length. As much as he wanted to start fucking you into the cave wall, he refused to continue until he knew you were comfortable enough to move on.

Soon, you started to rut against him, trying pathetically to get him to move. He got the hint fast and pulled out so that just his tip was barely inside you before he pushed himself back in at full speed. The action had forced all the air out of your lungs and had you grasping for any part of him that was within your reach. He was fucking you brutally against the wall and you felt like you were in Heaven.

“Fuck- you take me so well baby. Like you were made for me. Bet you wanted me to fuck your pretty little pussy since the day we met” He breathed out, causing you to whine in response to his filthy words.

You were so sensitive from the days of being locked away with no satisfaction, your walls were already fluttering around his cock after just a minute or two of him being inside you. The feeling of you clenching around him made his eyes roll to the back of his head from sheer ecstasy. He wasn’t gonna last long, but he was determined to get you there first. You were his main priority. Especially with you being in heat, he was insistent on making you cum first.

“Do I really feel that good?” You asked in choked out breaths and chuckled lightly at his fucked out expression. He had his eyes partially closed and his brows were pushed into a concentrated face, he looked spectacular.

“Baby, you have no idea how good your little cunt feels” he groaned out and pulled you in for another kiss, quickening his pace as he was getting closer to his release.

He halted his actions before he sat you back onto the cave floor and positioned you on all fours. He entered you from behind and started thrusting into you at an inhuman pace. He grabbed your hair and pulled your body to his chest, making your mouth fall open in response to your new position as he moved his hand that was in your hair to your throat. He was sooooo much deeper now, he was hitting your cervix with every movement. You were sure he was gonna break you in two.

You gasped when he hit juuust the right spot inside you, “Fuck! I- I’m so close!” you squealed out, grabbing the hand he had around your throat and squeezing it tightly in an unsuccessful attempt to ground yourself.

“I know baby- fuck! You’re getting so tight around me, like a good little cocksleeve. So fucking perfect.” He darkly chuckled out, still mercilessly thrusting himself into you. He quickly added his other hand down to rub your swollen clit.

“Please- I-I can’t. Fuck! It’s too much I’m gonna-” you said as you tried to push his hand away. The pleasure his hand provided was too much for you, It felt like you were going to explode.

“Shh. It’s alright, I want you to. Go ahead baby, I know you need to. It must’ve been soooo hard going all this time without my dick to help you,” he cooed at you with a seductive smirk, “But You’ve been such a good girl princess. And Good girls deserve to be rewarded. Good girls get to cum on their daddy’s cock” he whispered as he licked up evilly from your collarbone to your ear, still pounding into you so hard you could hardly breathe and still rubbing your clit like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

“But I- You have to stop before I-” just as you were about to finish your sentence, a white wave of euphoria hit you, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“Holy shit” you heard Seokmin say as you started to come down from your high. You had thrown yourself out of his arms and onto your palms, now holding the ground in front of you.

“I made you squirt. Jesus Christ that was so hot baby” He spoke as he tapped his now soaked cock on your plump ass before he slid himself back into your pussy.

You whimpered loudly in response, “No please daddy- it’s too much. I- I cant-” You started to squirm from the overstimulation before Seokmin took your arms and pinned them behind your back with his hand, pushing your upper body to the ground.

“You can take a bit more baby. I know you can. I need to finish still. And It’s only fair that you’re nice to me now that I’ve been so nice to you right princess?” He teased while still pushing in and out of you sloppily to get himself off.

You whined slightly before you started to lazily clench your walls around him, trying to get him there quicker through the pain of your sensitivity. But you started to feel that familiar feeling building back up in your stomach. For most female wolves, their heat would start up their need immediately after relief unless one thing was done…

“Shit baby, I’m close. Where do you want me to cum? I could cum in your pretty little mouth so you can swallow all of me. Or I could paint your sweet ass with my cum so everyone will know you’re my little cock slut. It’s up to you princess” Seokmin gritted out through his teeth, smacking your ass with one hand and using the other one with the grip on your waist to pull you back to him over and over again.

“I- I need you to cum inside me.” You mustered out, already moaning out incoherent sounds from being so close to your own high so soon after your last one.

Seokmin’s rhythm faltered for a moment as he took in what you had just said before he spoke up again, “But baby… are you sure?” He did his best to sound as concerned as he could while he was still balls deep inside you. But fuck, it was hard when all he wanted to do was breed you like the bitch in heat you were.

“Yes. Please! It’ll make it go away for longer. Please! Cum inside me daddy” You all but screamed as he managed to graze your sweet spot.

He wouldn’t normally want to risk something like that, even with his own mate, he’d still want to be sure they were both ready for the possibility of a child in case. But all he could focus on was your tight cunt sucking him in over and over and how he wanted to help you with your heat as much as possible. You asked him to cum inside you. So that’s exactly what he was gonna do.

He threaded his brows together in concentration as he worked his way to his high. You had already started going over the edge for the second time today. Your moans and sounds were music to his ears, so his fangs had elongated. But because he wasn’t sure where you two had stood, he just decided to bite his bottom lip instead to keep himself from marking you.

“Fuck! Be a good little slut and take all of it.” He groaned as he pushed himself as deep into you as he could, emptying his load and releasing his hot thick cum against your walls in the process.

You were both a panting sweaty mess. He pulled out, an action to which you whined from the lack of fullness, and grabbed his shirt to help you clean up. Once you were both clean, he sat down beside you against your wall. You were still panting, but were remarkably quiet

“Are you upset with me?” Seokmin asked looking at his hands, doing everything he could to keep from meeting your gaze that had found him the second he started speaking.

“No I’m not mad at you. What makes you think that?” You answered, your mind still a little groggy and your voice still a little strained from the sex.

“I just figured you would be because we fucked. And then I came- well you know…” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

“I’m not mad. Just tired. I asked you to help me and you did. I asked you to cum inside me and you did. So even if I wanted to be mad, I wouldn’t really have the right to be.” You added, hoping to ease his worries slightly while you were trying your best not to nod off to sleep.

“Yeah about that… why did you ask me to-” Seokmin started his sentence before you stopped him, immediately knowing what he was referring to.

“It keeps the need away for longer. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. And I figured you’d need at least a few minutes before we could go for another round, so it seemed like the most viable option.” You stated matter of factly, running your trembling fingers through your messy hair before you sat them down on your lap.

“Oh. I see.” He said as he started to get visibly nervous. You knew where he was about to go with this sentence too, but you decided you’d let him ask anyways, “so… what does this mean? Are you gonna go back to hating me now?”

“I never hated you to begin with Seokmin. I just- I didn’t want a new mate. After what happened to my old one, it just- it didn’t feel right. So I was cold to you, and it’s not like I felt nothing for you then. I just- didn’t want to. As for the state of our relationship, I’m not really sure what we are myself. But I do know that I don’t want to be mean to you anymore. You never deserved it. You were just trying to love me, you didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m just not sure how good of a mate I’d be to you at the moment. I’ll do my best.” You huffed out earnestly as you turned your entire body to look at him.

He looked exhausted and you knew that that was your fault. But that still didn’t change the fact that you thought he was the most attractive person ever in that moment, still attempting to catch his breath, his hair matted and stuck to his forehead from sweat. He beamed a smile at you.

