The Morning Came And There Is An Impossible Amount Of Smoke And Fog Covering Gaza. People Still Can't

'The Forbidden Flame.' Masterlist Prince Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Synopsis: In a world where royalty are born and bred to sit upon a throne built by their ancestor's aeons ago, there is a prince who is destined to sit upon the throne but there is worry amongst those of the high council. Will this Prince ever be able to shake the shackles of his ancestorial rage and become a just and rightful King? Or will he simply be another spindle in the wheel that continues to crush those of lesser importance?

Warnings: Similiar setting to House of the Dragon (the era, how royalty works) but not entirely, dragons, eventual smut, deceit, violence, blood, all characters are over the ages of 18, mentions of different religions, misogynistic themes, character deaths. No beta readers, we die like kings. (Will update individual chapters with warnings also.) MDNI.

The Glossary

Chapter I: ['The Barbarous Prince'] [28/08/22] [5086 wc.]

Chapter II: ['The Summer Solstice'] [31/08/22] [6829 wc.]

Chapter III: ['Seeking Respite'] [04/09/22] [8181 wc.]

Chapter IV: ['Dance of the Dragon'] [10/09/22] [7677 wc.]

Chapter V: ['The Crimson King'] [15/09/22] [7469 wc.]

credit for the background image/banner: @vampyrsm please do not plagiarise, or recommend my work to places such as TikTok. Date format is DD/MM/YY.

Everything You Wanted (Zuko x Servant! Reader) PART ONE

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝘀𝗽𝘂𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗶𝗳𝘂 𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿, 𝗿𝗼𝘆𝗮𝗹𝘁𝘆/𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽, 𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝟮

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 || 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅 || 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 || 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

For the first time in years, the room of the Banished Prince looked inhabited.

You swallowed down a shiver as you pushed the large doors open and stepped inside. You had no right to do this. You had no right to walk through one of the royal bedrooms with curious eyes and curious hands rather than a downcasted head and shuffling feet. Your purpose in life was to serve the royal family. You were to worship the very ground they walked on and to cherish the very air that they breathed. Yet here you were, acting as if you were their equal. Acting as if you belonged here. As if you didn’t know your place. 

No matter how cruel the royal family was, you knew that you never amounted to nothing more but just another grain of sand in the Si Wong Desert. Insignificant. Expendable. Replaceable. You should know this. You do know this. You’ve always known this.

Yet, you couldn’t help it. You had almost lost all hope. It was no wonder you had lost yourself within your own passion when you heard he was coming home.

Stepping lightly on the expenses floors, you made sure to carefully leave the door open just a little. It was the same way as you found it- no doubt a result of Prince Zuko leaving his room in a hurry to a meeting that was just abruptly called. The thought made you frown as you gripped the hem of your dress and silently made your way across the large room. 

You hadn’t seen him since his return except from afar. You couldn’t dare to. From the day you met him as just a little servant girl, hiding behind her mother’s legs, you felt the blossoming of a crush within your naive, child-sized heart. But as time grew on, you matured. You grew and grew and grew, but you never could quite outgrow your feelings for the Crown Prince. Instead, your feelings seemed to evolve over time. Shy glances and soft stutters from a little girl that desperately wished for her puppy love to go away moved on to become warm faces and daring thoughts from a teenage girl with a brain bolder than a servant should ever have. 

You sighed longingly as you walked up to the large four-poster bed that sat in the middle of the room. Moonlight poured in the window, giving the ornately decorated but mostly empty room a haunting glow. Never in your life have you ever done something as audacious as trespassing on one of the royal bedrooms. But only in private could you act on your whims and wishes. Only in private could you dream up a double meaning for every single glance or word he had sent in your direction. You could fantasize what it was like to be held in the arms of his forbidden affections. But you were only a peasant. Nothing but a simple girl. You would never see a truth in your daydreams. You would forever have to play make-believe about a Prince who didn’t know your name would one day love you. 

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice how far you traveled into the room until you found yourself sitting on red sheets that held small, beautiful patterns. The bed wasn’t made. It served as another sign of his hasty departure. But it was another sign that you shouldn’t be here. You don’t know when he’ll come back. He might even appear in the middle of your dangerous game. Even so, you could not help but reach out a hand to get a feel of a luxurious material you’ve only washed and dried. The fabric was still warm in some places. Hardly a moment of rest for royalty, you suppose. But surely the Crown Prince deserved a break after his banishment, right? You heard of his noble feats. No ordinary man could do what the great Prince Zuko had done- you were sure of it.  

Trailing your fingers of the fine silk, you froze, drawing in a sharp breath as you realized the weight of your actions. These thoughts of yours were reckless in every shape of the word. You were getting far too comfortable with breaking rules tonight. Or was this carelessness? Either way, this would surely result in your if you didn’t-

“Don’t stop now. You looked like you were getting comfortable.” 

You should have never come here.

“My Prince!” You stood up suddenly, backing into one of the large golden pillars of his four-poster bed. The light from the hallway casted a large shadow across his face as he stood with his back against the large door. His arms were folded over his red-robed chest, and a familiar scowl rested on his face as he looked at you in what you could only imagine being disgust. You couldn’t help but gulp at his expression, heartbreaking into pieces, as you bowed your head deeply and upturned your palms in submission. “F-forgive me, my Prince! When I heard of your return, I-”

You were an idiot. A fool. Deep down, you knew this was going to happen. How could you ever think to sneak into the crown prince’s bedroom without any repercussions? There were guards posted everywhere. The Fire Nation Royal Palace was built not unlike Boiling Rock. A heavily guarded, heavily armed fortress with eyes posted everywhere. No matter how innocent your intentions may have been, there is no doubt that your hubris will go not go unpunished. Maybe you even wanted this to happen. Perhaps you were so desperate for his attention- so desperate to stand out to him that it drove you to do the unthinkable. In the pursuit of your dear Prince’s adoration, you found yourself the object of his glare.

Or so you thought. 

Amidst your mindless babbling, you missed how he pushed himself off of the door and shut it with a loud thud. He unfolded his arms and stalked his way over to you shaking form with a confidence you had never seen before. The time he spent away from his home had hardened him into a warrior. A predator that had spent countless nights honing his skill to be the best of the very best. The man who killed the avatar. And now you were his prey. He was taking his time with you. Toying with you. Enjoying you. Drinking in your very being with insatiable, glowing gold eyes. With slow, calculated steps, he inched closer and closer until he was able to shove your back into a pillar. 

Instinctively, a gasp poured through your lips as the back of your head hit the hard surface. You couldn’t tell if that felt worse than his tight grip on your arms or the ache in your heart. Either way, something had to be the cause of the tears that threatened to spill. The way he caged in your body with his own intimidating physique was suffocating. While the position looked intimate, the situation was dangerous. At this moment, he was both your jailer and escape- a conflict of emotions and interests that sent your dizzy mind in an uproar. 

His right hand loosened its grip on your forearm before it let go of it completely. He turned his palm towards you, and you felt your eyes widen in silent distress. Was this your punishment? Were you to be burned right where you stood? With no hope of mercy, repentance, or forgiveness? 

By the hands of the man you loved?

But deep down, you knew you had no right to complain. Your eyes closed slowly as you fell limp in his grip. You truly had no right to argue or barter about your punishment. You were a peasant. You had rules. But you broke them. Now you have to pay the price. You dug your grave. It was only right that you take everything that was given to you with blurry eyes and a thankful heart that reminded you of how things could have been worse. 

But your punishment never came. 

“I’ve lost everything, you know?” 

Light as a feather, his right hand circled your left wrist and pulled it towards his figure. This was unexpected. His movements were slow and shaky- as if he was the one who should be fearing for his life. Never in your life did you imagine that you’d ever find yourself in such a situation. A situation that stemmed from what should have been a punishment, no less. And yet, his touch was delicate as he placed your hand on a part of his chest that was left open through his robe. Your eyes flickered open to meet his intense golden gaze as your palm made contact with burning skin and a soft but steady beat. His heart.

“Everything.” He repeated, not once taking his eyes off of you. Nodding shakily, you mouthed the powerful word with silent lips. You had never seen his scar before. You thought it made him look very handsome. “Everything.”

His voice had become raspy and low with age. It held a certain heaviness that weighed down your own heart as you detected the swirl of emotions that lived behind the voice. It was as if despair and rage had grabbed at his throat with an iron grip and crushed and crushed until there was nothing left but bitterness, regret, and loss. Despite this, it was soft. Soft and quiet in an almost soothing way. Was this acceptance of his own secret troubles? Was this relief to be home? Or… was this voice reserved for you?

But like fire, he changed his course very quickly.

“My pride. My honor. My status. My throne. My family.”

His next words came out in a deep and threatening growl. If he had gotten any louder, you’d be inclined to call it a shout. You could feel the threat that punctuated all of the things he lost as he snatched up your other wrist with unexpected strength. You were trapped in the way he wanted you to be as he held you in a tight grip. One hand made to be pressed against his chest. Another hand held suspended in the air. This was the warrior you could hear behind the voice. But this was not the boy you once knew. This was not the boy you fell hopelessly in love with. This was not your Prince Zuko. This was all that was left of him. All that was left of the boy who was forced to leave home.

So you whimpered. 

And he softened. 

He relaxed his hold on you with a sigh and hung his head. But he didn’t let go. His long hair created a shadow over his eyes and face making his expressions unreadable. You didn’t know what to think. For a while, he was as still as a corpse. If it weren’t the soft pulsating of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips and the slow rise and fall of his chest, you could have been convinced that he was the one who died right where he stood. And that scared you.

You were surprised when he brought his head up and started to move again. Moving slowly and with that feather-light grip he had earlier, the hand held your wrist in the air guided your hand closer and closer until finally…it rested on the left side of his face. The second you made contact with the burned skin, you watched his eyes grow steely and hard as they trained on your face. He was watching you. Almost daring you to indulge. A challenge you selfishly accepted. 

Your thumb trailed little circles on his cheek, causing gold eyes to slip close as he pressed against your hand. A deep inhale followed by a quiet exhale as he cuddled into you like a young child. You could not believe it. Your poor heart has been through too much excitement today. The chance to live out your crush was starting to feel like too much. But every touch- every little feeling as your thumb circled over the cold, rough, red skin of his burn reminded you that this was real. That this was happening and that this was now and that he was in pain and you are the one to comfort him. Tonight, you weren’t dreaming. His body is far too warm to think otherwise.

“Starting tomorrow,” He spoke with his eyes closed- voice barely above a whisper as you both selfishly gave in to your desires as servant and master. Prince and peasant. Everything and nothing. “Your new orders are to serve me and me alone, got it?”

“Yes,” You whispered, voice barely traveling to his ears. It was almost lost in the ambiance of the world outside the Prince’s moon-lit bedroom. But you knew he heard it. You could tell by the way he shivered in your hold. “Yes, my prince.”

There was a pregnant pause before he opened his eyes and stepped away from your touch.

“You are not to leave my side. Wherever I go, you go. No matter what anyone tells you.” He ordered with all the firmness and finality a prince could hold. With his face set in a straight line and his eyes holding you in an intimidating stare, you couldn’t do anything but quietly nod your head and avert your gaze. But with one last bold movement, he stepped towards you and grabbed your chin, and forced your head up to meet his eyes.

“I’ve lost everything.” He repeated quietly. How he managed to sound more heartbroken than the first time he told you, you’ll never know. But oh, how you felt it. 

“ But I will not lose my everything. Ever. Again.”

And with a final growl, he was gone. The moment between you two has ended, leaving you with nothing but questions you will never ask. Questions you’ll never get answers to. Questions you’ll never fully understand.

But you couldn’t complain. You couldn’t dare complain about what just happened. You got his intimate hold. You got his kind eyes. His kind voice. His attention. And now? You get to be by his side from now on. 

You got everything that you wanted, didn’t you?

Right?

Being a housewife but not really knowing what the hell you’re doing, you had to get married early because your husband is a BigWig(?) with sponserbilities to take care of… but you’re also sort of neglected by him because he’s So Busy trying to Make It Big…

And you somehow end up neighbors with Bakugo, who, two seconds into meeting you decides that he literally can’t be mean to you: looking a right mess with a naked baby on your hip and messy hair 24/7… but still always offering him the bentos your husband doesn’t take to work and inviting him in for tea…

Fun Sized

Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him. 

(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)

The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body. 

You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you. 

He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive. 

The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right? 

Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought. 

When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you. 

It was silent for a while, and then you said: 

"Do you like sweets?" 

That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs? 

He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window. 

You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back. 

Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette. 

"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough."  You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily. 

It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you. 

And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain. 

It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself. 

"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot." 

You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture." 

"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes." 

You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke. 

"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that." 

He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before. 

"What?" He asks, "Why not?"

"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands." 

"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine." 

"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny. 

You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was. 

"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans." 

He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you." 

"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered." 

"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes. 

"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type." 

"I'm everyone's type." He argues. 

"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder. 

"I like my men a little taller." 

He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize. 

He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back. 

You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening. 

"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet. 

"Hi." He smiles. 

You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face. 

"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?" 

He grins wider, and you relax. 

He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again. 

"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now." 

You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly." 

He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift. 

"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption." 

He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice. 

"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once." 

"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye. 

"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?" 

You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder. 

Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips. 

"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?" 

He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use." 

Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks. 

You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black. 

The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something. 

You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked. 

The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress. 

Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.

There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.

You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now. 

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos. 

You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that. 

"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.." 

You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely. 

"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her." 

"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now." 

"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back." 

He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."

He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens. 

"So, am I tall enough for you, now?" 

A "Nonstop Nut November 2022" Production

Pairing: Vampire!Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Dubcon/noncon themes, “sacrificial lamb” scenario + fear play, vampire feeding + bloodplay, aphrodisiac usage, mind break, injury + pain play, (slight!) bondage, dom/sub dynamics, cucking (indirectly), (forced!) voyeurism, pet name usage, humiliation, light! description of death + murder (twice)

Summary: Years after a great war breaks out between your homeland and another nearby kingdom, your father has died in battle, and your family has been displaced from the village you used to call home. The village you find yourselves relocated to is shady, the people in it even moreso, and you struggle to maintain good faith about staying here – especially after you start to witness your younger, adopted sister making friends, and these other girls gradually start to vanish. You’re certain the townspeople are keeping something from you, but your mother refuses to acknowledge your fears, saying you’re ridiculous, paranoid, too young to understand anything – until a priest from the village comes to your home and sits your mother down to ask something of her, something that shocks you to your core. The priest wants your sister, the sweet soul who was recently promised to a boy from your homeland, only just having reached her seventeenth summer, and having just become a woman. Disgusted, afraid, and absolutely revolted when your mother agrees, however much she wavered, you insist the priest takes you instead, going so far as to promise that you will do whatever he wants of you. And when you’re dragged from your home without so much a second of hesitation from your mother, you’re delivered to a stone slab outside the village, where you’re roped up and offered to some kind of demon as a sacrifice. A vampire who goes by the name Dabi.

A little girl stares up at you with delighted, innocent eyes, and you can’t help but grin down at her pretty face, her pale flesh alight with the midday sun filtering in through the leaves above you.

She reminds you of warm summers, of the safety you always felt in your father’s arms at her age, and you can’t help the way your heart aches and yearns to feel that way again; you’ll never re-experience your youth, so you feel you can settle for watching the youngster experience hers, for holding her hand and walking with her through the woods. This much, you’re happy to do.

“Will mama like this one?” the little girl asks you as she holds up a wildflower, pink and slightly wilted, its stem crushed from the force of her little hands on its delicate green length. You don’t have the heart to tell her that mama would probably throw it out, so you nod.

“I think it’s very pretty.”And then you smile, and she giggles, as you say, “Just like you are.”

“Would you… like to have it?” she asks you, and you nod eagerly.

“Of course – but isn’t it for mama?”

She shrugs her little shoulders, and her eight-year-old form looks even smaller as she looks down at her feet, poking out beneath the layers of her skirts, and she says, “Mama doesn’t need to know I gave it to you.”

Your heart yearns for her youthful innocence, your sister’s kindness overwhelms you tremendously, and you make to kneel before her with a tender look on your face, holding your hands out to take hers as you softly say, “You’re a sweet little thing, you know that? I’m lucky you’re my little sister.”

She giggles, nods cutely, and reaches a hand up to stroke your cheek as she says, “You’re sweet, too. That’s why this flower should be for you.”

“Oh, Eri,” you say softly, and the ache in your heart swells and pounds in your chest as you let out a soft, broken chuckle, “Thank you.”

The little joyful thing she is, Eri tucks the flower behind your ear, her hands warm and her kindness lighting a fire within you. You would always look into her eyes as she smiled at you and see someone else’s child, the baby that had been left on your home’s doorstep one night and raised thereafter as your mother’s, but now you see her eyes glowing with something familiar, something you used to think was rare and not meant for you; Eri smiles at you with love.

Your arms wrap around her little shoulders to hug her lovingly without consulting you about the motion, but you’re glad they do, and you hold her there for a minute. She hugs you back with weak arms, but you’re happy to be in her embrace. You’re happy to embrace her as your family.

It’s as a warm tear slides down your cheek that you break from her embrace and clear your throat to whisper, “Let’s go back home, Eri. Mama must be worried, hmm?”

“Wait!” she presses, and you pause before straightening up, while Eri reaches for your hair – and you nearly start to cry as she slips the flower in her hand behind your ear, giggling adorably as she looks at it and says, “There – all done.”

The journey home is filled with elated giggles from Eri as you tell her stories about other little girls, fictional ones that walked this same path to grandma’s house only to grapple with wolves, to share porridge with bears, to enter homes made of delightful, rare candies and lived-in by an ugly witch. The autumn leaves fall around you, and the smells of the woodsy wonderland around you fill you with elation as you watch Eri skip around and smile, the beauty of her youthfulness filling you with elation in turn.

That elation doesn’t last past the moment you step into your home.

Your mother, usually a proud and self-assured woman who stands with her back straight and her chin held high, her entire body buzzing with confidence and positivity, is slumped over a table and weeping, a letter grasped in one hand. Eri sees this scene and nearly runs forward to hold your mother herself, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder and whisper a soft, “No, let me.”

You approach her slowly while Eri backs her way toward the next room, and your mother’s sobbing makes your heart ache as you take a seat beside her.

“Mama,” you whisper, reaching for her hand, “What’s happened? Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t hear you, and if she does, she just refuses to acknowledge your questions. You gulp down the bubbling fear, the growing anxiety, that builds its way up your throat, hot like fire. The letter, you realize as you glance at it from your seat, is marked with the local militia’s seal. Your father, the only man who has ever meant anything to you, had left home when he was conscripted into the army.

“Mama,” you whisper, but it comes out scratchy, distressed, “Mama, where’s Papa? What’s happened to him?”

Still, not a word. Your vision becomes steadily more bleary as you stare at the flimsy piece of paper under your mother’s hand, and as you hiccup, the realization hits you hard and dread sets in. You reach for it, slowly, and as you do, you fight the desire to claw at your throat and scream at the top of your lungs. It’s a thick letter, writing scrawled on paper that is unrefined, rough. The script is nigh close to illegible, but you can make out enough of it to fuel the tears that pour from your eyes next.

Your father is dead, and your family will be forced to relocate to a village south of the kingdom border for the purpose of safety.

"Eight years," you say with a scowl on your face as you tend the kitchen, kneading the dough you'd prepared for dinner as your mother watches from the doorway. "It's been eight, almost nine, years of just you, and me, and Eri, all of us suffering – and you're still mourning, Mama, you've been mourning since the day the letter came."

She stares blankly at your hands, at the motions you make as you press into the dough, fingers between bits that poke out and protrude before you pull them back and do it all again. She just waits, wordlessly, for something. For what, you don't know. You scoff, though, as she just blinks away your concerns.

"When are you going to be a mother again?" you ask her this seriously, with eight years of resentment behind your (e/c) eyes aimed right at her, and she doesn't react at all. "I'm sick of being the only one who cares for her – she's a child, Mama, and she needs you as much as she needs me. More, in fact!"

As much as you wish she'd say something, anything, she just watches you knead the dough, and you sigh. It's disgusting, really, that she forces you to do so much and simply watches like an onlooker. You raise her child, care for yourself, tend the gardens and the livestock – and she watches, she attends the local church on weekends like she's expected to. But no more than that.

"Eri received a letter yesterday," you finally say with a soft sigh, "from that family we knew… before Papa…"

She doesn't stir, you don't know why you still expect her to.

"Kota has asked for her hand, Mama," you say. "He wants to marry her, and she… wants to marry him – so I've sent word that we'd be happy to allow him to court her."

You think, for a moment, that you hear your mother gasp. But she just lets out a sneeze, and you sigh. Of course, she didn't even care about that announcement. Why would she?

The town bell rings, then, a sound you're all too familiar with, and in robotic fashion your mother moves to grab her shawl from the dining table, and you watch her make her way out of your home without a word. She has never given up on religion – you suppose you should be grateful, but if anything the knowledge fills you with resentment.

It's when she returns, with strange men and women at her side, when she thinks you're asleep but really you're just sat at Eri's bedside watching her breathe slow and steady so that you feel alive, that the past eight years of trying to keep your family safe come crashing down in your lap and you can do absolutely nothing to pick up the pieces.

"We need Eri," a voice, hushed in the dead of night, says to your mother in the main hall, "a sacrifice must be made for the safety of our townsfolk."

It's strange, watching the eight years of your life you'd spent in the run-down village of suspicious men and quaint women trickle down the drain all at once with one painful realisation – strange, but not altogether unwelcome. You'd felt disappointment before, felt your hope and your optimism gripped within your chest and crushed all at once, and this was not the same.

No, it didn't hurt nearly as much to walk in and interrupt the awful conversation taking place in your own home as it did when your father had died in the war and left your family with no choice but to relocate here. It didn't hurt nearly as much as when your mother decided she would no longer be a mother to you, nor to your sister. Frankly speaking, it didn't hurt nearly as much as you felt it should've.

"You can't have her," you say softly, smoothly. With a shake of your head and a warning glare at your blank-faced mother, you go on, "You can't have her for your disgusting ritual – she's betrothed, she has a life ahead of her, and I won't have it. You can have me."

"You must understand, we need someone young and supple, or the One will not take her," the village priest says to you, his eyes as old and evil as he himself. "It must be a vir–"

"Me, or no one," you insist, scowling. You can feel spittle flying from the cavern of your mouth as you say, "Me, or there is no ritual – because I will burn your godforsaken church to the ground while you pray in it if you lay a single finger on my sister."

You watch the old man gulp, the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat giving away his fear of you suddenly, and in his cowardice you see the look of the stupid baker boy, the look of this priest's own pathetic son, as stupid and as easy to manipulate as he himself. And then as he nods and accepts your bargain, you feel a weight fall off your shoulders.

Your sister will be safe if you do this. You're certain of it, certain that the village will back off of her and pick off her friends instead – the way they had done before. Your mother always called you crazy, but as you lock eyes with her once more and for the first time in years she shows a sign of emotion, you see it in her old face.

You've never been crazy. Always been right. There truly was something off about this village.

The priest's hands clasp around yours before you can even think to speak to your mother, and when you avert your eyes from her to see him, he's grinning like a madman at you, teeth on display in a sickly Cheshire cat smile. You can tell, just that easily, that you're in for something awful, a kind of fate reserved for those who deserve no more than to be punished, truly.

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," the old man says, and you have a feeling he isn't speaking to you at that moment – rather, his words are aimed at your mother.

"Blessed be the fruit!" one of his goons, a woman in the corner whom you recognise as the mother of a missing girl, yells excitedly.

"May the One guide us!" the rest of the group, in unison, chant thereafter.

Your skin is clammy and cold as you're finally tugged along, out of your own home and into the dead of the night. The streets are cold, and the lamps guide you down a path toward the outskirts of town. And as you step, more and more townsfolk join in the parade, parents and elders all chanting their stupid ritualistic babble into the night until you finally come upon your destination at the center of the cornfield.

"May the One guide your soul to heaven above," the priest finally says as he takes a step aside and gives you a view of what stands before you, "and may He proffer the fruits of His mercy and grace to the Earth below."

With a gulp and a frightened but brave step forward, you approach the stone slab laid out at the centre of the field, and you in your night dress finally accept your fate. This is a sacrifice – you wouldn't be going missing, disappearing, mysteriously vanishing, never to be seen again. You will be dying, all for the pathetic beliefs of this town's mad religion.

You're still processing your fate when your hands are bound before you, and you simply follow blindly as you are dragged toward the slab, laid down on your back atop its cold surface by the men who'd thought to grab you first. There's no use in fighting it – not when the alternative would be your sister in your position. No, you'd rather it be you.

You watch, with teary eyes and in absolute silence as the chanting townsfolk take to tying your bindings down to the hooks on the slab, rendering you motionless. And you feel the bile rise in your throat as the priest comes upon you, standing dead in the centre of his cult's act of repulsive, blind faith.

"The One will like this one," he states, and his Cheshire cat grin is back as he reaches down to stroke your cheek, "she has some fight in her, that youthful ignorance he so adores."

"The girl is the fruit of our labour! Give thanks to the One!" the cult chants, and your teeth clench as you stare hatefully up at the priest who simply chuckles at your aggression.

"The hour of the One is upon us," he says to you, and you swallow down your hatred as he steps back to announce to his cult, "Let us depart! And let the One have his sacrifice!"

The group silences, and they step into a line to retreat from your body as the priest gives one last yell before you're left alone, roped up in a field with no particular reasoning.

"Blessed be the fruit!"

The tears stream from your eyes, but you barely notice them. You feel numb, feel nothing – at least, that's what you're telling yourself as you shut your eyes.

The feeling of being watched comes suddenly, and it hits you hard as a brick to the face – and it doesn't go away. Really, it m akes your heart race and your eyes shoot open, your body bristling with sudden and overwhelming terror. You don't know when you might've fallen asleep, but it couldn't have been long ago. Regardless, your flesh bristles with fear as you fall into a complete panic.

"Is someone there?" you're not sure why you would bother to yell, why anyone would bother to answer, but if there's a chance you'll be safe, you'll take to desperate bargaining. "If you're out there, please…come and untie me! Please!"

Nothing. Not a sound in return. But you still feel eyes on you as you begin to sweat, the prickling panic filling your pores.

Your arms jolt of their own accord, and you gasp at the sting of rope as it catches on your flesh. You'd forgotten in the rush that you were bound – but that realisation doesn't stop your body from thrashing, because suddenly you're filled with the fear and adrenaline of prey, and you're whimpering for help from someone you're not even sure really exists, not even sure intends to help you rather than harm you.

It's dark, but you're grateful there's an assortment of candles not too burnt out that they can still light up the clearing, especially when you finally hear the snap of a twig in the maze of crops you're surrounded by.

"H-hello?" you whimper out, your voice a squeak and your heart beating in your throat as you struggle against your bindings. "Who's there?"

No response, once again. But this time you feel different – the panic sets in deeper, and fear starts to course through your veins. This doesn't feel normal, and you don't feel the slightest bit safe. Your body is trembling, and your arms struggle more than before to escape your binds – but the knots around the rope are too tight, and no matter how hard you tug, or how hard you pull, you only serve to burn your wrists with the rope.

"Please, just – help me! Help me and… and I'll repay you!" you yell helplessly, feeling your cheeks grow warm and your nose start to run as you sob. Reality sinks in fast, however, when you hear a voice, finally.

It starts with a chuckle. A dark, low chuckle that reverberates through and then fades within the wide openness of the clearing, and your sobs start to get louder in the instinctive fear that cools the blood that runs through your veins, turning icy with terror. You stop struggling against the rope, though, praying that the intruder is kinder than the laugh they'd let out was.

"P-please, help me," you finally whisper, desperate and afraid and hoping for just… an ounce of mercy, pity? You aren't exactly sure.

Instead of a chuckle that reverberates through the clearing, this time you hear a soft laugh, so soft it might be an uneven breath – and the source stands right beside you suddenly, with red eyes aglow and a smirk that tells a devilish tale of intentions no better than those of the priest who'd landed you here.

"The ropes," you whispered, panicked, pathetic, "untie the ropes, please!"

"Why would I do that?"

You aren't sure, honestly, what you had been expecting from a stranger amongst the crop fields – kindness, pity, perhaps just naiveté? – but in the glint of mischief in the darkened eyes of the white-haired man above you, you recognize none of those qualities. Instead, you see yourself in the reflective surfaces of those orb's, you see fear and you see shame.

Had you not volunteered for this fate, had you not been willing to die for your sister before?

As the ropes above your head suddenly fall free from the stone beneath you, albeit still binding your wrists, confusion adds itself to the long list of your emotions in the moment. Was he freeing you? No, not with the smile on his face – really, the wicked way his lips curl upward in the moonlight says you are caught in his web.

But his hands still reach for the ropes at your ankles, still untie the bindings as he scoffs and chuckles at your rigid posture despite the leeway.

"Did you not ask for freedom?" the stranger asks you, and he laughs, "Did you not pray for mercy, for a hand to guide you to safety?"

"Why did you free me?" you whisper, voice hoarse and throat suddenly burning, aching with the aftermath of your yelling before. Shameful.

"To give you a headstart, little rabbit," his lip quirks up evermore, a tilt upwards in a snarky, devilish way as he says, "To give you a chance to survive me."

"What?" – you're confused, rightly so, and he laughs at it before you say, voice hoarse and body trembling from the cool night air that suddenly overcomes you, "Why would I need to run from you?"

Your question doesn't really need a verbal answer, because the moonlight suddenly begins to dim as the clouds pass over above you, a storm brewing as you lay. As the darkness overcomes the clearing, the night sky paints itself with the colours of the witching hour, and the man above you changes before your eyes from man, to something far, far from it.

His hair, stark white before, blackens from the roots. The darkness spreads, shadows taking over his jaw and his under-eyes, a cyan tint in his eyes that makes him evermore menacing – and as he laughs again, his teeth grow and sharpen, catching the glint of lightning as he flashes you a smile. You don't want to chance a look down again once you've already glanced down at his blackening, clawed hands.

The churches preach of demons that stalk the unwary, that prey on the wicked and on the innocent – the sight before you is no different from the image the priests would paint in your head of one before. A particular demon, one your prior village priest had proclaimed himself a hunter of, proudly so. The thing that this village worships, the thing you're sure you were meant to be a sacrifice for.

The One, as the priest had called him.

"You're… a demon!" you sputter helplessly, whimpering in fear, "A-a vampire! Godless and merciless, a monster!"

"You can call me Dabi, if you'd like," the devilish male says to you. And he chuckles as he shrugs, which would be enticing to watch if he wasn't horrifying, "Your priest likes to call me The One – you like that one, hmm?"

He laughs as he watches you roll off of the stone slab, away from him, and listens to the hitch in your breath as you fall to your knees. He can smell the blood the second you scrape one knee against the ground beneath you, and he breathes in your scent delightedly as he ignores your retreating form. You won't get very far, after all.

"Oh, what perfect prey," he chuckles as he stands and waits, silently counting off the seconds.

You reek of dread, of adrenaline and of terror – and he turns his head to chuckle as you stumble, the scent of you wafting off your form heavy and hard.

"What's the matter, doll?" his voice booms across the clearing, and you turn your head in horror at the excited grin that crosses his face, exposing his teeth to your view. "You're fallin' all over the place, like a newborn fawn…"

You gulp, unsure of what you're thinking as you open your mouth to respond with a hushed, frantic, "Please – don't hurt me."

He crosses the distance between your bodies in an instant, and your heart sinks to your diaphragm in realisation before he even speaks another word – you can't escape him, won't escape him, because at that speed he'll have caught you in a single stride. You're hopeless as he clutches the ropes that bind your wrists and gives your limp form a tug.

"Now, now," he tuts, the devilish glint in his eyes unyielding, "I thought you had a little more fight in you, huh?"

"Please, don't –"

"Ah, tut tut tut, doll," he hushes you, a low chuckle reverberating through him as he lifts you, up and up and up until you're dangling before him by his clawed hand gripping the rope around your wrists that dig into your flesh and force cries of pain from your swollen lips, "don't beg – it's unbecoming, hmm?"

"You're hurting me," you whimper, and you'd cry if your eyes weren't already dry enough, "Let me go, it hurts!"

Your body trembles at the sound of his bellowing guffaw as he dangles you higher and higher in the air, so you can barely stand on your tip-toes – and you cry out pathetically the longer you're up there, the pain you're in amplifying by the second.

"That's it," he coos, and you gasp as his other hand goes to caress your cheeks, squeezing your face 'til your lips are mushed together, and you can't make a peep without your sounds being garbled. "That's how you get what you need, doll. Demand it."

You'd spit on his face if you weren't mortified, if you weren't weak and useless under his grasp – as you have this thought, you start to curse yourself inwardly, and he starts to lean in toward your neck. His teeth, sharp and animalistic and ready to tear your flesh, are far too near your throat and far too quickly at that. If only you were stronger, smarter, better —

"Let her go!" a voice, familiar to you but only in the back of your mind, calls out as your assailant presses his lips to your throat, and you cry out as his teeth break skin

A slick, hot liquid seeps down the flesh of your neck before a mass of warmth coated in it trails along your throat, and as the voice repeats its call, the vampire – this Dabi – chuckles, and the sound reverberates through you as the slick substance drips down, down your clavicle and into your skin. His saliva, you realise with horror as he continues to lave away at you with his thick, hot tongue, is what it is.

You want to yell, to stop him, but your limbs become useless quickly as his saliva takes effect on you – vampire venom, after all, is a known aphrodisiac. It's been sold by witches as such for centuries.

A loud thunk resounds through the clearing then, and Dabi drops you carelessly from his grasp, like a sack of potatoes at market, so you hit the ground. Your body aches all over from the fall, but as you watch his head turn to find the source of the noise, of the pebble that you realise had knocked him in the head – and even you're a little shocked by the sight that graces you there, bravely aiming a second pebble at the vampire's head.

"L-leave her alone!" the priest's boy, someone your age and who'd offered you fresh-baked bread rolls free of charge many a hungry night before, yells at your captor – and if he didn't look ready to piss his pants, you might be honoured he'd thought to come to your rescue.

"You've a death wish, then?" Dabi asks the question with a smirk, but his voice betrays his immediate annoyance with the priest's son. He offers you a look, one with a quirked brow and a toothless grin, of amusement and says, "Is this your alternative to death, then? A man with a weak arm and an even weaker bladder?"

Against your will and against your better judgement, his voice in that tone makes your core throb, and your mouth water – you ignore your body's unwanted urges, however, and shake your head. Truth be told, you'd never have picked the baker boy simply out of disdain for his family's closeness to the church, their bloodline defiled by its very existence.

"Get away from here, you monster! Stay away from our home, from our women!" the boy yells, and you yelp as you feel Dabi claw at your bindings once more, tugging you to the epicentre of the clearing once more until you're stood up before the altar.

"You reek of the priest, boy," Dabi sighs before he stands before you, staring down at your face while he scoffs out a soft, "Go back home."

You quiver as clawed hands grip your shoulders, and your flesh burns wherever his darkened, black fingertips and claws trace over the fabric of your white nightgown – from your waist that prickles with delight and gooseflesh, to your breasts where your nipples harden pathetically. Dabi chuckles, dipping down to lave his tongue over your lips without a word of disagreement from you, and he chuckles at your compliance.

"Oh, you're behaving so well for me now," Dabi notes, and he smirks as he runs his clawed fingers down your jaw, "Tell the baker boy to go home."

"Yes…" you sigh, and then your head lolls over to face him and you spit a harsh, "Go home, boy… go home to your stupid father."