“I can live with that” he let out as he grabbed your petite hand in his big one and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

“But why? Why would you want that if it means that you’d have a mate who still wasn’t capable of loving you properly?” You questioned. That thought had been on your mind since the second after he told you he had imprinted on you. Why would he want you if you didn’t even know how to love him?

Seokmin played with your fingers for a moment before he spoke again with a sweet smile that melted your heart, “The Heart Wants What It Wants I guess.”

(Updated 9/8)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #svt seokmin #svt dk #dokyeom

[passable-talent]

ok roe hear me out. dragon!anakin Au. reader is a knight sent to kill him but when their helmet gets knocked of, Anakin changes to his human form and it’s like love at first sight or w/e. and then when the knight fails to kill the dragon, the village offers them as a sacrifice to the dragon, so Anakin comes and picks them up and it’s tense and idk what my point is but have fun!

OOOOOHOOHOHO HERE WE GO

we are combining the selki myth with a dragon myth because i. wanted to

do u ever not realize how much you need something in your life until you have it 

The governing Council of Coruscant, a small village, was facing a problem, in the form of a dragon. A dragon which lived on the edge of their town and preyed on its people, or did, until they began offering it tribute. They offered the dragon, which they’d named Vader, food or gold, earning its favor so that it wouldn’t destroy the village or its people. It was tradition to name a dragon, in order to easier call it for battle or tribute, a tradition started many years ago by the little village of Tatooine shortly before the death of their dragon, Maul. 

Maul had been destroyed by a young knight of the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan Kenobi, which made the Council of Coruscant turn to the Jedi Order. But Obi-Wan had grown older, and was doing more important things for the kingdom, and so the Order sent another young, talented knight, eager to do service to the realm. 

You. 

You rode to the village nearest to the dragon’s lair and continued on foot from there, your blade hanging at your hip. You carried a mystical weapon called a ‘lightsaber’- a magical blade which was made of solid light. It was the mark of a Jedi Knight, and the mark of your skill. No enemy could stand to you, not even a dragon. 

You had been directed through the woods, to a large cavern that was enclosed by a mountain. It was said that the lair of the dragon could be seen easily from far away, but as you grew closer, and the trees thickened, it would become harder to find. Luckily, you had a good sense of direction, and when forest gave way to grasslands that lead up to a gaping mouth of stone, you knew you had found Vader’s lair. 

You stalked toward it, silent in the light of the setting sun, hoping that the dragon would yet be asleep and its death would be quick. You only let your eyes come overtop of the stone ledge, your helmet blending in with the grey. You weren’t yet noticed, and so looked for the dragon, and saw it curled up around one of multiple piles of gold within the cavern. 

It was a deep shade of oaky brown, almost grey, horns curling over its forehead. Thin wisps of smoke curled from its nostrils as it slept, and you knew now was the best time to strike. You would follow in the footsteps of Obi-Wan Kenobi and cleave this dragon’s head from its body, putting your name into history. 

You heaved yourself over the stone ledge, gathering yourself to your feet. You padded silently toward the dragon until you stood overtop of it, nervous now, not to strike, but to stand so close. 

“With me,” you whispered to your saber, the incantation that its magical bond with you responded to. It ignited for you and you held it high- but the sound had woken the dragon. 

Its eyes were a piercing blue, chilling like nothing else you had ever seen. You meant to swung the saber down before the dragon could fully wake, but a great foot knocked you sideways, and you snuffed the blade so that it wouldn’t be in your way as you fell. Collecting yourself to your feet you found yourself face to face with a dragon, sparking its back teeth together, preparing to flame- and so you ran, knowing a fall from the short ledge was better than being broiled in your armor. 

You tumbled down the hillside and came to rest at the line of trees, your helmet knocked from your head in the fall. You breathed hard, trying to right yourself through your dizziness, and looked up to the ledge, where you could see the dragon approaching, and tried to find your helmet before it attacked. 

The roar of a dragon stilled you, and you ignited your saber again, holding it beside you while glaring upward. If you would have to fight it without your helmet, that you could do. 

But then, something began to happen.

You could describe it almost like... molting? The dragon quickly lost size, and it brought its head back to its body, its scales shifting and moving until instead of a dragon it was a man, wearing a dragon’s skin cloak. 

You paused, and stared, because that was a dragon a minute ago, and now it’s a guy. 

“You’re not only a dragon, you’re a witch!” You shouted, running up the hill again, meaning to take him down now that he certainly had much less fire in his throat. 

“A witch? Funny word.” You’d never heard a dragon talk before, and his voice was smooth, and it startled you. The closer you were to him, the more startled you became, as he wasn’t just any human, he was possibly the most handsome you had ever seen. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and those bright blue eyes had retained into his human form. Though there were fangs in his smile, they didn’t make the smile any less radiant, and he seemed to sense your hesitation as you approached. 

“Be not afraid of being startled by my beauty,” he called down to you, making you stop dead in your tracks. “For I am enthralled by yours.” You snuffed your saber and hung it at your hip, looking at him. He clearly meant not to harm you, and so you raised your chin.

“Are you the dragon they call Vader?” You called up to him, just making sure, and he laughed, his expression bright and lovely.

“Yes, but my name is Anakin.” You tilted your head at him and gave him a small smile. 

“Well, Anakin, my name is (Y/N), I’m a knight of the Jedi Order. I came here to kill you, as I’m sure you noticed.” Anakin laughed, lifting a hand from his cloak and laying it over the back of his neck, where your saber had almost been. From the motion you saw black claws where human fingertips would be, and darkened skin bordering scales on his forearm the color of his cloak. 

“I did. You’ve changed your mind?” You looked at him for a moment with a laugh, then reached to your side to tug at one of the ties that held your armor in place. 

“Yes, I think I have.” 