"Good girl," he whispers, and your mind is numb and your body is like clay in his hold – mouldable, pliant. "No use fighting when you're already mine."

"No use fighting…" you whisper in agreement, eyes clouding over, and your mouth stays open just enough that Dabi slips his tongue between your teeth and kisses you in a way no one ever has before – it's a slow, passionate dance between his lips against your own, and his tongue adventuring round the cavern of your mouth, all while his clawed hands grasp and mould around every part of you that he can touch.

The baker watches in horror, falling to his knees as he hears you moan and whimper in this monster's grasp – once, he had begged his father to let him marry you, he had wished he could have you in this way. It aches in every bone of his body to watch you share such a lewd moment with someone who isn't him.

"So you won't go?" Dabi asks, quirks up a brow without even glancing at the boy now, and he laughs. He says a simple, "Fine. Then stay where you are."

It's as a clawed hand tugs your night dress up to your knees that you manage a small, whimpered, "No!" – this makes the boy flinch, and he tries to turn his head in shame, to look away, but his body suddenly feels heavy. His blood weighs more than ever before, and he can't move.

"No?" the vampire chuckles, pressing on and hiking the fabric around your hips, exposing your lower half to the elements and catching the scent of your sweet centre on the wind, "But we're just getting started, doll…"

You gasp, breath catching in your throat as his lips find your neck and hover dangerously over your jugular, and his clawed index finger carefully, softly, traces a path over the mound of your core. You've barely been dosed with his venom, and yet its effects have left you pliant, soaked through – he feels this with a chuckle as he taps his digit to your slit, and immediately his finger is wet with the juices that flow from you like a fresh peach.

"Just getting started, and you're already soaked," Dabi coos against your throat, and then he groans as he sinks his teeth into you.

It should hurt, at the very least like a thousand pinpricks stabbing into the flesh of your throat at once, but each fang sinks into your flesh like a pleasant, orgasmic, featherlight kiss – and you whine like a bitch in heat at the feeling, sinking your fingers into the flesh of his upper arms that dip and flex with every motion he makes for support. You cry out his name, pathetic, and Dabi groans as his fangs part from your bleeding throat so his tongue and his lips can take their place and drink as he bleeds you dry.

It's painful for the priest's boy to watch, and every second wounds his ego more – he can't tell what makes his heart ache more, the way you mewl for the monster, or the way his body prickles to life with pleasure at the sound of it.

Dabi's index finger finds the pearly bud of your clit while his tongue laps at your blood and he chuckles into your flesh as you shiver familiarly – like your body's felt him on your skin a thousand times or more, and liked it – at the soft touch he gives it, and then as he retracts his finger so that just his claw taps against the bud you shiver once more. He finds you fascinating, arousing. He smirks.

Next, he dips that same digit a little further down your slit, to trace the shape of the hole of your cunt and just barely offer you relief from the pulsing within your core, from your growing need, and you squirm beneath him, whining. Your fingers falter for a moment in their grip on his arms, and he sighs with delight as you moan for him at the slightest intrusion of his digit within the cavern of your pussy.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Dabi coos into your throat, "You're a filthy whore, aren't you? Oh… you desperately need me to touch you, don't you?"

The baker boy whimpers pathetically at the sound of it as you cry out a loud, "Oh, please… touch me inside! Dabi, please!"

"You must be so disappointed," Dabi coos at the baker boy, glancing devilishly over his shoulder as he presses a digit inside you, listening to your keening whine in his ear as he continues, "that this isn't you touching her body, that you can't have her like this, hmm?"

"Please… she deserves better than —"

"Shut up," Dabi commands, and the baker boy immediately complies despite the words he desperately wants to say bubbling up inside him. "She's so tight down here, God – and she's so hot inside. The perfect little toy."

You whimper as you arch your back, whine as Dabi lifts you so you're seated on the altar, and keen as he dips a second clawed digit into your cunt, stretching you out and groaning at the feel of you clamping down around him. It's heaven, and he wants to relish in it as he dips his head down to drink from your throat once again.

"Dabi!" you call out his name like you're begging for salvation, and he chuckles at it. He forces your head to loll to the side, your eyes shut but your face in full view of the stupid boy who'd come to your rescue. "Oh, Dabi, please!"

"Look at her," Dabi says with a cackle, licking a lewd stripe up the other side of your neck and sinking his fangs lightly into the supple flesh there, too, "she's begging me for more. This will never be you."

"Please!" You're calling out below him for nothing in particular, just begging at this point to be used the way he wants to use you, and Dabi obliges easily as you lay there and let him drain you of your lifeblood and your willpower, "Dabi, please – 'm yours, so use me! More, more, MORE!"

"God, you probably wish you could bury your pathetic cock deep inside her, don't you?" Dabi chuckles at the priest's boy, unashamedly stretching your cunt open and stepping back to look at his handiwork. "I'm gonna fuck her real good now – and then I'll finish her up, and y'know what I do to 'em when I'm done?"

The priest's boy, in fact, does know the answer to that one. "You'll bury her under the crops," he says, deadpan, "to fertilise them for the rest of the season."

Dabi laughs at that, nodding, "You do know something, huh?" And then he falls silent, glaring at the boy, and says, "Now, be quiet – or I'll kill you first."

You've never been touched before – let alone been fucked. So, when Dabi's thick cock prods at your entrance and then bullies its way into you, even just his tip, it doesn't matter that you're wet – your cunt aches at every inch that he sinks into you until he's sheathed himself inside. His cock is big, and he doesn't make it easy for you to take it.

"Hurts!" you yell, but you whimper out a desperate, "So good!"

Tears slide down your cheeks as the vampire wickedly chuckles down at your confusion, grinding his hips into you so his navel bumps into your clitoris with every single thrust of his cock, and absorbing your hiccups and sobs of pained pleasure with delight in his devilish eyes – and when you whimper out that he needs to be gentler, he barks a laugh into your face.

"Gentle? Don't forget why you're here," he chides you. "You're mine – so take it. Take my cock –" he fucks into you harder and faster, and the slick from your cunt messes all over your thighs as he does, "– like the sacrificial lamb you're supposed to be, without complaining!"

The baker boy sobs as he watches, despite Dabi being able to control his movement. He can't run away, can't avert his eyes – but he cries from watching you, cries from hearing you. And as Dabi turns his devilish eyes to glance at the boy, he tugs you up by your bindings and turns your body to face away from him.

Your back hits the hard, cool surface of his chest as his hand closes around your cheeks, and his cock sheaths itself inside you still. From this angle, the baker boy can see everything – from your cunt, slobbering all over Dabi's girth, to your tits, popping out from the confines of your nightdress with the effort of his harsh fucking.

And from this angle, Dabi has access to all his favourite spots to drink you dry from.

His teeth sink into your shoulder as he fucks his cock into you all over again, and you scream out at the pleasure of it as he hits all the right spots inside you while his lips suckle the red from your body like a lamb from its mother's teat – except this drink is deadly to one of you, and it's not you.

All the while, his eyes cross over your body and lock onto the sad, little baker boy's – and if he could laugh without wasting the delectable, sweet drink on his lips, he might, for the boy looks distraught and broken. Dabi would love nothing more than to make him feel worse. So he does.

He tosses you to the ground and listens to you whine in pain, and laughs as the sound is replaced by the whimpers of someone whose respite was stolen from their grasp, and he cackles as the baker's boy tries desperately to free himself from Dabi's telekinetic hold to save you.

"It's no use, stupid boy," Dabi explains with a smirk as he kneels behind your form, drags your body upward so he can free your flesh from the confines of your tattered, bloodstained nightdress, and he laughs as your naked flesh trembles in the cold of night, and the loss of so much blood that makes you so much paler than you should be. "She'll beg for more, until she dies from the blood loss – and you're stuck where you are, until I loose my grasp on your body. My magic is stronger than your pathetic love for her."

"She's not your toy!"

"And she's not your property, hmm?" Dabi coos, and you mewl as his huge hands cup your breasts and he tugs your body toward him so you lean your back on him, and he angles you so he can lick a stripe up your ribcage before grazing his teeth along the side of your breast, "Unless you paid for her?"

"I… didn't."

Dabi laughs, and you squeak out pathetically as his sharp teeth sink into your breast mercilessly, and the baker boy's eyes water as he watches in fear the way you lose yourself in the vampire's grasp. He knows you won't survive, knows you won't make it til dawn, but a part of him is thick with hope that he, himself, might. Maybe he can outlive your captor, stake his heart and –

Dabi practically moans, and the baker's eyes go wide at the sight of your hand wrapping around the vampire's girth, stroking his cock in his lap and whimpering as you beg him for more of it, for more of him – "Please, just a little more, I'm so close, just give me some more —"

"Greedy," Dabi coos into your flesh, and the baker gulps as he realises just how much blood you must've already lost. "Let's show the priest's boy just how good I can make you feel, then, hmm?"

You're on all fours in a moment, mere inches from the baker boy's face, and he looks on in horror as Dabi's cock slots itself right back between your folds and he fucks into you until you quiver and shake, screaming like a pig at just how good you feel with his venom running through your veins and his length inside you – but his eyes drift between your flesh, draining of colour, and Dabi's, slowly turning more and more… humane, persé.

"So good!" you cry out, "Please, Dabi! Use me more! All of me is yours!"

Your cunt quivers around his thick girth, and Dabi groans out as he fucks you stupid, listening to your noises and your squeals, but watching the stupid boy intently all the while, waiting for the fire in his heart to die. Surely, the boy's courage will waver when he watches you cum? Surely, the boy will realise there is no saving you, and accept that your fate is either death or eternal damnation?

"Stop it," the boy whispers, and his eyes are red as the tears streak down his face, but he has not lost his will to save you – typical, Dabi thinks, as all men of the age seem to believe damsels in distress should be rescued.

"Harder! Dabi… oh, faster!" you cry out, but your voice has weakened and your volume wavers as you yell, and as Dabi leans in close to the skin of your back for another bite, another drink as his cock sinks deeper and deeper into you with every thrust, he catches a whiff of a scent he knows all too well, sitting right beneath your flesh. The scent of disappointment.

"Cum for me," he orders you, as he rests a hand hard on the flesh of your shoulder, and his eyes turn harsher in the sight of the boy before the two of you.

"I-I c-can't…"

The boy can see the reason why, too.

"You're dying," he whispers to you, hoarse and pathetic, "please – make him stop!"

"It's time to cum," Dabi presses, his other hand drifting down to draw soft, slow circles around your clit as your weak arms drop and your form falls to the sandy ground, shivering in the wake of his touch, "don't waste my time."

But you give out one last loud cry, before your breath turns ragged and your chest begins to heave – you have nothing left to give, and Dabi can sense it. He growls out, annoyed, and reaches for your neck the second he unsheathes his cock from you, and speaks in a low, demonic growl.

"Pathetic, weak mortal woman," he chides you, and his eyes return from cyan to red as he speaks, "I was wrong to suspect you'd be able to change anything, to give me any more than the rest – you are as useless as every other sacrificial lamb before you."

"Please," you whisper, voice broken and hoarse, but you've no clue what you're begging for – and he rolls his eyes this time, before he stands up, bringing your pathetic, limp form with him. He carries you like you weigh naught but an ounce.

"You disappointed me," he says to your body, floppy and weak as your eyes flutter shut and your breath grows gradually weaker, as he walks you back to the altar, and the baker's eyes go wide at the threat of what he may watch the vampire do to you. "I had higher hopes for you than for the last few."

"Stop it!" he yells.

"But that's hardly anything new – they always disappoint me," Dabi continues, and your eyes slide shut, fluttering for a moment.

"Don't do it! Not to her!"

Dabi chuckles, and he glances over his shoulder as his hand begins to tighten around your neck, ready to pop your head clean off your shoulders as he says, "What will you do to me if I ignore you, boy? Bake me some bread?"

"I-I'll…" he starts, in retaliation, but nothing comes from his lips but a string of sobs as a crack! fills the clearing. He stares in horror at your corpse, and how the vampire callously disposes of you in two parts, filling a hole with your remains.

"Now," Dabi sighs, dusting off his hands on his shirt as if he's done measly yardwork, as his eyes cross the clearing to offer a glance at the whimpering baker boy, "It's your turn, yes?"

It's been a good four hundred years now, since Dabi felt the draw of a soul that might be able to handle his curse and share it with him, and not once since has he felt the same way. It's been enough time of roaming the world and learning new skills that Dabi has become wary of things he didn't know he would need to, things he never thought about in the old times. He knows about climate change, about Einstein, about the rise and fall of Twitter, and about the declining popularity of Dracula in fiction. But that isn't what intrigues him anymore.

Now, he's in New York, and he's thinking about his next move. A vampire in the city that never sleeps – ironic, isn't it? Dabi, for one, believes it simply must be as he pulls up a seat at the bar and orders himself a bourbon on the rocks.

He knows the city is looking for him, knows that he's been branded a sicko and a serial killer, but he wonders if your ilk have ever considered that he isn't simply a monster; he has to eat, he has to sate himself somehow – and so what if he kills a few of your kind in the process? He's just doing what you humans do with your livestock.

He sips the bourbon, it stings, makes him nauseous. It must be watered down; high quality bourbon never burns, but he could care less as he glances down at his bruised knuckles and the bloodstains on his dress shirt. Any sane person would've turned him away at the bar the moment he sat down – he looks a mess, like he's already been to three pubs and started five bar fights in one night – but this place is run down. It's cheap. They need the customers, and can't afford to turn even the questionable ones down.

"Another," he calls toward the bartender as he tugs the glass to his lips and chugs the liquid down like a chaser, and the barman nods quickly as Dabi watches him, reaches behind him for the bourbon in question, and stands before his questionable patron with the bottle again.

"More ice?" he asks Dabi as he pours the drink, the man who's covered in scars and the marks of the aftermath of his escape from another of his gruesome kills without so much as an ounce of concern at his appearance, and Dabi shakes his head.

"No – I need the bourbon, not the ice," he clarifies, and his cyan eyes burn into the barman's as he says it, offering a sly smirk as he drops enough cash on the counter to pay for another few drinks after this one. He'll be drinking for a while.

"Yessir," his bartender affirms, and without so much as another word, continues to serve him without fail.

Dabi feels curious, watching the youngster work his way around the counter. He's diligent, careful, knows when to stop his customers before they've hit their limits, and the vampire is incredibly fascinated by it. He's never seen a man like this one. And he's seen a lot of men.

The barman has a few distinct features about him – blond hair, fair skin, amber eyes – but perhaps the most notable of these features, to Dabi, is his scent. His smell is inviting, with the same effect on the vampire that a steamy cup of hot chocolate might have on a human, calling him in with sweet notes and a musky undercurrent.

Dabi starts to wonder if this is the one he'll devour next – until the door dings, a new entrant in the pub giggling as she presses her cellphone to her ear and chats away with someone. Her scent wafts through the room, and Dabi can taste it as it curls around him, wraps tendrils around his throat and creeps into his nostrils slowly, teasingly, making him drool and his fangs drip with venom.

It's her that he wants now, and he decides quickly as he chugs down the rest of his bourbon so that the sting accompanies the burning sensation of his unholy gaze on your flesh, and he watches her every move. He watches the way she slings her pretty coat over the back of a barstool, the way she gracefully sits down. He admires every inch of her confidence, because he can tell she works hard to be able to show it off.

She's sweet, too, he can tell from the way she smiles as she speaks to the person she's calling, a real, true people-pleaser. That will come in handy later, if he chooses her. He likes her smile. He likes the way she giggles. God, he loves the way she flexes her fingers across the specials menu and makes an order for something cheap, something to take the edge off the day she's had.

He could take the edge off her just as easily.

He waves the barman over before he has the chance to offer her a card machine to make her payment, and with a charismatic chuckle, he tells the man that her drinks are on him. And then, dramatically, he drops a few more crisp bills on the bar. He's lucky the barman doesn't question the blood spattered on one note, not his intentions with the woman.

He walks over to her with a smirk, devious as he takes the seat beside her this time, and she giggles as she ends her phone call to lock eyes with him. And his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as soon as she speaks, when nearly four hundred years worth of memories wash over him like some insane realisation.

"Hello there," she says, enunciating every syllable carefully and grinning like a Cheshire cat, "Dabi."

"So you survived after all," the demon chuckles, reaches for what he now notes is your neck, and caresses the flesh tenderly, warmly, like an age-old lover might. "I never knew – but perhaps I should've, hmm?"

Flashes of memory flicker in his cold eyes, of a midnight he'd arrived in that village to collect his due, another virgin in the dark of night – but instead he'd been greeted by ash and fog, the village burned to a crisp with not one survivor. The bones of the villagers who'd worshipped him so, painstakingly arranged in an eternal freeze-frame of what must've been the most torturous massacre by arson in the time period.

"You really showed them not to play god, didn't you?" he coos, and as his thumb toys with your chin, you grimace.

"They deserved worse than they got from me," you huff, tearing yourself from his grasp, "As did you."

And he chuckles, watches how your (e/c) eyes sparkle with vengeance and your body brims with the blood from a fresh kill pumping through your veins, giving your undead corpse life so that you may present yourself to him that way. It's then that a cocky grin graces his lips and he shows you his fangs.

"I never did get your name."

"You never asked," you spit under your breath, and he sees the way your body gardens with a hostility he admires. "You were otherwise occupied with my body."

"Four hundred years," he sighs, and a playful smirk graces his lips, "and you've just now tracked me down. Has your anger kept you warm through all those winters?"

"Anger?" you scoff, baffled by his nonchalance. You stand, and your eyes burn into his skull as you glare into his turquoise orbs, "Anger has never warmed me – it's only ever been the hope for vengeance that's kept me warm at night, Dabi."

"And the fire," he jests, and you frown tremendously at the statement.

He's not wrong, of course – you can remember waking, the night your body had returned to life with a shuddering gasp, only for every inch of your flesh to burn with an immense desire for vengeance, an immense hatred for the people that had put you in the ground. And after clawing your way out from your grave, you'd risen to exact that vengeance.

You had a list: The priest, the vampire, but most of all, the mother who'd let it happen.

With naught but your hatred to guide your movements, you'd made for the town on wobbly legs. It was dark out, cold, but you paused for nothing in your journey, until you found yourself in the square, and with a lit torch in-hand, you exacted your revenge on the townsfolk, burning them all in their pathetic church, where they were holed up celebrating their fertile land.

You hadn't stopped there, either, not when they'd wronged you so terribly. And not when a thirst, a hunger, overcame you at the scent of blood and flesh.

You'd sought out your mother, the woman who was hiding in a room, praying to the monster that had put you in the ground. You could hear her chanting, her sobbing, her whimpering. It disgusted you, terribly, so much so that you tore through the home you'd once called your own and picked her up with your bare hands and threw her to the floor, screaming into her blanched face and demanding an apology, and when none came…

Her blood had sated your first thirst. Her body burning, your second.

"And," you say, eyes slitted and body hot with anger, as you lock eyes with Dabi, "the fire."

When you reach forward with one hand, grasping onto the vampire's thigh, he barely takes note and scoffs at what he assumes is your promiscuity – you fit in with the modern age, that he believes wholeheartedly, naively. Your form is perfectly complimented by your outfit, by your makeup, by your aura, and you fit perfectly in the little pub.

"What do you say, we get out of here?" you ask him, and he chuckles but fails to note the look on your face, the look of a woman with a plan.

"Sure thing," he says, voice low and sultry. "Wanna redo our last night together, hmm?"

You laugh like he's told you a joke, and you nod, a mischievous smirk gracing your features as you agree – but really, your stomach twists in disgust as flickers of the last night you'd spent with him flit through your vision. Why you would laugh sincerely, why you would agree excitedly, you don't know – and you don't understand why he doesn't even question your lack of hesitance.

"Let's go, hmm?" he suggests.

And he stands up in a moment, reaching out for your hand to tug you along. Just like that, you follow the monster out of the bar. You're patient, letting him lead you down an alleyway and giggling like a little girl as he pushes you against a wall with the strength of five men, so hard your skull beats against brick but you don't flinch at the impact.

"Oh, you wanna play rough?" you tease him as he hikes one of your legs up his side, a hand delving under your skirt, and he nods as he presses warm, well-fed lips into your throat.

"Fuck, yeah," he huffs, and you giggle at the lust that burns primally in his eyes and in his breath as it hits your throat.

"Okay," you coo, and you grin as he retracts his head to stare down at you, your hands tenderly reaching up to grasp his jaw on either side with animalistic claws that lengthen as your eyes shift in colour, glowing neon under the pale moonlight. "Then let's play rough, hmm?"

He smiles down at you, and you can barely believe he's the same man, no, the same demon he was before – but it doesn't matter, not really. Not when your cold heart suddenly beats again with a force like no other, with a purpose like none before.

"You're beautiful," he tells you, and he's serious. And you flinch from the sound of the words rolling so smoothly off his foul, sinful tongue.

You smile, and you mouth an insincere "thank you" before you pull his head to his chest and twist, violently and urgently with the strength only a demon could manage, until you hear the click of his spine from the pure force of the motion. And then you pull, hard and fast, until you hear the rest of his body flop to the ground, and your eyes flick up to the head of the monster that you hold in your hands.

"Four hundred years," you say softly as you eye the cyan orbs that stare lifelessly at you. "I stalked you for four hundred years, Dabi…"

You chuckle, and a relieved tear slips from your eye as you grip onto his hair with your right hand, dropping the head to your side where it dangles pathetically, and you step back to admire the limp pile of limbs that the rest of him has become on the ground underneath you. It's a pathetic sight, seeing the object of four hundred years of rage finally fallen to ruin.

"What perfect prey you were," you say, smiling.

Artfully, you swipe a bloody hand over the spot of your neck where the monster had kissed you, leaving it smeared with the fruit of your vengeance as you giggle, and you walk away leaving his body behind. The scent of him, a predator and a monster, wafts around you and filters through your lungs, smells of relief and of freedom.

After all, if you have his head, he'll stay dead as a doornail until you put him back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

bunny's taglist: @bihwhatever2 @mssuguru @feral-creep @thechroniclesofawriter @xsmilesx @kat-sukiii @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @obeythemasters @aeanya @softkao @ccoralineee @blaize-hewwo

Love Bites Masterlist

You gave Toji Fushiguro a sweet tooth he doesn't want to get rid of.

Baker Fem Reader x Toji Fushiguro (mafia/yakuza au)

tags: Fluff, grumpy x sunshine, found family, a little angsty but nothing too bad, marriage proposal, established relationship, (last chapter only: kitchen sex, creampie, oral- fem receiving, other sexxy funtime stuff)

word ct: 15.1k, 11 Chapters

Chapter One: Apple Cinnamon Spice

Chapter Two: Chimayo Chai

Chapter Three: Mint Chocolate Chip

Chapter Four: Apple Cider

Chapter Five: Pumpkin Spice

Chapter Six: Warm Water

Chapter Seven: Eggnog

Chapter Eight: Sparkling Juice

Chapter Nine: Mint Chocolate Chip Pt. 2

Chapter Ten: Yes

*Bonus!!*

*nsfw

M.list || Ao3 || Twitter || Ko-fi

Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown | Katsuki Bakugo x fem reader

synopsis: Being the Princess meant you were arranged to marry Prince Ito of the conjoining island for the sake of the kingdom, but the last thing you want is to marry someone you don’t love, and your other suitor isn’t someone your parents approve, but how can anyone stop true love from blooming? | wc: 6.9k

tags: 18+ ONLY content + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + not beta read + repost from my old blog + slow burn + no quirks au + forbidden love + talks about running away and doing it + I’m not well versed in the royal au but I did read up on it + enemies to lovers au but I skip them being enemies which you will see what I mean lol + prince Ito is an OC I just came up with and he’s an ass and is misogynistic + fem pet names + any missing tag pls lmk! + virginity loss for both parties + explicit smut + fingering + unprotected sex + creampie + oral both for you and Katsuki + teasing + fluffy smut + cum eating + slight dirty talking + blood because of v loss + finger sucking + praising + breast/nipple play + Katsuki is soft and maybe ooc + overstim + I think that’s all! + again lmk any missing tag(s)!

Boring and stuffy is exactly how you would describe the scene unfolding in front of you, your parent’s ballroom is chock-full of pretentious people who fall in line with your mother and father.

The pair you despise because while you’re their daughter they have never looked at you like that before, it was always: what can you do to make their lives better? Never the other way around. 

Thoughts of your childhood disappeared like a bubble being popped when you heard someone clear their throat, you turned to look who it was, an insult dripping off your tongue when you came face to face with Prince Ito, the man you were set to marry to better the Kingdom and knew it was best to keep your mouth shut. 

You wanted to bite your lip, not in a sexy way either, but one that showed you were on your last nerve. He looked at you with confusion clouding his eyes and a slight smirk as to say ‘You’re stuck with me’ as his hand slipped into yours. 

“We’re supposed to be getting married, so well to remember that my dear.” 

Oh, how you wanted to regurgitate your dinner all over his shoes. Your eyes drifted around the packed room in an effort to ignore him, everyone was dressed in suffocating clothes, even you. 

It felt like hell, the temperature of what felt like flames licking the cream-colored walls, bits of gold and warm tones drowned out everything but the piano music in the corner. 

The feeling of so many bodies also added to the hellish feeling, and the damn dress you had to wear was so tight you were sure your ribs were cracking with each inhale. 

That even grated your already fried nerves feeling your soon-to-be husband pulling you closer, instantly you pulled away catching the gaze of your other courtship, the forbidden man you kept close to your heart. 

Katsuki Bakugo, the man that deep down in every crevice of your heart is your soulmate, you just haven’t told him yet, it was a delicate matter at hand truly.  

You looked at the brown-haired man and suppressed an eye roll, his eyes roamed your body greedily no doubt wondering just when he got to rip your dress off. 

He was someone your parents chose, someone who thought he was king shit of turd island, that made you smile at the mental joke. “Ready to dance?” He asked. 

Again you glanced over toward Katsuki’s direction not seeing him anymore, you hummed in disappointment sweeping the room and not seeing him still but you remembered what he looked like, you always would no matter what. 

Tonight he donned a dark gray suit, notes of red and dark green peeked out between the contrast of the three colors, it hugged him well, not like a second skin but enough to show off the muscles he worked hard for and the scars that littered his body. 

His blonde hair was a mess as always, pieces of it always stuck up like he was in a strong wind tunnel, another thing that made you break out in a grin, the man next to you cleared his throat clearing growing irritated with you ignoring him. 

“We need to show to our parents that we’re a right fit, you-” 

You turned on your heel wanting to stomp on his foot but instead, you forced a smile and nodded, knowing that if you had to open your mouth insults would just fly out instead, his hand was so sweaty it made you feel gross to even hold. 

Prince Ito made his way through the people that instantly parted letting you two through, he really wasn’t a prince to you anyway, just another whiny man-child whose family came from the other island that was situated next to your parents. The land didn’t belong to them, or anyone really in your opinion. 

But it didn’t matter, you were a good they could trade to better their lives, your life was at stake pretty much, honestly, at times you felt no better than the hard pieces of bread that the island’s trade, one has more fruits and grains than the other and the Ito island has oil and the vegetables, so a lot of trading was done. 

Even your own life was something that was traded, your family could produce an heir for his family, and yours and his parents were like yours, however, you and your wanna-be husband felt very different about that. He basked in the glow of being the only child, his pompous attitude made you ill and your eyes roll. 

“What has your attention my sugarplum?” Ito asked as he tugged you to the middle of the floor, bodies made their way to the side to let you both dance, his hand clasped yours never letting go, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist keeping you pinned against him. 

The use of the nickname was enough to make you visibly roll your eyes this time catching him off guard. If anything, you both need to keep a clean image, not a princess who would roll her eyes and defies the man. “Sorry, and nothing does. I’m just getting a bit famished.” 

“Well, in that case, I have a stick of meat that could fill you.” His hands slid down to your ass cupping the flesh, or well what he thought it was, most of it was your damn dress that he bunched up making you very uncomfortable. 

Your lips curled in disgust, and your free hand came to stop on his chest pushing him away to get some fresh air, and not his rancid breath filling your nostrils, it wasn’t awful smelling, it was the vibe you got from him that was musty and each time he opened his mouth it poured out. 

Ito growled low in his throat, which was meant to come across as a warning of sorts but all it did was make you angrier, and just about as you were to say something you felt Katsuki step behind you, his scent instantly calming. 

“I think the princess doesn’t want to dance with you anymore, Prince Handsy.” He muttered in a low tone that made you shiver. 

It wasn’t a death threat which is something he throws out to anyone who inconveniences you, his fiery eyes never left the other man who stared back. It was a warning for now. 

Before you or Ito could say anything, Katsuki removed you from his grip and out of the ballroom letting you melt against him, his back pressed against the wall as you all but tried to merge with him. “Thank you for that, he was getting on my nerves.” 

“I could tell, sugarplum,” He teased with a smirk as he stared at you, the words on the tip of his tongue, the ones you so desperately wanted to spill like ink on paper, the both of you know that him being nothing but a royal guard for your family and you the princess it would never be approved. 

But that didn’t stop you, Katsuki has been by your side since you were both children, you met him outside of the gates the one day you were able to slip away from the guards, at seven years old it wasn’t hard to fit it when you did get free. 

Just as soon as you walked into the mouth of the town, with dusty cobbled roads and people milling about buying and trading goods,  someone ran into you, a blonde boy around your age chasing two boys, one with red hair and the other with black and green hair. 

Blondie was yelling at the two-toned boy, something about him being a loser or to that effect while swinging his toy sword around in triumph. 

His lips curled almost in disgust when you approached them ready to join in, other children weren’t invited into the kingdom so the life you led thus far has been extremely lonely. 

“We don’t play with girls.” Blondie snarled holding a wooden sword, his tattered clothes held a belt around his waist. 

“I can tell, no need to be rude about it. Scared a girl is going to kick your butt?” You spit glaring at him as you grabbed the Red’s sword from his hands, his small mouth popping open staring at you getting into a fighting stance. 

Red opened his mouth ready to say something before you drew the toy with a wide grin setting it against Blondie’s neck, his vermillion eyes swept over your whole body taking in your appearance, it was clear you belonged inside the gates and not out and Katsuki knew.

“No, I’m not, but you need to scram princess before you get hurt.” 

Both of you were caught in a stare-off, everything around you melted away as you took in his appearance, dirt streaked through his hair and on his cheeks, it was just as clear that he was a family that lived far away from the castle gates, and that made you angry. 

Not at him, but at your parents and all the adults who think this is okay, something you really can’t fight about now but now with the judging stare from Blondie it made you angrier, just as you opened your mouth to say something you were picked up and escorted back home. 

The Queen made sure her servants scolded you instead, but all they did was make sure you were washed up and ready to go in the morning for some type of benefit the King threw. 

Then a year later little Blondie came into the kingdom after losing his village and was raised as a royal guard, mostly to you due to how close you two were in age. 

Now that you and Katsuki are in your mid-twenties the tension of being enemies melted away, but not all of it. Sometimes you two still nipped at each other. 

But right now all you could focus on was being with Katsuki like this, his arms wrapped around your waist letting you sag against him. “I really don’t want to marry him, he’s no better than the cow pies in the fields.” 

“Cow pies? You mean shit. Prince Idiot is pure flaming hot-” 

You slapped your hand over his mouth hearing footsteps down the hall, fear wrapped around your spine like a frozen hand. No doubt it was the other guards, the ones who were under your parent’s thumb, unlike the man you were pressed against right now staring at you intently. 

Do you understand that Katsuki would run away with you? He’d never let you go without, even though it won’t be in the kingdom he still wanted to care for you. He could hear the hushed tones of the men, your name making you curl more into him scared they’ll find you. 

He wanted nothing more than to grab their heads and knock them together, anything that caused you stress weighed on him too, a much different person he’s become Katsuki thought as his fingers curled in your dress kissing your forehead. “Shh.” He told you before stepping out of the shadows. 

“She isn’t over in this area, I thought I saw her but it was a dead lead,” Katsuki told them, his voice never wavered or showed he was lying, you watched him drinking him in, the way he all but towered over a lot of people including you, tall and just there. He’s the best guard to have. 

One guard nodded while the others looked at him with curious looks, of course, it wasn’t a secret but to you and Katsuki that you two were madly in love, everyone could tell, however, it was still not seen by each other for some reason you were both blinded by it. 

Once they turned and left back to the ballroom to report to your parents you stepped out of the shadows to envelop Katsuki in a tight hug, his arms quickly wrapped around you not really wanting to let go just yet, you both stood there in the large hallway in a warm embrace. 

He smelt like warmth and spices, along with an earthy undertone that made you want to run away with him to the forest, the both of you could easily make a home and you would do it in a heartbeat, Katsuki means way too much to you to let go, you buried your face in him before stepping away looking at him, the charged gaze made you almost beg for a kiss. 

Instead, you slipped your hand in his and kissed his gloved-clad one. “I should get back, but I promise to see you later.” You left him with a kiss on the cheek before turning away feeling the sting of tears knowing he doesn’t see you the way you see him, he thinks of you like a sister or the annoying Princess he has to babysit. 

Katsuki stood rooted in his place growing angry at himself, sure, he was brash and crude and had not a problem telling anyone off but when it came to his feelings he choked on them because he was terrified you’d laugh at him when he confessed. That’s something he’s not sure he would be able to handle. 

He hasn’t even kissed anyone else, you’re literally his first for everything, and by kissing it’s just a peck on the forehead from him and you always leave a lipstick print on his cheek or sometimes you’ll hold his head and give him a forehead smooch. 

You always left him with something, whether it is a hug, kiss, some type of gift or even just patting his hand there was always something that left him wondering about you during the night, sometimes he’d touch himself just like you do but that was a secret you’d both die with before telling each other or anyone else. 

Thankfully, he was a few rooms down from you in case something happened and he can reach you, and it’s shocking that your parents would let him because they sense the relationship that has been blooming since childhood, but Katsuki is the only person who would protect you this fiercely. 

With a great sigh, he entered the ballroom again, his stupid outfit made him itch all over, it wasn’t his usual uniform but a suit to make him blend in a bit better with the crowd, but everyone knew who he was, it was very obvious uniform or not. 

Katsuki watched you with him, Ito’s arm around your waist keeping you flush against him, his other hand holding yours in a tight hold making sure you didn’t leave him, the possessive gesture made his blood boil, but he knew it wasn’t the right time to say anything or do something. 

He wasn’t even sure if you felt the same way he did, so all Katsuki did was lean against the wall watching the other people dance, his red eyes swept over everyone keeping his gaze still on you mostly, it was clear you were uncomfortable. 

Your eyebrows were pinched in the middle and your lips were in a thin line pressing them together, he knew you were irritated and not very happy about dancing with him this close, the asshole thought he knew you from head to toe. 

Ito attempted to make a joke he heard when he came closer, the smell of your heavy perfume only worn by you made his stomach erupt with a million butterflies it felt like, their soft wings brushing against each other, if anyone else wore it, it made him sick. 

Your eyes connected with his in a heated gaze looking at him with a soft smile, the look Ito caught on made him curl his fingers under your chin turning you to face him with a sick smile, his lips were cracked and you swore you smelt the evil from him. 

“Why do you keep looking at everyone but me? I’m the only man you need to be staring at.” 

Sickness crept up your throat as his eyes burned into yours with such intensity, there was something that made a chill rack your body, just when you opened your mouth to reply your Father interrupted. 

“We need you two to come to the front please, it’s time to announce the marriage between him and you to the Kingdom.” 

Your heart dropped all the way to your stomach, dread replaced everything you felt, and the reality of the situation is coming to a head, once that is announced what was happening you knew it would be harder to get out of, and if you left you’d be shunned from the Kingdom and your parents. 