“In that case,” he said, sitting down on the ledge, tossing his legs over it, “want to come up for tea?” 

~~~

You returned the next day to Coruscant with scorched armor and smudges of dirt and bloody scrapes all over. You vowed that you had failed to kill the dragon after an epic battle, but you would return to Vader’s lair after you had healed, and you would try again. 

Returned you did, and once again, you dredged home to Coruscant, Vader still alive. So you tried again- again, and again. 

“Anakin?” You called as you reached the trees, climbing onto his ledge and shedding your armor at the entrance of the cavern, as you always did. He wasn’t there- but sometimes this happened, and he always returned soon after you arrived. You wandered the expanse of the cavern and investigated his hoard, but mostly you were entranced by the space where he lived: a loft-life area above the golden treasures that had been carved by dragon claws from the mountain. Within it were human luxuries- a bed, couches, a carpet, a fireplace like none you’d ever seen before. It was so comfortable, especially to you, after spending time on those couches with him. He brewed the most delicious tea. 

When he still hadn’t returned you grew disinterested in waiting on the couches and went to his hoard again, looking over it. You wondered if there was more than gold within it, and dug down with the tip of your foot, curious if even in your casual digging you’d uncover a gem. The stones were the most interesting to you- you’d fashioned a small sunstone into the hilt of your saber, and yet it had been the only precious stone you’d ever seen. 

You’d only been standing there for a moment when arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you from the floor. Caught off guard you grabbed onto the wrists, but you knew who was spinning you and placing you back down. 

“Anakin!” you laughed, and accusing tone gracing his name. 

“For a Jedi Knight, you sure do scare easily.” You shook your head, your smile fond, and with one hand shoved him gently, pushing him back from you. 

“Where have you been?” You asked, letting him lead you up to his loft, his cloak almost billowing behind him as he walked. He had only gotten more attractive to you- the curl of his hair around his horns, horns admittedly smaller in human form, but still wicked and dark. His figure was exceptional, his smile was bright, his hands strong and kind. 

“Visiting my mother,” he said, putting on a pot of water to boil. You were always colder than he was, so often he made you a hot drink when you arrived. “She gave me some advice.” 

“Advice?” you repeated, sitting down on one of the couches. “About what?”

“Dragon stuff,” he said, turning to you with a playful sneer, “you wouldn’t understand.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Oh yeah? Try me, Sparker.” His eyebrows raised as though you had caught him off guard, and his pupils narrowed into vertical slits briefly, a reaction you knew to be of self-defense. Was he embarrassed?

“Nothing, (Y/N), honestly. Don’t worry about it.” You indulged him with your silence, laying your head back into the cushion of the couch. 

“I think Palpatine’s getting upset with me,” you said, steering the conversation away for his sake.

“Palpatine? You mean the head of the Council?” 

“Yeah. I think he’s getting tired of me failing to kill you.” 

“Oh yeah?” Anakin asked, pouring hot water into a mug to let the tea leaves steep within it. “Thinking about actually killing me to get him off your back?” You looked up, startled, at him. 

“What? Of course not.” 

“That’s good to hear,” he said, carrying over the mug and placing it on a table next to the couch, then taking a seat next to you. “Though I wouldn’t mind having you be the last thing I see.” You rolled your eyes and let your shoulder rest against his, nudging him softly. 

“Charmer.” 

“You know,” Anakin said, repositioning. He often sat so close to you like this so that he could wrap you in his dragon cloak. You hadn’t quite figured out why he liked to do it so much, but you allowed him anyway- it wasn’t like you’d complain about the warmth you felt from him and the way he put his arms around you. “I could always drop your charred armor and clothes onto his doorstep. You’d be able to stay, and they wouldn’t be upset with you.” You lifted yourself up enough to look him in the eye.

“You’d do that?” You asked him, and he tilted his head. 

“Why not?”

“I just...” you trailed off, silent while he repositioned so that his left leg laid lengthwise onto the couch, and you sat between it and his other. “I didn’t realize you’d let me stay.” You felt him press a kiss down onto your head, and a smile grew onto your face. You pulled the cloak over your shoulder to cover more of your body. 

“Of course I would,” he said, his claws lightly tracing your wrist down until he found your hand, and curled his fingers into yours. 

“But no,” you said, turning your head to rest your cheek onto his chest. “I wouldn’t want them to think you’ve killed me. I’m a better knight than that.” 

“True,” he said, pulling more of his cloak over you when he noticed how you bent your knees against the cold. “Then maybe, you could say you’re leaving, to come back with reinforcements, or better weapons, and instead stay here.” 

“That doesn’t solve anything, Ani,” you whispered, reaching over your shoulder to run your fingers through his hair. “Then they’d still be blaming me for the fact that you’re still alive. And I could never kill you.” He turned his head up to kiss your palm, then resting his head back down into your hand. 

“You’ll think of something,” he said, and in the comfort of the moment, you believed him. 

As the sun rose you entered the outer limits of Coruscant, exhausted. Anakin’s nocturnal nature made these meetings easy to schedule but quite hard on your sleep cycle. You usually made it back only to have the older women of the village fawn over you, tending your wounds while you slept. You always returned burnt and bruised, though these wounds were self inflicted, to make it seem as though there was a battle. Anakin never hurt you- save for today, when you had insisted that you get a scratch across your jaw. 

“I can’t, (Y/N),” he had insisted, holding his hands to his chest so that he didn’t even bring his claws close to you. “I can’t.”

“It’s alright,” you promised, “I’m asking you to. I know you’d never hurt me. I’d do it myself with a stone, but these people know what dragon claws look like.” 

“Love, I can’t hurt you.” You reached forward with a gentle smile, lightly taking his hand into yours. 

“Close your eyes, then,” you whispered, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw. You leaned into his palm, your fingers resting overtop his, and when you felt him relax, you pressed down hard onto his first finger, dragging it in a swift motion down your jawline and toward your chin. He gasped, opening his eyes, but you held his hand away, making sure that your blood dripped down your neck uninterrupted. You’d kissed him goodbye, promising him that the women of the village would treat the wound. 

This morning, though, Palpatine himself was there to see you arrive. 

“(Y/N), my dear!” he said, approaching you. “It’s so good you made it home alive.” You thanked him, knowing what he would ask next. “And our dragon? Have you vanquished it?”

“No, sir,” you answered, looking to the ground, feigning shame. “I did not succeed tonight. But I will return to try again.” Palpatine sighed, and before you could react, he had the guards of the council surround you. Shocked, you whirled, but did not ignite your blade. The sheer number of them overpowered you, chaining your hands in front of you. 

“(Y/N) of the Jedi Order,” Palpatine said, standing in front of you on a platform in the center of the village, “You have failed to rid us of our dragon, and so will serve your final duty to Coruscant on this, the sixty-sixth day of spring- you will be a sacrifice to Vader, and with your death, will keep him from harming this village.”

“What?” you snarled, trying to take a step forward, but the guards stopped you. Your armor was torn from you until only your fabric clothing remained, and you struggled against every moment. “This is how you treat the people who are sent to help you?” 

“As a mercy, you will be keeping your magic blade,” Palpatine said, tossing the hilt of your lightsaber toward you. “If you kill the dragon before he kills you, you are free to return.” You glared in Palpatine’s direction as the guards fashioned your saber to your waist, then as they lead you to the platform Palpatine had emptied. Here they had piled the sacrifices of gold and food for Anakin, and here they placed you now, looping your chains through a hoop in the center of the platform. 

There was a trumpet that had become the sound of dread in the village. It caused all to run to their homes, in fear, because the trumpet called the dragon. 