Ito smiled and squeezed your hand with a sicker grin, the gleam in his eyes reminded you of a demon that terrorized the village well before you were born but the pictures and stories that were passed down by each generation were fresh in your mind. 

“Can you please give me a moment? I’d like to freshen up before we do anything.” You asked with a soft smile, it hurt to force it but thankfully neither Ito or your Father could tell, even when they watched you walk to Katsuki to ask him to walk you to your room. 

Once you both were out of the ballroom and out of ear shop from people you slid your hand in his. “We’re leaving right now, my dad wants to announce the marriage between us and I can’t do it, I won’t. I refuse to end up miserable like my mom.” 

Katsuki watched you with a smirk as he followed you to your room, after the door was shut you looked around taking it in once more, the room that has housed you for the past twenty-some years is now held so many memories. 

It made your heart crack a bit, and tears stung your eyes but you buried that for a moment and packed a small basket you kept under your bed away from prying eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Katsuki asked taking things he could sell. 

There was no way in hell he was going to leave you alone and you knew that. “Yes, this is hell on earth and I don’t want to be a Queen, I can’t do what they do, and know what I know. When I first met you-” You stopped mid-sentence and sighed. 

He sat on the edge of your bed watching you intently, his lips pressed in a thin line like yours were earlier, you knew he was chewing on his next sentence holding the things in his bag that sat in his lap before helping you pack the nightgowns. 

All your other dresses wouldn’t fit in and the last thing you want is to wear them anymore, now it is time for you to live your life. The way you want to, and it wouldn’t matter if you tried to set new rules, they would be overruled by King Ito. 

The thought of what was to come made you shiver. “Thank you, Kats, I really do appreciate what you’re doing.” You told him finishing up your packing. 

“Don’t thank me and don’t call me that, I told you that before.” He grumbled standing up, but you knew he was joking a bit, his nickname as a kid made him think about the way he feels about you, and now is not the time. 

Quickly you both finished up and got everything ready, briefly Katsuki wondered why anyone hasn’t come to get you yet but they think he’s helping you. 

Oh, is he really helping you with everything you need. He peeked his head out of your door turning his head side to side and sweeping the empty halls, he strained to listen for footsteps. 

Silence only greeted him, giving you both one minute to sneak down to the door that led outside from the lower level, it was a secret you discovered years ago. 

Katsuki held your hand tight leading you down the flight of steps, momentarily pressing yourselves against the wall hearing voices carry down the stone hall. 

“Make sure to stay hidden.” He reminded you giving your hand a light squeeze while glancing back at you, quickly you fixed the silk around your head covering most of your face up. 

You nodded staying silent but only to take a deep breath in when you stepped outside, the sun instantly warmed you up, and the free feeling you got only amplified. 

“Go look for her!” Both of you heard a voice cry out, thankfully now under the bridge so no one could see you watching a few guards and your mom and dad, then of course, Ito was standing in front of everyone with his arms crossed over his chest looking like an angry child. 

You giggled a bit catching Katsuki’s attention who looked over at you with furrowed eyebrows, his hand coming up to muffle your laughter at the supposed man who you were set to marry, his face screwed up and red as he sputtered out more threats and demanded they find you. 

After you removed his hand away from his mouth you turned around to face the wall, looking behind your shoulder at him, the way your lips parted made his cock twitch in his pants as you smiled softly. “Please unlace this, I am dying and I can’t breathe in this stupid thing.” 

Katsuki stepped closer to you, his gloved fingers untying the silk watching you inhale deeply, the charged air around you two crackled with sensual and high tension, he could smell your sweet shampoo and you, his musk, how bad you wanted to turn, and kiss him sat in your stomach like a rock. 

“Thanks, Kats, I appreciate you and this too.” His mouth was open ready to snap at you until you turned around to stare at him, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes with a sad smile, and he thought it was because you were going to miss your family, but that was the least of your worries. 

He opened his arms letting you settle in them melting against him. “You’re my favorite pain in the ass, you know?” Katsuki said looking at you, fire dancing in his vermillion eyes. 

“I hope I’m the only pain in your ass, otherwise what would be the point?” You asked in a teasing tone batting your heavy lashes and hearing the people fade away from the bridge, most likely going back to check the castle again, the sad look you held now faded. 

An hour later you both didn’t hear anything, not even people walking over the bridge, Katsuki told you to wait there while he checked, thankfully no one was around when he helped you up the grassy cliff and quickly drag you to the edge of the forest, the sun setting cast a shadow over you both. 

“I found a small house when I was exploring and over the last few months I made sure to add some fire logs and clean it up for us,” Katsuki told you getting past the mouth of trees, it was a plan set in stone the moment you turned ten, the age you were told about marrying Ito. 

Hand in hand you walked close to him using him for warmth and comfort glancing around the  bare trees, it was beginning to get cooler and the trees were now losing their buds, the warm air becoming rigid. “This is why you’re my favorite pain in the ass.” 

Katsuki chuckled and rolled his eyes huffing a bit at the compliment, he stayed silent the entire walk never letting go of your hand as he led you to the small house, more like a cabin that has been sitting there unoccupied until now, thankfully he cleaned all the spiderwebs and stuff up. 

The sun dipped almost to the horizon by the time you both reached the front door, sweat beaded along your nape watching Katsuki toe the heavy wood open letting you in first taking in your new living situation, everything was in the big square, minus the bathroom thankfully. 

A huge bay window faced the back of the house giving you a clear view of the tall trees, you dropped the bag and began to undress yourself down to the thin slip you wore under all the layers before sitting on the creaky bed, the springs groaning under your weight. 

Katsuki watched you with heated eyes, it was not the time to pop a boner but it couldn’t be helped seeing you flop on your back, the bottom hem of your dress rolling up to your mid-thigh. “This is so much better than that castle, it was so stuffy and miserable there, the ghosts haunting us.” You murmured out loud staring up at the wooden ceiling noting the decay. 

“You really still think ghosts roamed those halls?” He asked kicking his heavy boots off before moving to the fireplace and setting it up, the fire crackling instantly warming up the small room Katsuki sat in front of it removing his gloves and hearing the bed creak as you rolled to your side. 

“Yep,” You popped the p and sat up crossing your legs, “I sure do, you’ve heard all the stories they told us and everything that’s been going on, all of the people who lived there I believe are condemned to stay there forever, why should their souls rest when they put our people through hell? I can’t be the Queen for that reason, let alone Ito’s wife.” 

You spit venom saying his name, the feeling of his creepy stare and his hands made you ill thinking about it. “I understand, and you’re-” Katsuki cut off swallowing his tongue, the confession almost spilled from his lips. 

“I’m what?” You asked getting off the bed to walk over to him crouching down next to him, your head laying on his back before wrapping your arms around him, the feeling of your touch made his heart jump to his throat. 

“Nothing, you need a bath though. You stink.” He murmured changing the topic and lucky for him it worked this time, you giggled and smacked his shoulder gently knowing standing up and grabbing your basket of clothes and washes. 

Katsuki joined you pulling his gloves back on before opening the door and holding his hand out for you, it was an unspoken agreement just in case something happens and he feels better knowing he can protect you if something happens. 

Thankfully it was only a short walk to the clear creek that ran between several trees packed together, the cool wind bit at you but it felt nice being in the cramped room, and you knew your nipples were pebbled and rubbing against your silk slip, the moonlight was perfect this evening giving him a clear view of you. 

Katsuki did everything not to look, he doesn’t want to think of himself as someone like Ito knowing he would stare without a care in the world. “Are you just going to watch?” You asked with a sly smile setting the woven basket down and watching him turn his back to you shaking his head. 

“No, I’m not a creep. Just hurry up woman.” He mumbled crossing his arms over his chest and listening to you slip into the cold water, you gasped at the sensation and splashed around the water once you got used to it. 

Katsuki never once turned to look, even though his heart was beating a bit too fast for him and the fact that his dick had a mind of its own getting hard, the tip leaky and sticky in his pants made it uncomfortable and shameful. Being a virgin at this age was embarrassing enough. 

He wanted to palm himself in the worst way possible, it was difficult not to, especially when he glanced back at the same time you came back up breaking the water’s surface, your skin bare to his eyes feasting on you, water dripped down your face like it was his favorite wet dream. 

“Are you watching your best friend bathe? You little pervert.” You teased splashing water over the muddy sides of the creek with a smirk, it warmed you more than anything knowing he wanted to stare, you could read him like an open book now and the thought of him liking you more than friends was enough to get out and dry off then get dressed. 

Katsuki ignored you and your antics knowing if he spoke it would come out hoarse, thick with desire then he felt your hand slide in his before walking back to the house, the moon high and bright giving you both plenty of light to guide you both back where he locked every window up. 

Once you were warmed up and dried off you slid in the bed with Katsuki watching him sit on the side, his ass almost hanging off while he was still fully dressed, boots including. “Are you going to sleep in your clothes? You’re wearing leather and it doesn’t look comfortable.” 

“I’m fine,” He mumbled causing you to frown, he went rigid feeling you crawl over to him kneeling behind him, your fingers dancing over his broad shoulders as you leaned in kissing his cheek and shaking your head. 

“Don’t be scared, it’s not like I haven’t seen you almost naked anyway.” You murmured in a teasing voice, your lips pressed against the shell, and while you couldn’t see the goosebumps raising over him you knew they were by the way he shivered. 

Katsuki growled softly when your fingers slid down his chest now pressing your chest against his back, his hands coming up to yours stopping them. “I-” His voice was strained as he stayed still looking down at the floor. 

It’s now or never you thought feeling warmth trickle through you. “I love you Katsuki, so much, I harbored these feelings for long enough now I think and you helped me through everything. We fought at times and got on each other’s nerves but I don’t want anyone but you.” 

He turned his head to stare at you, his own words dying on his tongue and instead of speaking them Katsuki leaned in and kissed you, his lips sought yours in a tender meeting that slowly grew needy until you were seated in his lap, your tongues tangled together now. 

It was sloppy with your arms wrapped around his neck, the bottom hem of your slip rolled up to your thighs as you grabbed his left wrist holding his hand to your swollen lips staring at him with lust-blown pupils bitting down on the leather removing his glove before moving to the other one. 

Katsuki thought his dick was going to explode right then and there feeling the warmth of your bare pussy soaking into his pants, your eyes trained on his and half-lidded as you leaned back in to kiss him again swiping your tongue between his lips before pecking them several times. 

“I’m a virgin.” You whispered against his lips. Now he was sure it would explode. Your confession set his heart on fire, he was sure this was your first kiss just like him, the both of you took the time to explore each other’s bodies, first, you removed his gloves then his leather jacket and shirt running your open palms over his chest and stomach. 

Katsuki laid on his back letting you straddle him, his own fingers tracing up and down your arms eliciting goosebumps as he pulled the straps of your dress down baring your breasts to him, the fire crackled in the background but you still heard him suck in a deep breath as he cupped the flesh. 

He palmed them at first before running his hands up and down your sides, then back to your breasts and shoulders, everywhere he touched left a trail of fire and desire, needy you leaned down kissing him again letting him hold your hips tightly grinding you against him. 

“I’ve always thought about this Kats, you’re much better than my dreams.” You whispered in his ear trailing kisses all over his face and neck that you littered with love bites, he stared at you with pink cheeks as he huffed before quickly flipping you to your back. 

He grunted in response settling himself between your spread legs. “Lift that pretty ass of yours up.” You were quick to listen lifting your hips and butt up watching him shimmy off your slip, his vermillion eyes feasted upon your naked form just as you did the same thing. 

Katsuki had no idea what to do, his first action was kissing your thighs nibbling a bit, he listened to your moans and pleas and how you fisted the sheet wanting him to kiss you where it really mattered. His tongue lolled out once he was face to face with your slick pussy. 

He inhaled your musk deeply making sure to ingrain it inside him, he wanted to devour you, the woman who put the sun and moons in the sky for him, the only person who understand the broken part of him, you always saw him as who he is and never what he pretended to be. 

Your fingers curled in his blonde locks when he licked a wide stripe up your pussy from your fluttering hole all the way up to your clit which he sucked in at first before swirling the tip of his tongue around the bud, he still wasn’t sure if this was okay but judging from your sounds it was. 

Never has anyone told him how to please a woman or anything, but you were such a good teacher, and letting him explore, he pulled away spreading you open. “Ow! Not so rough!” You mewled when he did it a bit too much. 

“Sorry, I’m a virgin too.” He admitted watching you sit up, your eyes filled with hot need, the thought of him giving you something so special caused your heart to swell in your throat, you leaned down and kissed his head before laying back again. 

He continued gaining the courage to rub at your clit, at first he rubbed your left lower labia before letting you move his fingers to the throbbing bud moaning his name over and over until he slowly slid his fingertip inside you. “Holy shit.” Katsuki groaned feeling you tight around him. 

Every piece of you filled the missing pieces of him, all the cracks in his heart you filled with your own love, one of the many things he loved about you, and oh how it grew over the years once you two were over the bickering and knew it was better to get along. 

Now his heart beat just for you, nothing else mattered really to him but to protect you, and his goal was to make sure you didn’t marry Ito and now here you are under him moaning his name fucking yourself back on fingers and humping his mouth. 

It didn’t take him long thankfully in figuring out what you liked and how to make you feel good, his tongue buried in your cunt sucking and licking away the mess you made from the first orgasm that he talked you through. “So good, keep coming for me, sweetheart.” 

Katsuki ground his own hips against the bed fucking the blanket wanting to desperately feel you around him, he just didn’t want to cause you any more pain, he pulled away smelling the heavy sex in the air along with the damp earth undertones. 

He looked down at you with the moonlight washing over him from the bare windows, the fire behind him cast a glow making it look like he was a king and he was, he’s your King. “Katsuki, please, I need you.” You begged with a hoarse voice from the moaning and whimpering. 

Quickly he pulled his fingers out sliding his hand up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. “Part those pretty lips for me.” He demanded in a gentle tone watching your lips open, his fingers pressed in on your tongue. 

Closing your lips around him you held his wrist sucking his fingers clean never breaking his stare while grinding your pussy against his throbbing cock coating the length of him with your slick feeling the tip barely grazing your fluttering hole with a soft sigh. 

“Katsuki - please I wanna taste your dick.” The lewd words spilled from your mouth when he removed his fingers with a groan quickly sitting on his ass and spreading his legs watching you scramble to kneel between his thighs rubbing them. 

He watched you bend at the waist to kiss and lick the head tasting the salty pre-cum, your fingers wrapped around the base giving it experimental jerks of your wrist glancing up at him, his eyes screwed shut, your mouth and hand much better his own palm and thoughts. 

“You look so pretty with my dick like this, I love how you taste too. I-I love you.” Katsuki admitted in a rush of words, he stared at you afraid of your next reaction.

“I would die for you. Kill for you, do anything you asked me to if you found peace or pleasure or whatever else from it. Please, please, let me burn the world around us for you, I never want to leave this place unless it’s with you, you’re my home and heart.” You whispered your own confession. 

Katsuki pushed you on your back again covering his body with yours pressing your legs back and open seeking your mouth in a hot and deep kiss moving his hands to hold yours, fingers intertwining together. “The only peace and pleasure I get are from staring at you, being in your presence is nothing better, all the finest gold in the world has nothing against you.” 

His words swirled in your head as he slowly slid the head of his cock inside you feeling you tighten around him at first trying to push him out, you whined softly wrapping your arms around his neck. “Take me, I know you can, this pussy is mine now and my dick is all for you, so take it the way you were meant to princess.” 

“Oh my, Katsuki!” You yelped when he pushed deeper until he was halfway in he pulled out seeing a thin sheen of blood, the guilt ate at him but feeling you tug on his neck which pulled him away from his thoughts. 

“I’m ok, please don’t stop.” You murmured kissing his jaw with soft kisses as you ground your hips seeking more of him, Katsuki bared his teeth at how tight and wet you were when he bottomed out with a low growl in his throat. 

He stayed still letting you adjust to him, stars burst behind your eyes giving him the last piece of your soul. “I love you Katsuki Bakugo.” You whispered kissing him again in a silent way to tell him it was okay to move. 

Katsuki rocked his hips against yours going slow while reaching his hand down between your bodies to rub at your clit feeling you tighten around him with a loud moan. “I love how your pussy molds to me, told you we were meant to be.” He groaned in your ear picking up the pace. 

Pleasure clouded all thoughts as you ground your hips against him when his mouth latched on your nipple sucking it deep in his mouth fucking you harder now, the only thing you could feel was him, not the warmth from the fire, not the sheets under you or anything else. 

Katsuki has now totally invaded you and everything else, but it was a mutual feeling, the way he kissed every inch of skin while making love to you now, his praises melted and dripped down to the pool of hot desire in your stomach. 

“You will have my last name someday, maybe even soon. Now we can be together, forever.” His forehead rested against yours before he pulled away and out helping you to your hands and knees, the pillow was shoved aside as he slowly thrust back in feeling his orgasm bubble up. 

His hands held your hips in a tight hold bottoming out, he kept a soft pace letting you bounce back against him chasing your own high, his balls tightened when you threw your head back staring at him moaning his name and quickly he came filling you up thick and warm. 

He wasn’t done by any means, once you both came down from the highs he laid on the bed helping you straddle his lap and riding him while holding his hands and grinding your hips down before bouncing up and down and hearing the creaking of the bed fill the small room. 

“Katsuki! You feel so good inside me!” You panted feeling sweat drip down your back while using his cum as lube to sit all the way up leaving just the tip in before slowly dropping back down finding his mouth in a hot kiss fucking him wildly. 

Neither of you was sure how long it was before you both lay next to each other panting and sweating, his cock soft and aching as you rolled to your side curling against him with a soft smile and droopy eyes from exhaustion seeping in. “Let’s do that every night.” 

Katsuki nodded in agreement knowing that you both were finally happy and free together, forever.

ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??

rude boy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks

A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!

In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you. 

word count: almost 3k

Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start. 

That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”

Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?” 

Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued. 

Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”

You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter. 

Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”

You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter. 

“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise. 

The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols. 

You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron. 

The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him. 

“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding. 

As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”

You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”

Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked. 

Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself. 

+

You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members. 

Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in. 

You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period. 

“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape. 

There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance. 

He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing. 

You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder. 

You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”

Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away. 

+

Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.

You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall. 

A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them. 

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”

Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you. 

You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.

Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes. 

You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse. 

“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”

How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?

Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach. 

You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”

It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties. 

His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear. 

Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.

You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation. 

“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you. 

“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm. 

You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure. 

Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.

+

You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body. 

You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was. 

He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours. 

One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”

You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”

“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”

Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”

“Peter-”

Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion. 

When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it. 

He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”

You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard. 

You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”

He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?

Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back. 

You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way. 

“Peter, I’ve never-”

He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.

“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”

“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”

Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”

His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.

“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest. 

Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you. 

When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm. 

“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

Human. 

Peter both desired and despised the feeling. 

+

I hope you enjoyed this! Please be sure to like, reblog and let me know what you think! Check out my harryspetrequests tag for more of my requests and my master list for more dark peter fics!

here r some zukos

Magic Shop || S. Todoroki

Summary:

After 'accidentally' getting cursed, you seek the witch of the forest to fix this problem. Only did you not expect a beautiful man to reside there...

Wordcount: 12.4k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Witch!Todoroki Shoto / GN!Reader

Tags/CW:

witch!shoto, contractual partners to friends to lovers, pining!! lots of pining, aged-up characters, GN reader, honestly mostly vibes in the woods idk what to say, fluff, innuendos, but sfw

Note:

Please note that information about witches may be inaccurate as I was only using my fantasy. And any links are safe!! Also!! This is part of the 'Haunted House Collab' by Willow's House, check out the other works!!

Your hand slaps against the surface of your ringing phone, hoping to silence it with a lucky stroke back to sleep. But that only works for a couple of minutes as it starts once again relentlessly chiming, with no way to stop it. With a groan you remember the infinite number of alarms you had set yourself the night before, your past self too aware of your strong desire to sleep overpowering your need to go to work. So you don’t have a choice, you’d like to keep your job for as long as possible, even with your current sleeping habits.

Slowly you swing your upper body up, and blink blearily, just staring into your room for a couple of seconds, just trying to force you to properly wake up. You take your phone into your hand to stop the still blaring alarm and of course every subsequent alarm after that one. You run your hands over your face, once again trying to wake yourself up before getting up. Shuffling your feet, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. A good splash in your face does wonders against this fatigue, but only sometimes, so you hope it works today.

It actually helped a bit, your eyes stinging from the direct contact with the flying water. After finishing the rest of your routine, you go back to your room and put your work clothes on, ignoring the crinkles in them, even if your hands mindlessly try to flatten them, they will eventually disappear, hopefully. You just don’t have time nor the patience to iron them out. Nobody is going to notice them underneath a blazer. A last look in the mirror tells you that you do look presentable enough to show up at work. So you grab your necessities and hurry out of the door.

You don’t hurry because you might be late, you just like to be a bit early on the street, never sure what might delay your way, a traffic jam leading every car to link its arms with each other, making any other form of transportation nigh unusable. This especially accounts for you being stuck between arms and torsos of other people, holding for dear life on a pole in the bus, trying your best to avoid falling onto the ground with every rumbling stop.

Your stop draws near, and you’re finally able to leave the suffocating transportation can, you take a second to breathe, to collect yourself once again. The shaking of the bus has almost begun to lull you back to sleep, even if you were standing with hands in a death grip. So you slap both of your cheeks and continue your way to your workplace.

At your arrival, you think that luck must be on your side, as you still have a couple of minutes until your shift starts, enough time to calm down after all that speed walk, and simply drink some water. You put your stuff into the locker and begin your work. And you hope to keep that luck running for the rest of the morning.

But it seems that your luck is already strained thin, as you mess up some of the dates by accident, inconveniencing a visitor at their work. So you hurry up to apologize for this mistake before they can ask for your boss.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. We’ll fix this as soon as possible, so feel free to take a seat, Mrs. Nukarumi,” you offer her with a smile, not moving a muscle as her face shifts at the name-drop. You don’t realize your mistake until she steps closer, a menacing aura clogging your airways. You begin to panic, but you keep your face professional, a smile, a questioning tilt to the head.

“Listen, I can excuse some mishap at work, happens to the best of us. But getting my name wrong, and to such a distasteful degree is arrogant, especially after being quite the regular at your establishment,” she puts two fingers on your forehead, her nails pressing against your skin, and now you drop your smile for a frown, as the shadow of her hand covers your face, suffocating in a way only air can be. “It’s Nakamura, and I’d like to know how you will live your life without a soul ever recognizing you.”

Her fingers begin to feel warmer with each second, and at first, you thought it might be due to the prolonged skin contact. That is until this warmth turns into heat, her fingerprints searing themselves into your skull, your skin non-existent. Some kind of pain spreads all over your facial features, not painful enough to coax out a scream, but enough to make your muscles twitch in response. At this sensation, you try your best to pull away, but you seem to be glued to her fingertips, like she’s holding the strings of your body between her knuckles with this simple touch.

You finally manage to take a step back the moment her fingers leave your skin. She seems to be satisfied with whatever she just did, as a grin spreads over her face as she glances over your face. Mischief is coloring the outlines of her lips before she just leaves without another word, not caring if the situation is fixed any time soon.

For some reason, this is the least of your worries, as you make your way to the bathroom with quick steps in search of a mirror. But the moment you stand in front of one, you can’t see anything wrong with your face, not even a small print of her fingers on your forehead. Everything looks normal and proper to you, so you just shrug it off, keen on returning to your post behind the desk.

On the walk back to your space, you come across the manager, who gives you a weird look, and you glance down at yourself, thinking your clothes might have gotten in disarray. But there’s nothing wrong with them. You still straighten your blazer a bit, which doesn’t seem to help, as he finally comes up to you.

“Excuse me, this area is for staff only,” he tells you with a warning in his voice, and you can only furrow your eyebrows at that.

“Uh, yes, I am a staff. It’s my shift right now,” you reply, confusion tinting your voice.

“Lying is useless in this case, I don’t recognize you, and I know all of my staff.” He shakes his head in some form of disappointment before threatening to call security if you don’t clear the space immediately.

Absolutely confused, you just leave the space, and even the building altogether, just heading home, because what else are you supposed to do? You got kicked out by your boss, for some strange reason, and nothing makes sense to you.

What did he say again? He doesn’t recognize you? That’s the wildest reason to kick someone out, ever. Does he want to fire you, or is he pulling some kind of elaborate prank or scheme? You honestly don’t care, you just hope you still get paid for your work.

As you have some time to spare, for obvious reasons, you decide to take a short trip to the store to get yourself some groceries, and maybe you could chat a bit with your acquaintance there, letting a couple of minutes pass in idle talk.

So you enter the store and begin collecting whatever your heart desires, and whatever your wallet allows you, before making your way to the register, where your almost friend works. You smile and greet them, hoping to be able to listen to whatever gossip they have at the moment. But they only give you the usual customer service smile, the usual greeting voice, no recognition sparking in their eyes at all.

Your chest constricts and you try to think of what you might have done to offend them, yet nothing seems to be the problem. And you could hardly bother them while they’re working, so you leave the place without inquiring any further about any possible reason.

Trudging home, you can’t help but wonder if you had done something for all of this to happen. There’s no way this day is filled with one unlucky incident after the other. There’s no correlation for this bad luck, you started your day as you do every single day. The only weird moment was with that weird woman, who just grabbed your face for no reason. But whatever she did, it didn’t work, you checked yourself in the mirror and everything looked fine to you, normal. So why does it seem like no one can recognize you?

You enter your home as the final puzzle clicks, and everything makes sense, well barely. A gasp escapes you at this revelation, and you almost throw your groceries onto the table, grabbing for your phone. With a frown, you open the front camera, seeing yourself, with every feature you know and are used to. Maybe the effect is similar to the one with a mirror?

You decide to take a picture of yourself, not focusing much on looking good, but rather on verifying your thoughts. After you take one where you’re sure your whole face can be seen, you open the gallery to click on the newest picture. But instead of a picture, you’re faced with a blurred mess. Did your hands tremble? There’s no way they moved that much while you took the picture. Still, you take another one, and another one, and another one. And all of them turn out to be blurry.

Chewing on your bottom lip you scroll further to some of the older pictures you have on your phone and they all look normal, your face still visible and clear. So there’s only one conclusion: only the ones you took today have that particular problem, so that means the woman had actually done something unexplainable to you.

With a sigh you put your phone away, driving your hand over your face. You screwed up, you accidentally messed up with the wrong person today, and now you reap the consequences. What are you supposed to do now? How could you even undo this? You can’t go to work if no one recognizes you, and you can’t just not work! You’re ruined, your life will be in shambles over a little mistake, this is so ridiculous.

Panic is running hot through your veins and you do what every sensible human being would do in such a dire situation. You take your phone and look it up, even if you don’t know how to phrase the problem properly. So it isn’t surprising when the first couple of hits you stumble across are different subreddits and medical pages about loneliness. But no matter how far you read into those, there is just no correlation between them and your current problem.

Thus, you dive deeper and you discover some shady-looking forum, all small font and 2000s style of blogging, in which you read a rather recent post.

Does the witch in that forest actually exist? Cuz I heard rumors, but no one has shown real pics smh. If yes, how do you meet them? Like, I wanna get some potions or stuff, idk

– i guess that’s one way to touch grass – that’s some witchful thinking LMAO – ofc, u just gotta go that fb page, there’s proof

Your curiosity gets the best of you and you click on the link, which turns out to be a rickroll. You don’t know if you’re supposed to laugh or groan in frustration. The only upside of this is that you had gotten some form of lead to… something. You’re not quite sure what the whole witch thing is about, but if there’s smoke, there must be a fire. At least you hope so, because it’s the only thing that could solve your problem at the moment. You’re pretty sure the woman put some kind of curse or spell on you, there’s no other way to achieve this kind of effect.

Naturally, you’re going to look for that witch now. You have quite some free time left, so maybe there is some upside to that too…

Trying to be positive about the whole predicament, you trade your current clothes for something more robust, something suitable to endure a visit to the forest. The place mentioned in the post isn’t that far from your living place, so you plan to walk there, getting some blood running to prepare you for the worst.

With a bottle, your phone, and whatever is necessary for your trip, you leave the building. Your phone in hand, you try to discover the fastest way to these woods to avoid losing time.

Finally arriving at the entrance of the forest, you decide to take the already existing paths, leisurely walking along them. And you have to admit it has taken you some time to realize something important in your current endeavor: there’s no way a witch is going to be living on the equivalent of a main street of the forest. No one would do that if they’re actively trying to get by without notice, and witches don’t want people to know where they live. That’s like, their lore or something.

This makes sense, and you nod to yourself, convinced by your own logic before you step off the path. At first, you paid attention to where you put your foot down, careful to not destroy any plants or to get stuck somewhere. But after a while, you simply forget to look at the ground and where you’re going. As a result it shouldn’t be a big surprise when one of your feet gets caught in something, you’re not quite sure what, because the moment you topple over you immediately begin to roll down a hill.

Scrunching your face, you brace yourself for the upcoming impact, hoping sincerely you won’t get knocked against a rock or a stump, breaking something or injuring you in any other way.

Nothing happens. Slowly the rotations come to a stop and you feel your back thud against the ground one last time, even if you still feel the turbulence in your head.

After taking a couple of seconds to get your head straight, you hesitantly open your eyes, only to glance at the face of another person. And for a moment you feel like nothing is real, he’s beautiful. Soft plush lips, slightly agape in surprise, eyes widened and sparkling in the early afternoon sun, and you need to look a couple of times back to notice the different colors, gray and blue, a storm separated from its lightning. His lashes brush against his smooth skin on one side, and against a burn mark on the other, as he blinks, trying to understand what just happened.

You immediately close your eyes again, hoping to fool him into thinking you had passed out, even if he probably saw you staring at his face like a fish out of water.

A slight chuckle, air fanning over your face, tells you that he is no fool. So you have no other choice but to take a breath and to slowly sit up, avoiding looking into his eyes with all your might, even if you’re compelled to look at him just a while longer.

Instead, you start looking around and you notice that you have fallen onto the edge of a beautiful meadow, flowers sprouting all around you, colors bursting underneath the late afternoon sun. The wind dancing between the petals. The delightfulness of this place fills you in awe, and it only grows bigger when you glance back at him, seeing the perfect man sitting underneath the rays of the sun, the wind ruffling his red and white hair playfully. You think about how it feels to touch this cloud in the afternoon sun.

That is until you finally register his gaze lingering on you. Your eyes widen in surprise and you can’t look him in the face anymore, once again. Nerves get the best of you, as you realize that he must have caught you staring at him and you fiddle with your fingers before you gather some courage to talk to him.

“Uhm, sorry for that, heh… You might be wondering why I’m here, and honestly you won’t even remember me when I’m gone, which is for the best I’m not going to lie. But I still wanted to ask, and I know it’s a weird question, but honestly, my whole day has been so weird, you can’t even believe it. What I mean is, do you happen to know where maybe, just maybe, where the witch of this forest is? I kinda got into that situation and I need help…” After getting everything off your chest, you take a second to take a breather.

“Oh, yes, I know where the witch is–”

“Really? Wow, that’s cool, rad, cool, cool! Oh, do you mind telling me? That would be awesome, for real,” you interrupt him, leaning forward in an outburst of excitement, once again just staring at his face

“No, I don’t mind. It’s simple really. The witch is here,” he answers, and if you’d known it better, you could have sworn to see some mischief glinting in his eyes.

But you’re too distracted, squinting your eyes trying to see anyone else in this open meadow. The witch can’t be hiding in such an open space, so you turn around to look behind you.

You jut your lips out when you couldn’t see anyone in the near distance. “Where? There’s no one here?”

The corners of his lips raise slightly. “Well, because we’re the only two people here, the best conclusion is that I’m the witch, is it not?”

You can only nod slowly, mouth agape and eyes roaming over his figure once again. Now that he mentions it, if you focus a bit on his blue eye, the one seemingly illuminating and softening his scar, you could discern symbols circling his iris, whispering secrets only he is to know.

It takes you a moment to bring these two concepts together, as this turn of events just swept you over in a cold rush. Even if you’re going to be honest with yourself, what did you expect? Some beautiful woman with long black hair, miraculously emerging from the waters of some shallow pond? This probably is your sign to read less fantasy… Does it count as fantasy if witches are apparently real?

You blink and push this thought away, this is really not the time to contemplate the structure of your world. So you take a breath, trying to formulate your thoughts more coherently this time.

“Oh, okay. Uhm, so… hold on, no, how am I supposed to call you? Because there’s no way I’m calling you a witch for, I don’t know how long, but that doesn’t matter… Uhm,” you veer off topic before just introducing yourself in the same breath.

Wow, you did amazing, you should pat yourself on the shoulder, because how can someone start at a point and finish at the wrong place? You bite on your bottom lip, slightly crunching your face. But the moment he says your name, the strain seems to melt off, you’re so taken aback by how elegant your own name sounds from his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose you can call me Shoto.”

With a nod, you do your best to memorize his name and to replace the imaginary picture of a witch with a replication of him, sitting between the flowers, and you’re aware that your memory could never truly replicate this look, this moment; it always be something faded compared to this, and you curse your insufficient brain capacities. Until you remember the actual reason you came looking for him.

“So, Shoto. I need your help, you know, as the witch, because, uh, I don’t know if you noticed already, but I guess someone cursed me? For some reason. Unrelated to anything really…” you laugh nervously and avoid his gaze “Like no one is able to recognize me, which is weird! I look normal in mirrors, but not in pictures? And, uh, see, I kinda need my face to work, you know? Is there something you could do to help me? You’re my last resort, pretty please?” You had hurried to explain your reasons for arriving at this place before the silence between you could even start, or worse, before he got the time to just stand up and leave.

He leans back and his eyes glance over your face, examining you, and you notice how the contrast between his eyes seems to grow for a moment; one almost glowing eerily while the other darkens to reach the depth of the universe. It feels like you’re in the presence of a supernova, a star about to burst by its seams.

But the moment he blinks with a nod the moment is gone, almost like it never was any different. At least he looks like he found whatever he’s looking for, the curse probably.

“I will help you. But in exchange I do need you to aid me in the time it takes me to break this particular spell,” he sets his condition and slightly cocks his head to the side, waiting for your response.

A wide grin splits your face as he agrees to help you. excitement thrumming through your veins at the prospect of working with an actual witch, and even getting rid of this problem altogether. But you still take your time to weigh the choices in your head.

You don’t really have another choice, do you? Because if you refuse, what are you supposed to do? It’s either you help him with his potions, whatever that requires of you, you’re ready to even give your blood for this, or you just suffer for the rest of your life under this horrid curse of unrecognition. Even if you have to admit that this condition of yours could be a real killer in the shady business of the underground, assassinations, break-ins, or whatever illegal activities they entertain. No one would ever be able to catch you, as you practically have no face to be identified by. If you only possessed more usable skills to pursue this potential path of corruption, but you don’t. So you only truly have one choice left.

You readily agree to his terms, on your own condition, you want to be able to go home at the end of the day. You’d like to enjoy your sleep if you involuntarily have to miss work. With the same reasoning, you promise him to come back tomorrow before you’re already on your way home. You hadn’t noticed how late it already was, because the meeting didn’t feel like it took hours off your day. But who are you to judge the sun for packing up a bit earlier, at least it’s still bright enough for you to walk on your own. And on your trek home, you see his captivating eyes every time you blink, almost being able to feel the difference in temperature, coals and ice, hot and cold.