What would Anakin do when he was arrived? Would he recognize that you were the sacrifice, and spare you? Surely he would, he would recognize you- he had to!

How the people of Coruscant, who had loved you, who had put their faith in you, could do this to you- it was evil. You collected yourself to your knees, your arms held in your lap, chained down. 

“I curse this town,” you said, softly at first, as the sound of the trumpet echoed throughout the valley. “I curse Coruscant and all who live within it. I curse you to the fire and death I sought to protect you from!” Everyone hushed as they saw a dragon, on the horizon. Everyone but you.

“I curse you to be torn, limb from body and flesh from bone, I curse you to the same end of pain and suffering that I will be given!” The dragon grew closer, its wingspan wider than the streets of the town, its nostrils exhaling smoke. 

“I curse the Force from this place, may its kindness never guide you again!” 

You trusted Anakin. You did. With your whole body. 

Still, those slitted blue eyes studying you from behind scales, the massive form of the dragon approaching like a hunter with its eyes only on you, it was terrifying. You had tears rolling down your face, and you didn’t even know why. Anakin would never hurt you- he’d made that very clear, this morning.

But you saw his back teeth spark. 

His fire, red and yellow and orange, shot forward, consuming the wooden platform you sat upon. 

Your curse had worked, the townspeople would whisper. The dragon’s fire ate up the platform and left nothing behind, spreading to the nearest homes and buildings. As for you, though, there was nothing left- and everyone had been too concerned with the flames to notice how it happened. 

Except for one old woman, who had known of dragons longer than most in Coruscant. She had kept her eye on the town of Coruscant and its dragon scourge, and its new knight. She was the first to open her home to you.

Shmi Skywalker watched as the dragon lumbered into the flames, and disappeared. And she watched as two figures hurried from it, wrapped in a fireproof cloak of dragon skin. She’d keep their secret. 

-🦌 Roe

| part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | 

#basically: dragon bois #UGGGHHH #roe wants hot tall bf to cuddle with #reader insert #imagines #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars self insert #star wars prequels #Star Wars #dragon #dragon Au #dragon x knight au #Knight au #knight reader au #dragon!anakin au #dragon!anakin #fics

[bri-flores]

Bloody Wickedness

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland 

Format: Series 

Reader: Pregnant, female reader 

Warnings: Violence, blood 

Other Info : Credit to @tri3tri​ as this was inspired by Canon and Second Wife AU. Not a lot of Yandere! Malleus until the next chapter.

Summary: [Y/n] successfully escaped Malleus suffocating obsession, but with a heavy price. Now she is running for her and her unborn child's safety. Will [Y/n] survive the brutality of the angry villagers?

‘Run, [Y/n]! Just run!’

The lass kept repeating that to herself. She took a quick peek over her shoulder to see if she had lost the group of men that kept chasing her. After confirming that the men were nowhere near her, she decides to stop next to a dark pine tree that was close to a lake. [Y/n] took this time to catch her breath. Using up the little energy she had left [Y/n] went up to the lake’s water to check her reflection. The maiden was horrified by what she saw, her silky [h/c] hair now tangled up, lips tainted with dry blood, the once beautiful dress was now ripped to shreds, and with bruises as well as deep cuts adorning her fragile body. [Y/n] kneeled down to grab a bit of water and began to splash it on her bloody face. The noise of crunching leaves and sticks could now be heard getting closer. This made [Y/n] tensed up in fear. Struggling to get up in time to make a run for it, but it was too late. One of the men had grabbed her shoulders and scream in her ear,

“Useless human! Useless human!” Another man came in front of her with a long log in his hands. “Kill the human!”, the man chanted. The girl could hear the others chant as well. [Y/n] could feel the fear eating her alive. She closed her eyes in surrender, letting a few small tears escape in the process. Out of nowhere she felt a painful burning sensation on her back. [Y/n]’s mind screamed out as the pain drove through her back repeatedly. The burning pain stabbed her like a scorching knife. She wept at her own suffering. Now all she could hear was the boys around her laughing and singing. She rolled up in a ball of self agony and fear, wishing that the boys would just stop. Purple welts started to form across her back like a disease beginning to spread. It hurt to breathe and she wondered if the boys were ever going to stop.

The men evenly stopped after beating her for several minutes, but only because one of them wanted to see the damage they had caused. A tall man came up to her and pulled her dress down revealing dark purple and bloody bruises lining her back. The others thinking that it wasn’t enough punishment decided to start back up to beating her again. [Y/n] opened her eyes back up and the fear and agony that once was there now consumed by hatred and anger. Her body trembled with fury, she let out a loud scream of pain that sent birds flying away. Eyes that once held a fine [e/c] hue were suddenly becoming red. [Y/n] could no longer feel the logs hit her back, but could still sense a burning sting. Her mind went blank after that. Unlike the girl, -who could no longer feel anything- the others begin to feel a burning sensation all over their body. They scream and twitch in agony. The pain increased in waves and small lulls giving them false hope of an end. She could hear the men around her screaming and shouting. As time passed the screams began to get cut out, one by one. After all the screams died, the girl came back to her senses. [Y/n] got up from her curled up positing and saw the men scattered on the ground. They looked like broken dolls over the bloody grass, limbs at awkward angles and heads twisted in such a way that there was no way they could possibly be alive. Now the young men have become abandoned shells left to rot in the open.

After seeing the aftermath of the horrific act she had done, the girl could hear the rest of the villagers coming for her. The images of bright flames and sparks of magic were the only thing her eyes could see. With little time to spare, she jumped into the water. Darkness enveloped her. The cold water closed in around her, filling her with a deep fright. She tried to hold her breath for as long as she could. Dirty water splashed onto her little red eyes. The coldness had started to wrap around her like a blanket. Her heart was beating rapidly in panic with no sign of calming down. The urgency for air was more apparent than ever. Her head began to pound, screaming for oxygen and warmth. With incredible speed [Y/n] had gone up to the surface, gulping at air. Without barely making a sound she went under once again. Sinking down faster than before with her heart hammering harder against her ribs. Nobody had seen her since the villagers were circling around the brutal scene. When [Y/n] could no longer hear the talking of the villagers, she surfaced once more. She noticed that the men's bodies were gone along with the villagers making her eyes go back to [e/c]. 

As the girl began to walk back up to the pine she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Deep wounds sliced her back flesh. It was heavily oozing out blood and there were bluish-purple bruises forming around them. She lightly presses her hand against the center of the cuts and sucking in a sharp breath as the pain spirals all across her batter body. Her legs struggle to keep her up but eventually the burning feeling made her fall to her knees. Colorful sports started to dance around her eyes. She lay on her hands and knees creating blood pools onto the dirt, soaking her bare legs. Pressing her hand to her back sealing one of the wounds shut.

‘It hurt to walk but I need to go now. Malleus can catch me at any time! I have to give my child a better life,’ she thought. Standing up she began to run toward the border at superhuman speed. Most of the wounds heal in the process at an impressive pace. Leaving a trail of blood that a wolf with silver-like fur begins to follow.

A/n: I hope you enjoy this @tri3tri​. This series is a mix of both the Canon and Second Wife AU . The next chapter is coming soon. For my readers out there remember that requests are open. Have a nice day.

~With love Writer 

#yandere malleus draconia #yandere twisted wonderland #tri3tri #tw blood #tw violence

[inviouswriting]

Forgiveness

I have three more installments for the Kivera AU. Then I’ll bring that side story to an end.

Kivera and Ardbert. So mentions of the polyship.

Characters mentioned.

Meeps/Fae - @meepsthemiqo

Shuri - @maiden-born-in-snow

Ardbert had thought he had ruined his chances with her, he had said things which were not easily forgiven. When Divinity approached him, telling him Kivera wants to finally see him. He was surprised she would give him the time of day, after her cold shoulder treatment the pass few weeks.

Ardbert was told a location to go, on the outskirts of a Gridania, a secluded spot, perfect for a creature of the night. When he sees Kivera sitting overlooking the water as it flowed. He is reminded of how lucky he was, she is someone who could have killed him without a second thought. She commands respect and rightfully so, he felt her power run through him. Had she intended to kill him, he would not be there.

Kivera has an ear turned towards him, she knows he is there, but hasn’t decided to look his way yet. The former warrior of light, sensed unease within her. Like they were just putting off another inevitable. She avoided him throughout her being in the house, anytime he would enter a room, she’d disappear without a second thought. Right now he feels his voice stuck in his throat, he starts with what he should say.

“I’m so-”

“Do not apologize.” Kivera’s voice is barely a hiss. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, you merely defended the defenseless.” Kivera tucks her knees into herself, making herself smaller.

“Then let me apologize for my words. I said things that hurt. Divinity explained.” He hears her scoff under her breath. 

“She is like me, she has been through as much as I have. I accept that apology. You were an idiot the moment you said them.” He sees a glare turned towards him.

“If you are ever careless with your tongue again. I will make sure to drag you to Hell myself.” Ardbert knew she was half serious, the tease in her voice hid her true intent.

“If I ever do, I’ll go willingly.” He sees her gaze soften, taking an invitation to approach her, there was a sensation in the air that kept him from being directly next to her. He took it as warning she did not want him that close yet.

“Cid, I handled him correct. He isn’t a fighter. So scaring him was easier. G’raha Tia, I handled him poorly. I could have done the same as Cid. Scare him without the grand display.” Kivera muses aloud, wanting to turn back the clock and redo that encounter. There were those of the Scion’s terrified of her now, they should be. They trespassed in her world.

“I owe you an apology myself, for my own careless words.” Kivera directs it to him.

“We were both fired up. Mine were worse. I took jabs like that many times from Scions and in The First.” Kivera raises her head to look at him now. 

“What of Meeps in this?” He asks her, wanting to know if it was the miqo that set her on the path.

“Fae, is ruled be her grief, while Meeps just wants to forget it. What she did not understand when we spoke is, that worlds, The First’s G’raha Tia the Crystal Exarch is dead. Both he and Elidibus are dead. This world’s G’raha Tia, is not dead. His life is already set in motion, just the circumstances changed. The path that lead to his death is no longer the reality. There is no Zodiark, nor Hades and Elidibus to bring that impending doom and calamity.” Kivera rambles more than really talking, Ardbert understands it.

“Yet the Exarch’s memories are implanted into the current G’raha.” He adds to her ramblings.

“Of which he sacrificed the memories of his former self’s memories from there. It’s complicated, but the payment was the same. The memories that made no sense. Like which Hecate’s were taken so Kiya could exist without the chance of losing herself because of what was her former life in Amaurot.” Kivera folds her arms.

“In short, there was no need for the future that was set in motion, for their memories to stay the same.” Ardbert asks, he was confused.

“Like that, it’s why humans shouldn’t tread in the space of time and death. My rulership. Matters of the Underworld to make sure it flows smooth.” Ardbert understood that one. He had moved closer to her, and Kivera gets up to be in front of him. He sees her face is more solemn about something.

“I am about to show you, what I hid during the first showing. There are sides of me not meant for everyone. Shuri and Estinien accepted them. They both know and bore witness to these memories. I will warn you, if you should deny these, I will never open up to you again, and our relationship shall end here.” Ardbert is taken aback by her words, understanding that what she shares next will either mend or make them repulse each other further.

“I understand.” He says, and Kivera presses her forehead to his to show him the same memories she had shown Shuri. The direct torment in Hell she endured, how the former arc angel was dragged through mires, used in different ways, how she was blinded. Her betrayal of her zodiac circle as a lich puppet. Being made to attack them against her will. He could feel the flames that scorched her, reminding him of the flames that she had marked him with.

When she had finished sharing those memories, he wrapped his arms on her. He after all, shared something similar when he had attacked the other warrior of lights, had done the Ascian’s work to set Zodiark in motion.

“I accept these memories. To think you’d trust me with them.” Kivera feels vulnerable in it, and wants to run from him. He keeps her there, even as the prickle of lightning surges through her.

“I’ll keep them a secret too, and not use them on you.” He swears, and Kivera relaxes. The tension within her still there, but the start of them mending what could have easily ended their side of the relationship. He is reminded despite all her bravado and demeanors, this was a tormented soul. 

“You are not undeserving of kindness. And what you cling to from Damien’s death, if you show this much to mine and Shuri. Don’t you think it is time you healed too?” Kivera for the first time is struck with his words more than when he spat venom in their fight. She had felt her chest tighten, if her heart was within her, she’d have felt it skip or drop.

“I’m not meant to..” She turns her head away, Ardbert keeps hold feeling her wanting to run away.

“Stay. You have said it yourself before, that those who let their hearts be ruled by sorrow and grief risk destruction. Isn’t that true for you too?” He feels her nails dig into his shoulders. He is the second person to say that to her.

“I...” It is her lost for words, she pulls back but Ardbert keeps her from running with a hand between her wings.

“You don’t have to torment yourself anymore. Look at all you have gained.” She shoves away from him, but he keeps her there.

“I can’t just forget my feelings..”

“So don’t. You can keep them and mourn while chasing what is given to you. Trust us a bit more.” Kivera feels her face heat up, then buries her face into his chest.

“I will try.” She murmurs and Ardbert runs a hand through her left wing, not feeling her recoil from that touch.

“Black wing.” Ardbert understands and touches on it instead.

“Divinity and Shuri are right. You have your cute moments.” This gets Kivera to snap her head up and shove him back. He is glared at through pink irises and a dusted face to match. She in turn runs away and he laughs seeing her embarrassed for a change.

“Well, I’m not about to let her get away now.” He chases after her.

Kivera reflects his words.

“May too, I deserve redemption then.”

#Kivera Siverstein #polyship with shuri #shuri fontaye #Kivera au

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Fifty-One: Turtle ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ] [ AO3 Link ]

She’ll admit...it’s a little strange coming back here now. Hinata’s first visit to the capital of the Fire Nation had been during the Day of Black Sun - the solar eclipse that had been the allies’ hope to finally bring an end to the Hundred Year War. A day when, without the sun, the firebenders were to be completely powerless. But the plan went horribly awry thanks to leaked information...and the Avatar’s group was forced to flee and leave the rest of the invasion behind.

The only successes had been the freedom of Omashu, and the final straw in the change of heart within Sasuke.

Her second (and until now, final) visit to the city had been during the passing of Madara’s Comet. While Naruto faced the Fire Lord, Sasuke went to try and finally bring reason to his older brother. Though there had been the beginnings of a duel, Sasuke’s own revelation had been enough to overcome the last shreds of Itachi’s doubt...and they’d reached a peaceful resolution. With Naruto’s defeat of Fugaku, there had been an end to the war at last.

And from there? Years and years of diplomatic reparations, finding balance, and keeping every member of Team Avatar busy enough that visits between them have been few and far between.