They haunt you, no matter how often you shake your head to get rid of them. You do have bigger problems to concentrate on. But your worries vanish once you land on your bed, all washed up and in clean clothes. The short hike seems to have taken a toll on you, or maybe the revelation of the whole situation, as you fall asleep as soon as you could even think of sleep.

The next morning you wake up all sore, and you whine into your pillow, already despising the possibility, the simple thought of getting up. Yet you sit up and grab your phone to tell your boss that you’re sick. Which technically isn’t a lie, if something does belong in that section, then it’s a curse for sure, and it’s the best option to not get kicked out again, or fired for not showing up to work.

With that you pat yourself on the back for finding a solution to that particular problem, and for giving yourself at least a week to solve this mess. If it doesn’t work out by then, you’d have to get a doctor’s notice, and you honestly doubt that a doctor can diagnose you with this if they even can recognize anything in the first place.

One problem out of the way, you go through your morning routine to head out to start solving the main problem. You put on some proper clothes for this trip, and this time you’re not keen on not tumbling down a hill, and being aware of the hill in the first place will definitely make it a lot easier.

The way to the meadow turns out to be a lot easier once you know the way, and as a consequence, you gain fewer bruises on the way down. You’re glad for that because the ones you earned yesterday throb every time they get touched, even by the barest breeze. But you will survive this horrendous pain, everything to reach your goal of getting rid of this curse.

If only everything is as easy as you wish it to be. Because the moment you arrive at the border of the meadow, you encounter another problem: Shoto isn’t here today.

You curse under your breath while glancing around the empty open space. What are you supposed to do now? You can’t just walk aimlessly and shout his name into the darkness of the woods. That would be stupid, you don’t know what lurks in its insides, and you’d like to avoid disturbing the wildlife and him, probably, if he is actually living in this forest.

Should you just take a seat in the middle of the meadow? Would he be able to see you from wherever his residence is? Once again you curse, but this time at your inability to plan forward, because you really should’ve asked for some details, but for some reason, his agreement seemed enough for you to just up and leave. Now it is obvious how you didn’t think any of this through.

With a sight, you lightly kick the ground. After you take one last look over the meadow, you decide to walk up the borders of the open space in hopes of finding some sort of hint about his possible whereabouts.

It takes you some time to come across a small river, water glistening clearly under the sun. and you decide to follow it on a whim. Honestly, this is probably the next best thing, because everyone needs some form of water, and this forest has no lake, so the river makes absolutely sense.

The flowing water leads you deeper into the woods, but you can’t actually get lost if you just follow the river in the opposite direction, so you’re not really worried about that.

This decision turns out to be the right one because after some time you spot a cottage in the near distance. Surrounded by bushes and the ivory sparkles under the rays of the sun breaking through the ceiling of leaves. As you step closer, leaving the river behind, you’re able to see the veranda filled with all different kinds of plants in pots, hanging, standing, thriving. You think you can even discern some form of garden on the other side of the building, but you decide to stop in front of the door rather than visit that small space. Who knows how a witch is able to protect their place.

Before you even think about knocking, you note how this place doesn’t look like what you expect of a lair, but honestly, you don’t have any other visual than the gingerbread house, and to be fair, that’s a fairytale and as much as Shoto looks like he came straight out of one, there’s no connection between these two. Not that it matters, you’re certainly not a kid, so you doubt he would eat you, which is unlikable in the first place.

You raise your fist to finally knock on the wood of the door, but before your knuckles could even connect with it, the door actually opens, and you make eye contact with Shoto. You slowly lower your fist and notice how he’s holding a basket in his hand, eyebrows raised in silent surprise. For a moment you both just look at each other in confused surprise until he finally starts speaking.

“Oh, good morning. I didn’t expect you to be here so early. Come in,” he steps aside to fully open the door, inviting you into his home.

With hesitation you step inside, looking around as curiosity tempts you with its soft claws. A smell of a mix of herbs wafts in front of you as you inhale. There is a small seating arrangement, a loveseat, a sofa, an armchair, all resting on top of a soft carpet, inviting you to sit on the ground and enjoy some tea or read a book.

Connected to that space is an open kitchen, to which he heads to, and you hurry to follow his lead. It takes you a moment to take your shoes off, so you can’t help but follow his path carefully, too scared to accidentally disturb this calm space of his.

His home seems rather normal, but once again, what did you expect? Some kind of massive cauldron, some random stuff hanging off the ceilings, or body parts in a mysterious liquid? You should’ve expected this, this is just a normal cottage in the depths of the forest, the only exceptional thing, or person, is Shoto, and you don’t mean him being a witch.

Once you arrive in the space of the kitchen, he motions you to sit at the table, and you do, your expectations getting the best of you and waiting for some form of grimoire to thud onto the table. But nothing of that sort happens, he just sits on the opposite side, leaning his chin in his hand and just looks at you with slightly furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips.

You try your best to stay silent, even if the urge to say something is getting stronger with the second, but you withstand his piercing gaze resting on your hot skin. You bite on your tongue to swallow your question down. Especially when his eyes begin to emit a low light once again, all stormy weather, dark clouds shrouded in lightning.

It abates the moment he hums. “I see. Well, I guess I am able to undo this spell, but we both don’t know anything about the workings of the spell, it probably will take me some time to fix the proper counterspell. For that, I need your presence. Should we get started?” He leans back, his eyes glowing under the sunlight, but this time it feels a lot softer, less like magic and more like a fairy tale.

The next thought you have is filled with indignation because he just assumed you don’t know anything about the spell. Well you don’t, but it’s about the assumption itself, not the fact that you have no idea about this craft. So you can’t really say anything in your defense, because there’s nothing to defend but your pride, and it’s not worth it at the moment.

“Sure thing, but I have to let you know: I know how that woman put this spell on me, and… uh…” you start confidently, only to peter out, not knowing how to continue this trail of thought.

Despite that, he does seem surprised by that in some way, indicated by the way his eyebrows shoot up. “Is that so? Would you mind telling me?”

You almost think to hear some sort of accusation in his tone, but you have no reason or idea why that might be. So you just shrug it off before delving into a short explanation of the events that had occurred to you, until you recount the first meeting with him. Of course, there are some details you omit, because you’d rather not embarrass yourself in front of such a graceful person, because he’s a witch, not because you think he’s so beautiful you might turn blind if you look at him for an extended period of time, that would be ridiculous. Also, telling him about your fall is just unnecessary to the plot of this story, isn’t it?

He nods, eyes telling you that he realizes the omission, but he doesn’t comment on it. At least he seems like he understands more about the situation than you, simply from the description of whatever she had done to you, from whatever you had felt.

“This does help quite a bit. Doesn’t make the process much faster, just easier. Not that it matters, I’m qualified to undo this spell either way.” He stands up and begins to open the cabinets, rummaging through their insides before pulling out a notebook and a pen.

There’s no way this is his spellbook. The place where he keeps his most secret, most important spells. It looks like any ordinary notebook from the store, and it probably is, considering how normal everything looks. Maybe he has a special way of safekeeping?

You squint and stare at the notebook, trying to discover something hidden, but the only thing you see is how Shoto is writing some stuff down, the signs clear and elegant.

Only occasionally does he look up, eyes roaming over your face without sitting still on anything in particular. You doubt he could even if he wanted to.

And now your thoughts wander to the possibility that he would actually want to look at you, how his gaze would soften when caressing your skin, the sun sparkling against his dual-colored eyes, making them glisten with adora–

No, you have to stop here, or you’re not going to survive his presence in the upcoming brewing sessions. Healing sessions… Yeah, healing sessions, because he’s healing your hurt ego, getting rid of your predicament. There’s nothing else to call them. Uncursing? Spell Deletion? No, that sounds ridiculous. Healing sessions sound like some form of therapy, and being in the forest is kind of therapeutic, well, his presence sure is. Not that the name matters, you’re never going to talk about it with anyone, ever.

You blink a couple of times to come back to reality, only to make eye contact with him and your breath hitches. You do your best to act casual and prop your elbow onto the back of the chair but you slip and you have to catch yourself with a jerk.

A nervous laugh escapes you and you lean back, crossing your arms in front of your chest to get rid of your fidgeting. You avoid looking into his eyes this time, focusing on the fringe falling onto his forehead, red and white braiding into each other seamlessly.

He doesn’t even bother to say anything about what just happened and just goes straight to business. “Here’s what we’re going to do in the next few days,” he starts explaining like you just didn’t utterly embarrass yourself in front of him. “I doubt a counterspell will work without consequences because we don’t know the exact working of your curse, even if I have a good idea of it. Still, I don’t want to risk it, so I’m simply going to brew a potion, which will wear it out until it disperses on its own. That means we have to go out and collect some necessary materials. We’re going to do that later though, as there are some preparations I have to make first.”

With that, he closes his notebook and leaves it on the table as he stands up. He motions you to follow him and you leave the house at his heels.

Outside he pulls some sort of platter from below a table and hands it to you before he kneels on the ground in front of a pot in the form of a long rectangle. Inside it is a green plant, stalks spreading out like rays of the sun, leaves tiny and feather-like.

“These are Maidenhair Ferns, also called The Hair of Venus. They could have some effect on your current condition, but we have to dry them first for their potency to unfold. I’m going to take care of the cutting of the plant and I ask you to put them neatly onto the platter. That way we can continue our work at a faster rate,” he explains, his gaze only brushing over you before leading his focus back onto the plant in front of him.

You nod, even though you’re not sure he could register this movement with the way he’s intently looking at the leaves of the ferns. You still take a seat by his side and put the big plate on your lap, ready to receive the first leaves and stems.

At first there isn’t a lot for you to do, so you’re busy looking around, taking in the sights of the forest, enjoying the sun on your face, but soon enough you start taking the stalks filled with neat leaves and arrange them properly on the plate, trying to avoid stacking them as much as possible.

Luckily, he doesn’t pick that many plants for you to even begin thinking of that possible problem too much. With a platter covered with just the right amount of leaves, he finally turns around to face you.

“We need to pluck the leaves from the stem because each part is different, and will need a different time to properly dry. We only need the leaves for the potion, but I’d hate to waste the rest,” he murmurs, his long, nimble fingers already running along the stem of one of the plants, picking the leaves off with careful fingertips, barely staining his nail beds in the process.

You proceed to take one fern in your hand, trying your best to imitate him and to rip the leaves at the right spot and not rip them apart accidentally. Sticking your tongue slightly between your teeth in concentration, you manage to not destroy the first fern, even if the process has gotten a bit messy, your fingers turning slightly green. You begin to understand why people who garden have a ‘green thumb’.

You both work in a comfortable silence for some time, simply enjoying the repetitive motion. Before you even dare to think about standing up, you both make sure that everything is properly separated and not layered. Just then you stand up and follow him around the corner to some sort of backyard. You reckon this is the place you glanced at earlier. There’s a table standing out in the open, and he motions you to put the platter you were carrying onto its surface. In that position, the sun is going to dry them for you, essentially doing the work for you.

The moment your hands are free, you get the urge to stretch into the rays of the sun, your blurry, lidded gaze glancing over the edge of the open space between the bushes. And that’s where you spot it. A beautiful deer.

With a silent gasp, you blindly try to tap Shoto on the shoulder, accidentally brushing against his jaw in your hurry. Normally you would apologize, but you don’t dare tear your eyes away from the deer, much less make a noise, in fear of it disappearing without a trace. The doe, you correct yourself, as it lacks any form of horns.

“Oh,” you hear Shoto say softly under his breath, finally spotting the deer too.

For a moment you both just stay silent, not daring to even move too much, simply enjoying the mesmerizing sight of a doe under the shining sun, framed by the lush green of the forest. That is until the deer just turns around and jumps away like it just doesn’t care about you both just staring at it in awe.

You release a small puff of air, some tension releasing as you had been too caught up in the moment. Turning around in his direction, you regret even breathing the second you lock eyes with Shoto, his face closer to you than you had anticipated. It seems like you both have moved closer in that short moment, huddling together for some reason at the mere sight of the doe.

Your eyes jump over his dark eye to the lightning blue one, electrifying you like a summer storm, and you wonder if he’s gotten hit by lightning itself, resulting in these mesmerizing eyes, and the scar around that bright eye, the only blemish on his smooth, soft looking skin. Maybe it’s connected to his powers, to these symbols deep inside the blue, unreadable to you.

To avoid staring at his scar, your gaze travels over his high cheekbones to his plumb lips, and you could almost imagine them quirking slightly, the moment before he reveals a true laugh of joy out of his soul. This thought startles you and you immediately take a step back, bumping into the corner of the table.

A low whimper escapes as you double over, clutching your wounded side in a dramatic manner. At least now you’ve got a reason to avoid looking at him, to avoid getting lost in all these daydreams about him and…

“Are you okay? Did you hit a sensitive spot?” he asks, worry tinting his voice as he puts his hand softly on your back.

You nod at first before you begin to shake your head, these two questions colliding in your head, all while you try to ignore the possible innuendo. If you step into that territory of thought, you might as well run into the woods and bury yourself in some random cave, to never face him again.

The pain slowly abates after you take a couple of breaths to calm yourself down. It’s going to form a bruise, which isn’t that big of a deal, but you wish it wouldn’t feel like something had impaled your guts.

Straightening up, you show him a thumbs up, even if his slightly furrowed eyebrows and jutted lips show that he isn’t quite convinced. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to fight you over that, so his hand leaves your back. The spot is suddenly so cold, and you can’t help but miss the warmth of his skin, even through clothing.

You try your best to divert his attention away, and maybe yours too, as you look around, in particular to avoid looking at his face. You spot some form of wooden fence, probably a small garden, and you step in its direction with a craning neck to see what he could have planted there.

“Oh, is that a garden? What did you put there? Do you sustain yourself like that? How do you know what soil to use for what plant? Are these to eat or just for your potions?” These questions pour out of your mouth, the perfect distraction for you both as you don’t have to pull out some random question out of nowhere. And you’re genuinely interested.

He seems to have noticed your attempt at distraction according to his rising eyebrows, but he still indulged you and steps closer to the high edge of the garden and you join him close behind him.

With a soft voice he starts explaining the use of each herb, each fruit and plant, patiently pointing toward them, all while mentioning neat little details, like their harvest season, how picky certain plants are. And you can’t help but be captivated by his knowledge and the way he shares it. Even if you sometimes break out of the immersion of his voice when your eyes begin to roam over his face instead of listening.

Time passes with you both kneeling in the soft grass and inspecting the little space filled with love. You only notice how late it has gotten with the way your eyelids feel heavy, your gaze unfocusing and hazy. And as much as you’d love to just take a nap in the middle of the grass under this beautiful weather, you have to get home before that.

So with a goodbye and a promise to return tomorrow, you make your way home, the way easier to walk as your body starts to memorize the path. You could say you could find the way to the cottage in your sleep with how tired you currently feel.

It’s no wonder you barely remember getting ready for bed, much less going to sleep because your brain is practically already out of commission before that happens.

The next day you wake up with a satisfied groan. You’ve never felt this refreshed in your life before, and when you glance at the time, you startle, realizing why. You’ve overslept, you’re late for work! You immediately stand up, heart beating a frenzy in your chest and your arms tremble slightly. With a sudden rush, you remember how you had taken sick leave just yesterday, and you slump back onto your bed.

With a shaken sigh, you sink back into your pillow. You could have slept a bit more, but it seems like your internal clock was keen on terrorizing you today. And with that rush of adrenaline, you might as well stay up and get ready to visit Shoto today.

You take your time to eat breakfast and just enjoy the silence of your home before you make yourself ready for the way. You also check on the state of your food, in case you need to get some groceries. But you don’t, so you clean your place a bit before heading out.

And once again you step through the same path you’ve been visiting the last few days, and you wonder if it would inevitably become some sort of established path with the amount of walking you’ve been doing between the same couple of trees. Maybe you should start changing the route a bit the next couple of times.

You arrive in front of his door and this time you’re able to knock on the door before it’s ripped open, and you startle by the look Shoto throws out of the door, all narrow eyes and downturned lips, almost resembling a snarl. You hesitate in asking if something is wrong. His eyes blink before recognizing you, in the widest sense, and his whole face seems to almost soften. With no exchange of words, he steps to the side and opens the door for you to step in.

Mirroring the day before, he makes way for the table and sits down, waiting for you to do the same. And you do, because you’ve been walking closely behind him.

His notebook is already open on the surface of the table, and he leans slightly forward. “The leaves of yesterday still need some time to fully dry, so today we should go out and collect some other stuff I mentioned yesterday. Is that alright with you?”

You would do anything to get rid of that curse on your face, so of course it’s alright with you, and you nod to show him that. He also nods in confirmation before closing his notebook and grabbing a basket to put whatever you will collect today inside.

While he is doing that, you hurry to the door to open it up for him, even bowing slightly with a grin across your face and the moment he passes by you, you think to see a small smile on his lips, amusement sparkling clearly in his face.

After closing the door behind you, you follow him to take his side as he ventures deeper into the forest. His steps are purposeful, and you’re sure he knows where to find the target material. Still, you wish you could help with whatever he’s looking for, but you doubt you would be able to recognize it even if he told you the name of it. Despite that, you’re happy to listen when he starts talking, explaining what he’s looking for.

“I have some vague idea of what could help against your current ailment. Right now, I’m looking for a Bird’s Eye…” he trails off as he seems to have spotted something.

This revelation confuses you. What does he mean with a Bird’s Eye? Is he going to pluck the eyeballs of some poor bird? Is that something he usually does? He doesn’t seem like the person to entertain such thoughts. You want to ask him if there’s another way, but he had vanished between some bushes.

You swallow down the tremble in your throat and fight through the shrubbery to catch up to him. You emerge a couple of steps next to the spot he’s bending over. With some paces to place yourself at his side, only to see him hold some sort of purple plant delicately between his fingers. Petals growing upward the long stem to a soft point. A lavender plant… A Veronica… And suddenly you feel stupid for still assuming something without real proof. Still, you can’t help the relieved breath you let out.