Hinata herself has been using the time since the end of the war attempting to undo the damage done by the Fire Nation against the Southern Water tribes. The scattered remnants had been united, and the stolen waterbenders returned to the south. Reuniting them with family hadn’t been easy...and comforting both sides had taken its toll. Both prisoners and those who remained had to face losses: captives that had died during the war, and vice versa. Many no longer had homes to return to once it was all over.

The port where the prior prisoners were released turned into a makeshift refugee camp in their own territory. Shelters were built, resources stockpiled, and displaced tribesmen kept until new paths could be made. At first unintended, it turned into a hub that eventually grew into a city. Though many tribes, once steady, returned to their various homes...some, especially those without family or homes to return to, remained and helped the new city thrive.

Only now that things have begun to settle has Hinata found any time to leave the south. Given her connections with the Avatar, and the personal growth she obtained during her months fighting, it was she without question who was looked to - and is still looked to - for guidance in the south. But...she’s earned a much-deserved break, and has agreed to meet a few of the others in the Fire Nation to just...see one another.

Kiba decides to remain to handle the mantle in her place. The one nonbender of the group, he now leads the Southern Water tribe army. There’s no one else Hinata would entrust their progress to in her absence. He’ll be missed during their get-together, but he insists she deserves the break more than he. Hinata had been unable to argue otherwise, and so, rides on a ship to the island country alone.

Passing the gates that guard the bay, Hinata can’t help but look to them somberly. Much has changed these past few years...herself among them. And given how little she’s seen of her friends since the war’s end, she can only assume their metamorphoses will be just as apparent.

As the ship docks and she makes her way topside to disembark, Hinata can’t help a pause. Rather than a small escort to take her to the palace, the second prince is here himself to greet her.

Sasuke, flanked only by two guards, looks so...different.

Having been previously weighed by his father’s expectations, his own duality, and the struggles he faced, he now looks so much...lighter. Gone is the constant furrow to his brow, or the shadows in his eyes. True, some linger under them from exhaustion, but none of them are afforded much time to rest, even now. He just seems...more relaxed. Calm.

Happier.

In fact, he affords her a genuine - albeit tired - smile as she makes her way down to the dock. “Hinata,” he greets with a small bow. “It’s good to see you. Were the seas calm for your voyage…?”

Still a bit taken aback, Hinata blinks before smiling in turn. “They were. It was a pleasant trip. But I’m glad to be back on land for the time being.”

“And here I thought a waterbender could never tire of water.”

That earns a light laugh. “Water, no...bobbing and dipping in a ship, maybe. Has anyone else arrived yet…?”

“No, not yet. And Kiba isn’t with you, right?”

“No, he’s keeping an eye on things while I’m gone. Developments in the south are still very...ongoing.”

Sasuke nods, expression tingeing a bit gravely for a moment. “I understand...I’ve heard bits and pieces about what’s been going on down there. You’re doing amazing work.”

Her head ducks, humble at the praise. “It’s what needs to be done. And I’m happy to do it. Seeing my people come back from the hardships they suffered gives me hope. We’ve always been a tough people, but this has been our g-greatest test.”

For a moment, something passes over Sasuke’s face. But before she can question it, he gestures. “Well, for now, I suppose we’ll make our way up to the palace. You haven’t seen it since the repairs, have you?”

“No...this is my first trip back since the end of the war, and Itachi’s coronation.”

Surprise pulls at his features. “...has it really been that long?”

“It has,” she replies with a weary smile. “Time sure has flown, hasn’t it?”

“...yeah. Guess being so caught up will do that to you. One moment you’re just starting a new month...the next, you turn around and three have passed. There’s hardly been a dull moment since the war ended.”

A nod. “All I can hope is that it slows a bit soon. It would be nice to enjoy the labor we’ve been giving for so long. Just for a bit.”

“It would.” With her agreement, Sasuke leads Hinata toward the palace. “I can’t wait to see everyone...Naruto’s efforts in the Earth Kingdom were the last time I saw him, trying to sort out the Fire Nation occupants.”

“Was that ever resolved…?”

“Yes...and we’re working on plans to make it even better. But we can talk about that when he’s here to chime in. I think he’s got a better handle on it than I do, honestly. I’ve been more focused on aiding Itachi here as of late.”

Light small talk fills the air during their trek to the central building, and Hinata can’t help but wonder at the sheer size of it. It and the Earth Palace always make her feel so small. Nothing has ever compared to her little southern village.

“We can wait in the gardens for a while - I’ll have some tea brought out.”

Snapped from her reverie as Sasuke speaks, Hinata reflexively smiles. “That sounds great. I haven’t seen the gardens yet.”

“It’s honestly my favorite part of the entire palace. My mother and I spent a lot of time here before she...left.”

The pause earns a glance, but Hinata doesn’t press the subject.

They pass through only a few hallways before making their way into the gardens...and Hinata can’t help but stare. It’s...beautiful! Green, lush, and filled with ponds and fountains. After a lifetime in the snow and ice, plantlife and even grass still fill her with excitement. “They’re amazing…!”

“Let me show you the best part.” Approaching a pond, Sasuke takes a knee, seeming to...look for something.

Unsure what his intent is, Hinata does the same.

“...there!” Pointing, he gestures to a patch of reeds along the other end. From them...emerge several little creatures Hinata has never seen before.

Her eyes go wide. “They’re so cute…! What are they?”

“Turtleducks.”

“Turtle…?”

“Ducks. See, they have a shell, like the great lion turtles,” Sasuke explains. “Just...a lot smaller, and a lot fluffier.”

“I love them already…” Hinata murmurs, watching as they swim their way a bit closer, quacking softly. A few turtleducklings make their way to the bank, and she gently brushes a finger over one’s head.

Beside her, watching from the corner of his eye, Sasuke can’t help a hint of a smile.

“I wish we had these back home...but I think it’s likely far too cold.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But I guess that gives you a reason to visit, huh?”

Looking up, Hinata simply replies, “I already have a reason.”

Sasuke can’t help a blink of surprise, the bridge of his nose alighting a soft pink just as a courier steps into garden with a bow.

“Prince Sasuke, the Avatar and the earthbender will be here soon - word has been sent ahead with a...lemur of sorts.”

Moment broken, the pair glance up. “Thank you,” the Uchiha replies. “We’ll get ready to meet them.”

“Well, there goes the peace and quiet,” Hinata observes with a light laugh behind a hand.

“True...but it’ll be good to see them.”

“Mhm. But...maybe we’ll avoid showing them the turtleducks. I’m not sure the little things will appreciate the noise.”

Sasuke can’t help a humorous scoff. “...you have a point. We’ll visit them again later, when the others are busy.”

Just the two of us.

                                                            .oOo.

     Hi so this is technically yesterday's entry...I'm sorry it's late but I was gone LITERALLY all day and was pooped when I got home real late, so...this is me finally getting it done ;w; Sorry about the wait, loves~      But anyway! Back to the AtLA crossover...which I'm still not 100% satisfied with. Sasuke just makes so much more sense to fit Azula's role, but...I want him to be Zuko. And Itachi just does NOT fit her role AT ALL, so...hence me not being 100% sure what to do with the epic sibling battle. Whoops, lol - but that's not the focus! Turtleducks are by far (imo) the cutest AtLA fusion animal. Just...I love them. And now Hinata does too.      Anywho, I still need to do today's prompt - that'll be later! For now I've gotta run and get other stuff done, but thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[kusunokihimea]

[ @historias-multorum ] [ Starter Call ]

     Out of all the fates Ryū has feared for herself as one of the South’s last waterbenders...this was one she never saw coming:

     Stolen from the frigid snow and ice of her homeland and taken to the belly of the Fire Nation...all to tend to the sick elder prince kept secret from the war efforts as not to embolden their enemies. It feels a traitorous thing to do, to heal the next Fire Lord...but if she refuses, the younger prince vowed that her village would pay the price.