Straightening up, Shoto shoots you a look, all hidden crinkles, and creasing eyes, almost like he’s making fun of you, like he’s amused at your obvious relief. “Seems like you had expected something else, didn’t you?” he asks, his gaze resting somewhere on your cheek.

“Uh, what else am I supposed to think? Telling me, ‘oh yeah, we need some bird’s eye’, doesn’t sound like, I don’t know, like you’re about to pluck an eyeball? How am I– hold on, did you do that on purpose?” you gasp at your own accusation. “You did! That’s so mean of you, I can’t believe you would use my trust like that!”

You pout slightly, even if you doubt he could see it properly, so you cross your arms in front of you to show your stance on things right now, even if you’re aware that you look overly dramatic. But that’s the point.

Your stance doesn’t seem to affect him, because you suddenly hear a light chuckle escape his lips, and when you glance at his face, you can clearly see how his lips quirked up in a silent laugh, all soft and delicate.

While you’re staring at him, you’re suddenly glad he can’t see your face clearly, because you probably look stunned, amazed, stupefied, and every other word to describe the way your eyes widen and your mouth standing slightly agape.

His eyes wander over your face, eyebrows scrunched up as if he wants to see whatever the fog is hiding behind that blur. Whatever he’s looking for doesn’t seem to be there, because the frown only deepens before he turns back to the flower in his hand, putting it carefully into the basket.

“These are the flowers we’re looking for. Do you mind picking some up?” he asks, already doing so himself, inspecting each one carefully to only select the ones most fitting.

You nod and diligently begin to pick the ones you seem worthy, collecting them into some sort of bouquet in your other hand. After a while, your hand is barely able to hold onto more, and you’re quite content with the look of your makeshift bouquet. Not being able to resist the urge, you tap him on the shoulder and hold it under his nose.

“Please accept this!” you say dramatically, acting like you just confessed your undying love to him, but you couldn’t stay serious long enough to wait for his response, especially after seeing his raised eyebrow. You burst into laughter. “Sorry, sorry! I just thought it looked like a bouquet, so–”

“Oh, so you wanted to offer me the Eye of a Bird? How romantic,” he drawls, his mouth puckered and eyebrows high on his forehead. Only the gleam in his eyes seems to betray his serious stance.

You nod with a muffled giggle. “The peak of modern romance, of course! You deserve nothing less than the best.”

He takes the flowers from your outreached hand and inspects them, acting too critical of your offering before nodding in approval. “I shall accept these, but only this time.”

You gasp, a hand over your heart. “Only this time? My good sir, then I shall prepare something more glamorous, something you can’t refuse for the next time!” you declare with a boisterous voice and a puffed chest.

Once again his lips purse in consideration. “Well, I don’t know if this is possible, there won’t be a next time, that’s for certain. You shan’t woe me this easily.”

“We shall see how this turns out,” you puff with arrogance, only to break down in little giggles.

The moment you break the immersion, he too breaks his facade with a broad smile, pearly teeth on display and eyes crinkling with happiness and mischief. With the breeze ruffling his hair he looks like the image of pure bliss.

His obvious happiness makes you smile, and you have to catch yourself before you let out a dreamy sigh. You have no other choice but to break the line of sight, lest you do something you might regret, especially with the way your insides feel all soft and malleable at his sight, full, ready to give something to always enjoy the way he seems to be in such peace. But you can’t give in, no matter how much your heart seems to plead with your senses. You should not do this, you shouldn’t even think like this in the first place.

So you redirect all your focus into picking the perfect flowers, paying close attention to the details. With that, you both slowly fill the basket, and before you know it, the evening sun is shining through the leaves, putting everything in a soft orange glow.

The full basket has gotten quite heavy and you both decide to share the burden, each one of you grabbing a side of the handle to carry it together. This arrangement is there to make it easier for you both, so no problems should arise. Even if the path you’re taking is narrow in some passages and trying to get through them together, side by side, his shoulder ends up bumping, brushing against yours more often than not. And every time this contact happens, you do your best to not flinch away or to think too closely about the warmth he radiates; avoiding leaning closer to him than you already are.

Finally, you arrive at the cottage and you feel like you have lost all breath in your lungs, most of it evaporating by the simple look at him, by the simple brush. Despite needing some space, you continue to help him carry the basket to some sort of designated space inside the house. And once you get rid of that weight, you stretch your arms above your head, hearing a silent yet satisfying crack.

Feeling the need to rest outside, even if you just were under the open sky, you take some slow steps out of the door, because you desperately need a moment to breathe without being scared of brushing against him.

That’s how you end up sitting on his veranda. The sun had already set and darkness is swallowing the forest, which is now filled with entirely new noises and movements. Despite the lack of light and the unknown biting at your toes, you don’t feel unsafe or in danger, rather the silence and the cool breeze have a calming effect on you.

With a roaming look into the sky, you notice the amount of stars visible against the deep blue of the night. Without any trees obstructing your sight and no artificial lights destroying their twinkle, you can’t help but be entranced with them. You’re so fixated on their beauty that you almost miss Shoto taking a seat by your side.

For a moment you both stay silent, arm against arm, shoulder against shoulder, knee brushing a thigh, and this time you don’t even dare to hold your breath. You feel the desire to lean against him, to feel his breath flutter against your skin. But you’re satisfied with this moment, with the way he seems to glow under the stars, giving him a halo of silver light.

Only because you’ve been staring at him do you notice when he stretches his hand into the sky and lets his finger connect individual stars into constellations. You squint, trying to see the lines from your perspective but you struggle a bit as everything is shifted, so you don’t even know which stars are connected despite following the way his finger moves.

He seems to notice your struggle, as he scoots closer, his front now almost touching your back, his head hovering over your shoulder to get down to your height. After settling like that he carefully grabs your fingertips and waits for you to pull away or to react in any way to show him your rejection, but you don’t. You rather marvel at how soft his skin feels against yours in that feather-light touch.

His hand leads your fingers to make a fist with only your index finger pointing out. With your hand like that, he rests his palm against the back of your hand, on your wrist. Positioned like that he slowly begins to show you the constellations with your own finger, all while making sure it’s visible from your perspective. While guiding you, he softly murmurs their names and the planets and stars, explaining everything and yet nothing, because you’re almost too focused on his breath against your face, the way his chin brushes against your shoulder, and you try your best to not turn around to directly face him.

After some time you do begin to relax and to enjoy all this information and the light contact. You end up leaning against his torso, his cheek resting on your head, and you both remain like that for some time, simply soaking in the presence, the silence and the warmth between you.

So it’s no wonder how you barely notice the atmosphere wrapping around you, lulling you into something peaceful and welcoming.

You only notice how gone you were when the sun's rays hit your face softly, waking you up with their soft kisses, and you can’t even be mad at being woken up like that. It is comfortable and warm. Still, the moment you open your eyes, you startle slightly at the sight of the unfamiliar, yet familiar ceiling. You slowly sit up and a patchwork blanket slides off your shoulders to bunch around your waist.

With a quick look at your surroundings, you realize where you are: the cottage. And with that realization you put the pieces together: You fell asleep on him, while stargazing, while holding his hand.

You bury your face in your hands, embarrassment flooding your ears. You hope you didn’t mumble, or worse, drool in your sleep. Or you might simply never look him in the face again.

Peaking between your fingers, you spot him in the open kitchen, silently working on something over the stove, his back turned towards you.

“Breakfast is almost done. You can freshen up a bit, I put some clothes that might fit you in the bathroom,” his voice sounds and you flinch, surprised he had noticed you being awake. “It wasn’t difficult, you made quite some noise.”

You frown, jutting your lips out. Is he reading your thoughts? Is that one of the abilities of witches? You sure hope it isn’t, or else he would know about everything that had crossed your mind in his presence… You desperately want to avoid this possibility, but it can’t hurt to try. So you think of something so stupid, so outrageous, he has no choice but to react.

I couldn't read the witch's handwriting at all, she always wrote in curse-ive.

You almost hit your own face with a groan, but you keep your gaze on his back, trying to see if this entices any form of reaction out of him. But nothing happens and you just sigh, even if you’re still curious how he had guessed your thoughts to that degree. Maybe you should ask him later…

A shrug and you stretch the last bit of heaviness out of your limbs before you grab the blanket to fold it and to put it neatly onto the sofa you’ve been sleeping on. It would be rude to leave it crumbled like that, especially after he put the effort to carry… you… For a moment you stop in your tracks and just blink blanky at the blanket in front of you.

He carried you… and put a blanket over you… He carried you…?

This realization hits you like a swinging bat and you have to bite on your lower lip to suppress a gasp. Your eyes jump to his figure, making sure he’s not looking at you, his back still turned towards you, and you slowly make your way to the bathroom, your joints feel like they’re locked up and creaking like a bad oiled machine.

Once you arrive in the bathroom, you close the door behind you and lean heavily on the sink. You feel like you just gave yourself some serious whiplash. So, with a deep breath, you begin to splash your face with cold water, trying to calm yourself down before you turn around to look at the clothes he had prepared for you. Holding the shirt in front of you, you decide that it will fit you even though it might be a bit loose, but you can’t complain about that.

With that you change into the fest pair of clothes, folding your clothes neatly. You don’t even take the time to look into the mirror to check how they fit, almost afraid of what you might see.

You leave the bathroom with another stretch and enter the open kitchen to offer your help to him, but he refuses politely because he already plated the table and there’s simply not enough space for the both of you to cook something without elbowing each other.

So you take a seat at the table, resting your head on your palm, content with just watching him being busy with the food preparation. He moves with a practiced hand, movements smooth and elegant. You can only observe as his surprisingly broad shoulders move, muscles stretching and filling his shirt. Your eyes wander over his lean back and you purse your lips the moment you see his small waist. You wonder if you would be able to put your arms around his whole torso, or your legs…

You inhale sharply, immediately averting your eyes to the window, trying to divert your thoughts to something else, anything but to look back to his direction. It’s a beautiful day outside, there’s no need to stay in the bedroom, or inside, no need to have any thoughts relating to inside activities.

Your gaze jumps around, looking for something to latch onto, but there’s nothing but the wonderful depth of the forest, which isn’t quite enough to distract you from the possible way his muscles could coil when he leans over you…

A bite to the inside of your cheek brings you out of that train of thoughts, and you’re aware of how you need something more concrete for your distraction, like that deer. But you could only vaguely discern some movements in the bushes and nothing really stepped out of the shadows.

The clatter of a plate disrupts your almost desperate search as Shoto puts a plate in front of you, and you can’t stop the excited grin spreading over your face at its contents. He made some waffles, toppings dripping down its sides and its smell luring you in to take the first bite. It looks delicious, an absolute masterpiece. And you can’t resist it, barely taking your time to thank him properly for his efforts, before digging in and letting the soft dough melt over your tongue. You close your eyes and you almost moan out of delight, the taste an explosion of pure bliss. Instead of embarrassing yourself like that, you just stuff your mouth with another bite.

And before you know it, the plate is empty, leaving you full, yet yearning for more. But you doubt you could even manage to get another bite down and just slump backward into the back of the chair, feeling some kind of satisfied drowsiness.

“Shoto, my man, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You got some magic hands,” you tell him and grin widely when he raises his eyebrows at your choice of words.

Instead of properly answering your compliment, he lets out a puff of air before beginning to collect the empty dishes. You immediately stand up, keen on helping him this time around, especially when you don’t need much space to do the dishes. That’s how you end up drying the washed dishes and putting them away in their respective places. Of course not without him showing you where they belong first.

With this arrangement, you finish doing the dishes at a faster rate. He’s drying his hands as he turns around to look at you. “I’m going to brew the potion today, or at least try to. Feel free to take a book to entertain yourself for the time being.”

He points to the huge shelf covering the entire wall of the living room and you gape slightly at its size. How did you miss that in the first place? Even if you have been distracted by a lot of things, this thing is huge, there’s no way you could have just not seen it.

You barely give him a nod before immediately stepping closer to the shelf, running your fingers along the spines of the books. So many different topics, genres and authors, and there is no way Shoto didn’t read them all. No wonder he has such huge amounts of knowledge. After you have taken a couple of strides along the length of the shelf, you finally choose one of the books and take it out of its place.

With it firmly in your palm, you go and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Once you’re in the perfect position you start reading, thumbing through the book about heroes and their powers, and your brain rattles with all the possibilities and the groundwork of this fictional world.

The background is filled with the sound of utensils clashing and clattering, soft blubbering of his potion, and after a couple of pages, you decide to take a look from afar.

He’s still in the kitchen, bending over his work, a slight furrow between his eyebrows, a thoughtful pout tugging at his lips. And you just look. Just admire the evenly split hair of red and white softly falling, framing his face, the calm demeanor revealing his kind heart. You smile. You can’t help but think, these thoughts filling your veins, coming from your heart, how charming he looks, how beautiful, how handsome. Despite being aware that this relationship is entirely contractual, the chance of seeing him again after this ordeal is slim, you admit to yourself, you like him, a lot. And there’s no way to truly know how he feels about you. To him, you’re probably just another person requiring his services, nothing more, nothing less, only bound by the verbal deal you’ve made.

This realization makes you smile bittersweetly, already accepting the outcome. So you try to get back into the book, to put your focus back on the ongoing plot. But your thoughts circle back to the endless ways this could end, the endless ways this could turn and bend. And no matter how badly you wish for it to end otherwise, every path leads to the same blocked path, a deal done, a face regained and a connection lost. Who are you to interfere with fate?

You force yourself to face it, to accept it, no matter how much your heart resists. It will hurt, but everything turns out to be how it’s supposed to be.

A breath and you begin to digest the story word by word, forcing yourself to take them in until you finally relax and get into the flow of the story and its plot, all while the background noises fade out of your consciousness.

You feel yourself clutching at your non-existent pearls as you near the end of the book when Shoto walks up to you, nudging your foot with his to get your attention. And once you look up from your book, he holds a cup with some sort of tea in your direction. With thanks you take it and immediately sip from the warm liquid.

“I thought you’re supposed to brew that potion?” you ask him, cupping your hands to warm your palms on the glazed ceramic.

“I was. That’s the potion in your hand,” he answers and the corners of his mouth slightly dip upward.

You startle at this revelation and almost let the cup drop. “Wh-what? You could’ve said that earlier!”

“How could I when you so eagerly took it from my hands before I could even say anything?” he chuckles and cocks his head to the side, eyes crinkling at your shocked face.

You gape at him and look at the half-empty cup in your hands, then back at him. “Are you messing with me? It feels like you’re messing with me…”

He shakes his head. “As amusing that would be, I’m not. You’re drinking the potion right now. It will probably take some odd hours to take full effect, if at all.”

Slowly you nod and just down the rest of the tea-potion in one big gulp. You exhale and the warmth of the tea coupled with the late hour begins to make you quite drowsy. There’s no way you’re staying two nights at his place, that would be just so utterly rude of you, especially if you’re going to lend out some of his stuff. That means it’s time for you to head home, as much as you’d like to stay on the couch and continue reading.

You close the book and return it to its place before you thank him once again and take your stuff. With everything in hand you begin your way home, the evening still young and the wood still filled with enough light to not get hurt when crossing it.

Finally arriving home without accidents, the first thing you do is change out of the borrowed clothes and prepare them to wash later so you can return them to him. And you start doing your nighttime routine, even if the initial drowsiness is now gone for some reason, but you’d like to be prepared for the moment you feel tired again, and maybe you need some distraction. If you don’t, you might as well go insane with anticipation, literally expecting something to happen immediately.

This anticipation fills you with adrenalin or something, because for some time you just walk around your place aimlessly, not able to settle down without feeling your heart race. You finally settle on your bed with your phone in hand, trying to calm down to the best of your abilities. It doesn’t quite work, because you realize you never asked Shoto for his number, you never felt the need to, and maybe you shouldn’t even ask in the first place.

You sigh and roll around, beginning to scroll through whatever apps you have in rotations, and you only stop to scratch at your tingling face. At first you don’t think too much about it, as it only itches around your mouth. But then the itch begins to spread over your cheek and you have to stop everything you’re doing, because you have to know if you suddenly have some sort of allergic reaction. After thinking for a while, you don’t remember eating something that could elicit such a reaction, so it can’t be that.

It takes you a moment to realize what that could mean and you jump off the bed, rushing to the mirror only to stop in the middle of the way when you remember that mirrors don’t show your problem with your looks. So you race back and dive for your phone, almost hitting your head on the headboard. You don’t pay attention to that though as you’re opening the camera, facing it towards you.

After you take a picture in semi-good lightning, you click into your gallery, only to see the newest pic and stare at it. There’s you! With every single feature you remember and cherish.

And before you know it, you’re already out the door, dashing through the streets and into the woods. You know you should be careful about tripping, but the need to see him, to thank him, to hug him, is overwhelming. Excitement is coursing through your veins, giving you a boost in energy and you feel laughter bubbling through your lungs.

Then you stumble. Unlike the first time, you don’t immediately take a tumble down the hill, because someone catches you right on time, long before you could even get closer to the ground. You grab their arm to straighten up and end up looking directly into Shoto’s eyes. For a moment you just stare at him, mesmerized by his glittering, compelling eyes, by the way you can so clearly see them despite the darkness surrounding you both.

His words bring you back to reality. “Oh, back so soon?”

“Wh– huh? How? I mean, yes, but how did you know it’s me?” you ask bewildered, shutting your mouth with some force before you keep it open when you remember that he can see your expressions now.

He smiles, plush lips revealing perfect teeth, eyes crinkling with obvious joy while roaming over every detail of your face, taking their time over every little feature; almost like he finally found whatever he has been looking for every time he glanced in your direction. One of his hands cups your face, caressing your skin. You lean involuntarily into his touch, enjoying the soft skin on yours more than you should have.

His next words make your heart beat faster than you thought possible, and suddenly a new path opens itself before you.

“My dear, I would always recognize you, no matter what.”