     So, as she’s led with bound hands through the palace - a thing beyond even her wildest imagination - Ryū can only guess at what will become of her, so far from home, in the midst of the people who have raided the South for decades.

     “Keep your behavior in check,” Sasuke hisses in her ear as the doors to the heir’s quarters are opened. “Remember who and what you are, and why you’re here.”

     She doesn’t reply, only obeying as he urges her into the room and announces their arrival, gaze kept to the floor. “Brother...I’ve found you a healer!” Greys then dare to flicker up, morbidly curious about the cause behind her kidnapping.

#let's weave a story [ rp ] #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #historiasmultorum #the doctor is out [ queue ] #so many moons ago #i wrote some drabbles with this scenario #and thought i'd pick it back up! #lemme know if you'd rather try something else :3

[kusunogatari-a]

[ Kalon || @sasuhina-renaissance-week ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ] [ A beauty that is more than skin deep - beautiful, as an outward sign of inward good, noble, honorable character. ]

If you’d have told him where he’d stand today only a handful of years ago, Sasuke would have laughed...and then scorched your skin for such an insult. Him? A prince of the Fire Nation? In love with a measly waterbender? Please. It’s not only a remark against his heritage of pureblood firebenders, but a personal one as well. As if he’d ever let one of those weak, water-blooded fools anywhere near him unless on their knees, pledging allegiance to the new empire.

...but much can change in such a short amount of time.

His mission had been to capture the Avatar: one he’d accepted gladly for glory in his father’s eyes. Second born behind a sick and frail elder brother, he thought that enough favor from their father would have usurped Itachi’s birthright and granted him the title of Fire Lord. He’d not always been so lustful for power...but time had seen him torn between worry for his brother’s health...and ridicule that a weak man would mean a weak nation. Better he to lead.

But in the end, he’d abandoned that wish for power, and instead helped the Avatar himself master firebending, and overtake Fugaku to bring the war to a close at last. It hadn’t been an easy path - they’d clashed more than once, as well as the rest of his little entourage. The temperamental earthbender, Sakura; a nonbender from the south pole, Kiba, and his polar bear dog; and the little waterbender, Hinata.

The last had been of little consequence at first. Benders were so rare in the south after their raids, she had no one to teach her. But every time they met, she got a little stronger - a little surer. And eventually, Sasuke could no longer ignore her strength - both in bending, and in spirit.

The war’s closing meant slowly beginning to amend the damage done. While Itachi tends to the Fire Nation, Sasuke remains with his new band: touring the lands he helped conquer under his own’s banner.

Things are...stable now. But far from as they were before Madara’s conquest began. Sasuke has every intention of amending what his family has done. And he’s glad he doesn’t have to do so alone.

For the moment, they’re back in his homeland. Naruto has brought leaders from the other nations to address Itachi and begin putting new laws and sanctions into place to assure this never happens again. As always, Sakura remains at his side as an anchor for his...often-lofty ideas. Kiba, ranking in his nation’s navy now, is part of the negotiations and ensuring Fire Nation military downsizing.

And Hinata is among her land’s council as steps toward peace continue.

Sasuke, still a prince to his brother’s title of Fire Lord, mostly lingers in corners. Itachi at times seeks his advice, but Sasuke doesn’t yet trust himself near positions of power. Not after what he nearly did for it. What he nearly sacrificed.

Most don’t seem to notice, too involved in their new roles. But one spares the time to ensure he’s not left alone too long.

It’s evening, the capital dusky as negotiations carry on into the later hours. Elbows leaned against a balcony railing, he turns at the sound of the door behind him, expecting a summons from Itachi.

Instead, he sees Hinata.

Dark brows lift slightly in surprise. “...have they finished for the night?”

“No...but it’s a topic I’m not part of.” She moves herself abreast him, hands daintily mimicking his arms.

Sasuke finds himself shying from her slightly. “...looking for fresh air?”

“Mm...and some less argumentative company.” She gives him a glance, a slightly glint of humor in her gaze. “I know this is all important, but...sometimes I just need a little time away from it all. And most of the talk from my nation comes from those older than me, anyway. I’m really only here because I traveled with the Avatar…”

“It gives you good insight.”

“I suppose...but part of me wishes I wasn’t so sought-after. I’ve not had a quiet day since then, and it’s been...what, five years now? I’m just...tired.”

He considers her for a moment. There’s none of the posture he saw when they first met. No longer is she timid, unsure, or avoidant. She stands with a kind of regality even now, though he’s sure she doesn’t intend it. It’s simply...natural. Her gaze is a thousand miles away, staring out over the city and not noticing his staring.

...it’s then it really hits him how beautiful she is. And not just on the surface. Her strength, so hard-won after her struggles. Her patience at all she’s faced. Her grace inherited from the flow of her element.

The pit of his stomach drops as he realizes...he’s grown quite fond of her over the years. Naruto is a good companion - his liveliness and positivity balance out his own brooding and pessimism. Sakura doesn’t mince her words - he can always expect what he needs to hear from her. Kiba...well, the nonbender is obnoxious, but loyal - he’s taught the prince a lot.

But Hinata…

At first, like the others, she didn’t trust him. Perhaps more so - she’d been quite smitten with Naruto back then, and as the boy’s primary threat, she’d reeled on him with a tenacity he’d not expected. But in the end...they had far more similarities than differences. Though driven, Sasuke has never been brash. The other three are far more outspoken than he.

Not Hinata.

At the base of their natures is a similar quietude. Though he’s been arrogant, and at times scorching like his element, what’s been left in the wake of his new path is...different. His temper has cooled. No longer does he seek attention, or recognition, or power. He merely wishes to make his amends, quietly, without fuss or flare. After so long of feeling torn, and angry, and looked down upon, he wants nothing more than to find peace. For himself, and the world he owes.

...she’s been good company in that regard.

Water can be violent. It can drown what angers it. And true, Hinata has a fierceness to her, but only when necessary. Otherwise, she’s been a quiet pool to calm the rest of her companions. The voice of reason and caution, but just as strong when there are no other options.

He wishes he could be half the person she is. He wishes for her patience, her resilience, her level head and her steadfastness.

She knows who she is. What she wants. Even if part of it has fallen through, she adapts with that same grace, head held high. She’s grown into a woman of beauty, inside and out.

“...Sasuke…?”

A blink. “...yes?”

Her head tilts, looking to him in concern. “...are you feeling well? You were a bit...vacant for a moment.”

Sasuke glances around - how long was he…? “...I was just lost in thought.”

She softens, but only just, in understanding. “...there’s been much to think about lately,” she agrees quietly. “Who knows how long we’ll be here...these talks have potential to last weeks.”

“...I’ll not mind them so long as it means you’ll be here.”

Her gaze widens slightly, and he realizes he’s said too much.

“...you balance out that blond buffoon,” Sasuke attempts to amend, tone rushed in an obvious excuse. “This will all be tedious enough without his volume and...enthusiasm.”

At that, Hinata can’t help a laugh into her sleeve. The sound brings him a small flutter of contentment. “...well, I’ll do my best. It’s good he has the energy, though. Otherwise I fear we’d all be asleep in our seats!”

His lips twitch. “...fair enough.”

Silence falls between them, but it’s neither unwanted nor uncomfortable: amiable, and a pleasant change of pace. Only once some time passes does she murmur, “...I should let you retire for the night. And I’d best do the same - I could be called back for anything at any time.”

Sasuke swallows back a tinge of disappointment. “True...Naruto can only keep you awake through so much.”

She smiles. “...I’ll see you tomorrow, Sasuke.”

“Until then...Hinata.” Watching her go, he only turns back once the door shuts behind her with a soft clack.

Her absence is deafening.

Still leaned along the balcony railing, Sasuke heaves a sigh.

“...what are you getting yourself into, you fool…?”

     This feels a little off, but I haven’t written this verse in quite some time ^^; Apologies if I’m a little rusty lol      I’ve had this verse for a while, though it normally only has one set pairing. But what’s an AU unless you have like ten branching AUs from it? So in this one, we’ve got SasuHina, taking place a few years after what would be the ending of AtLA.      But, I won’t ramble too much - I’ll probably do AUs for all of my entries for this lil ship week (because honestly they’re so much more fun for me to write than canon verses lol), so keep an eye out for them! Some are crossovers, but some are also based on my original novel work. We’ll see what each prompt best fits as the week goes on!      Happy shipping, fellow SasuHina lovers :3 See y’all tomorrow!

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #sasuhina #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ] #sasuhinarw #sasuhinarw18

[razieltwelve]

Babysitters (RWBY AU Snippet)

Myrtenaster took a moment to admire her reflection in the mirror-like waters of the lake. At a good one hundred and seventy feet in length, she was still as perfectly proportioned as ever. From her gleaming white scales to the slender, graceful elegance of her neck and limbs, she was the very picture of draconic beauty and poise.

“Myrtenaster!”

The dragon turned her head and winced. Her rider’s oldest daughter was running toward her at full speed. Normally, she would have been happy to indulge Luna’s antics, but the child was currently absolutely covered in mud.

Luna… Myrtenaster used her magic to gently pick the child up before she could climb all over her. Why are you covered in mud?

The girl giggled, silver eyes gleaming with mirth. “I was jumping in puddles with Crescent Rose.”

I… see. Myrtensaster’s lips curled. The other dragon had no problems whatsoever about getting into mischief with Luna. It was unbecoming of such a powerful dragon, but Crescent Rose had never been one to conduct herself with the proper level of draconic majesty.

And speaking of Crescent Rose…

An immense shadow fell over the hillside, and Luna looked up and waved. Crescent Rose was no longer the smallest dragon out of the four of them. Indeed, the red dragon had grown to two hundred and twenty feet in length. True, Ember Celica was still bigger than her, but she’d outgrown both Gambol Shroud and Myrtenaster.

The crimson-scale dragon swooped past at breakneck speed and then banked sharply to bleed off some speed before she landed beside them with a thud that shook the mountainside. Luna laughed in delight and reached out to the larger dragon. Myrtenaster obliged and use another jolt of magic to drop the girl into Crescent Rose’s outstretched claw.

Show off. Myrtenaster rolled her eyes.

You’re just jealous because I can fly faster than you. Crescent Rose’s scales were covered in dried mud, no doubt from the puddles she’d been jumping into. She lifted Luna up to sit on her head. There you go, kiddo. Enjoy the view.

Luna giggled and struck a pose. “Look out cookies of the world… I have a dragon!”

Myrtenaster uncoiled from her supine position and sat on her haunches. It was mildly irking to admit that Crescent Rose was right. In terms of pure speed, there probably wasn’t a dragon in the world that could match her. Still, Myrtenaster was no slouch in the flight department, and she could give Crescent Rose a real run for her money if she used her magic. Shouldn’t you be with Ruby?

Crescent Rose bared her teeth in a draconic smile. Shouldn’t you be with Weiss?

Myrtenaster huffed, and the air grew bitterly cold for a moment. She was very clear on wanting ‘alone time’ with Ruby since our mission took longer than I expected. I suppose they are… busy.

Why do you think they asked me to watch Luna for today? And they’ve got Taiyang watching Blume since she’s still a little young to be flying with one of us.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Are you two talking to each other without me again?” She gave Crescent Rose a chop over the head. “Don’t do that.”

Do you really think chopping a dragon on the head is a good idea? Crescent Rose asked with amusement.

“Mommy said she used to chop you over the head all the time when you were fighting over cookies,” Luna replied.

I was a lot smaller then. Crescent Rose reached up to hold Luna in one of her claws, so she could stretch into a more comfortable position. Besides, if you’re not careful, you could break your hand hitting my scales. I’m not exactly squishy.

Luna cracked her knuckles. “I’m pretty tough.”

Myrtenaster bit back a smile. A dragon of Crescent Rose’s size and breed had scales capable of withstanding direct hits from even the most powerful ballistas. The only things that stood a chance of harming her were other dragons, magics of the highest order, or the foul claws and powers of truly titanic Grimm. Not compared to a dragon.

“Yes, I am.” Luna drew her foot back. “Take this!” She kicked Crescent Rose’s claw. “Ouch!” She clutched at her foot. “I think I broke my foot! Myrtenaster, help!”

The white-scaled dragon sighed. She gets this from your rider, you know, not mine. Weiss wouldn’t be silly enough to kick a dragon.

Crescent Rose chuckled as Myrtenaster used a spell to heal Luna. No, but she would be silly enough to throw a fireball at one. True, I was tiny back then, but throwing a fireball at a dragon? That’s not exactly a genius move.

“Hey,” Luna said, patting Crescent Rose’s claw. “Can we set something on fire?”

Crescent Rose laughed. No. But I suppose I can breathe some fire for you. She took a moment to check the skies were clear before she drew her head back and unleashed her attack.

Myrtenaster watched intently as a massive whirlwind of fire erupted in the skies above them. The searing flames were a bright orange tinged with streaks of blue and white. The red dragon’s eyes gleamed teasingly, and the fire became plasma, a scorching tide of pure devastation that could easily have melted the mountainside if she wanted.

Show off. Myrtenaster repeated. All dragons could breathe fire, but only certain breeds were capable of generating plasma. Of course, it wasn’t like she could complain. Myrtenaster was a blizzard dragon. Her breath could freeze things solid or even create storms of ice and snow that could bury the landscape. Not that she bothered all that often. Her magic was, in many ways, even more potent and far less one-dimensional.

“I wonder if I could roast marshmallows in plasma,” Luna murmured as Crescent Rose’s breath attack tapered off.

The dragon shook her head. You can’t. Believe me, your mom has tried on multiple occasions. She stretched her wings. Do you want to go fishing? It’s been a while since i ate a whale, and I did see a pod of them of them earlier.

“A whale?” Luna rubbed her hands together. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a whale before.”

They’re delicious. Myrtenaster flared her wings. We should definitely go.

Crescent Rose bared her teeth. You’re drooling.

I am not. Myrtenaster scowled and used a quick spell to ensure that any drool - not that she’d been drooling - was taken care of. 

Sure, you’re not. Crescent Rose tightened one enormous claw around Luna just enough to hold her securely. Hold on tight, Luna. She smirked back at Myrtenaster. I’ll race you to the ocean.

What? Myrtenaster growled as Crescent Rose took to the air. That’s not fair! You took off first!

Then you’d better hurry up. Crescent Rose cackled. Slow poke.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

More dragons. Yay. This one is set considerably in the future, and as you can see, Ruby and Weiss aren’t above using their dragons as babysitters. In fairness, Luna is perfectly safe. There aren’t many things in the world that can fight one dragon, never mind two.

And speaking of babysitters, Gambol Shroud is low-key the best at it. With the ability to manipulate and transport herself through shadows, she’s perfect for keeping the kids safe and amused. She can even tuck them in too, even if it does look a bit ridiculous having one of her fingers reach through the shadows to adjust the blankets.

Incidentally, the dragons are much more different in size as they get older due to the difference between breeds and personal inclinations. It goes like this:

Ember Celica => 270 ft

Crescent Rose => 220 ft

Gambol Shroud => 200 ft

Myrtenaster => 170 ft

Ember Celica belongs to a breed of dragon known for its size and physical power, and she is an an especially large and powerful example. In contrast, Myrtenaster is a small dragon from a breed known for being fairly average in size to begin with. 

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

#rwby #fanfiction