gn reader, angst? i think. maybe hurt/comfort? but he comforts you while he hurts you
wc: 1.3k
tw: reader death, noncon vibes? but there's no SA or sexual content, he just kills you rather tenderly. no gore. nonmc!reader, but no mc mentions.
disclaimer: SYLUS WOULD NOT DO THIS !!! (at least imo.) he wouldn't go after someone weaker than him with lesser means just to sustain himself. he'd pick someone who deserved it, or he'd enjoy fighting someone powerful like himself and earning it.
this is Evil Mean sylus okay. i'll do nice sylus drinks from you with No Death version someday
i want to get this idea that has infected my brain out even though i should be doing assignments... (i wrote too much again. its been hours.)
You're currently living the most unlucky night of your life, you think. You had tripped into a puddle on your walk back to the bus stop, soaking your pants from the knees down. Shivering cold and exhausted, you walked to your bus stop, only to check the app and see that all departures had been cancelled for the night due to repairs. And that's the last thing your poor phone told you, because it ran out of battery right then.
And that's how you ended up walking home in the dark, underdressed for the weather, wet and miserable. It's now impossible to call for someone to pick you up, though you didn't have anyone to call in the first place. Your phone was also your one way of navigating the city, since you're so far away from your apartment. Now, sans a map, you're completely lost and guessing your way back home, only knowing the general direction and your memory of the view from the bus's window.
You must have made a wrong turn somewhere, because the city slowly becomes more and more deserted until you are in an area completely devoid of cars and passersby. Now shivering from the cold, you were just about to turn around and walk back the way you came when you spotted a well-dressed man leaning against the brick wall of an alley nearby. After a bit of hesitation, you decide the best way to move forward is to just bite the bullet and hope he's friendly.
You walk over to the alleyway, second-guessing yourself the entire way over. Surely he's safe, right? He's wearing a pristine button-up with an expensive-looking wool coat and slacks, and his long, silver hair looks beautifully taken care of. He's got to be trustworthy, or at least sane. All you need are directions; it's not like you're asking much of him. The worst that he'll be is grumpy.
You reach the entrance of the alley. He seems to be a bit busy with something on his phone, and hasn't looked up at you yet. You take a shaky breath in before speaking up in a quiet, unsure voice. "Hello?"
He looks up at you, fixing his striking red eyes on you and raising his eyebrows, seemingly unsurprised by your sudden appearance. He's really pretty. Before he can speak, you stumble through your pre-prepared lines in a wobbly voice, doing a small, apologetic bow. "H-Hi, um, I'm really sorry, I just wanted to ask for directions if- if that's okay? My phone died, so I can't see the map, and..." You trail off, forgetting what else you were going to say. Your hands are shaking badly in your pockets.
"Of course," He responds smoothly, standing up straight and beckoning you forward with two of his fingers. "Come here. I'll show you on mine."
You hesitate for a moment, then obey, walking over to his side. You knew he was tall, but his full height doesn't hit you until you're standing right next to him. He's huge. Good thing he's friendly. At least you get one stroke of good luck where it counts.
He looks you up and down and tsks when you reach his side, seeing you shivering and looking up at him with big watery doe eyes. "Poor thing, you're freezing. Here." He takes off his heavy wool jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. Due to your height difference, it nearly grazes the ground.
You feel a bit of heat in your cold cheeks. It smells like him, and he smells nice. Something you can't place, but an almost addictive scent nonetheless. "Ah, thank you, but you don't have to, it's- it's really okay," Flustered, you try to convince him to take his coat back, but he's already shaking his head. Part of you isn't sure if you'd even let him take it back; it's incredibly warm and provides immense relief from the chill that had reached deep into your bones.
"No need." He reassures you, gently patting your shoulder. "Though we could go to my car, if you want. You would be able to warm up and charge your phone there."
Before you even realize it, you're already nodding. The offer is extremely tempting, even if you know you should be cautious. "I-If it's okay," you mumble, feeling bad for imposing on him.
"I'm the one who offered," he shrugs, unbothered. He gestures with his head towards the alley. "Come. It's faster if we cut through here."
You trustingly follow him into the darkness, not even hesitating to go with him this time. Though it seems like this wasn't good luck after all. Your stomach sinks as the other end of the alley slowly fades into view, and it's a wall. He led you into a dead end.
A mixture of anxiety, panic, and fear starts to build up in your gut, and you take a step back, looking up at the man. Surely he just made a mistake? He lent you his coat, after all, he wouldn't...
"S-Sir?" You falter, your heart starting to pound as he turns to face you. "This isn't- um, d-did you go the wrong way?" He doesn't respond as he slowly approaches you, causing you to take another step back. "I-I don't- I'm sorry, I'm gonna go," you stutter.
But the second you make a move to run, you feel an ironclad grip around your bicep. You yelp and try to wriggle free, but you're no match for even a fraction of his strength. He pulls you back against his chest with a hand over your mouth, gently sitting down on the ground and taking you with him.
"Shh, shhhh," he softly shushes you, moving his other hand from your arm to your waist, holding you tightly and keeping you pinned to his lap. His hold almost feels strangely comforting, though his skin is cold to the touch. "Just go quietly, that's it. No one's around to hear you. Just relax."
You shake your head no, letting out a muffled whimper as you start to cry. The man looks down at you with pity, taking his hand off your mouth and turning you to face him, pressing you against his chest. His coat feels like a weighted blanket, urging you to be pliant and sweet for him. You don't bother to scream.
"I know, I know, sweetie. You're being so good for me." He coos. You sniffle, fat tears dripping down your cheeks. He tenderly curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to the side and baring your neck for him.
"Stay like this, alright? Breathe, it's just a little pinch. Lean into me, I have you." You go easily, and he presses a soft kiss to the column of your throat. His fingers trail up and down your scalp, calming your heartbeat. Your face is wet.
"It feels nice, I promise. I have no reason to lie to you." he whispers. You trust him.
He bites down, and you jerk with pain, your fists clenching. It's agony for a few moments, and you nearly cry out, but the pain soon turns to a gently throbbing numbness. A tingling warmth spreads through your body at the site of the bite, and you go limp. It feels like when someone scratches your back: a comforting, pleasant sensation that helps you settle.
You feel so relaxed, so safe. The world is going dimmer. You think you hear murmured praise in your ear, but you can't really tell. You think you can feel the life being drained from your body, but you don't really mind. If this is how you go out, maybe that's not so bad.
Entry number 3 in @judejazza's An Invitation to Crown Castle event!
Pairing: Victor (POV) x Reader
Prompt: Dressed in Love
Genre: Angst
CW: Reader death, sad boys, descriptions of grief
WC: 1.9k
A/N: I was mad at Victor for tricking me into getting my hopes up for Ellis TWICE in the Wedding Lily gacha but I think I went too far... I made myself sad while writing this....
Never has the darkness felt so black. Never has the dawn felt so hopeless. I can’t chase away the bitter ache in my chest and the numbness of my entire being.
A very faint knock at my door followed by Will’s voice asking to enter hits my ears but it feels so distant I hardly recognize it as such. Lost in my own mind, I feel myself jolt at the sudden pressure on my shoulder.
“Victor, it’s time to select an outfit.”
William’s quiet reminder sends another shooting paint through my chest, forcing me to clutch at my shirt and squeeze my eyes closed to stave off the tears.
I knew this moment would come. Simply put, as your lover, all had decided that I should be the one to decide what you ought to wear. I swallow back the thick emotion in my throat, forcing myself to my feet before turning to Will, careful not to meet his eyes.
I cannot bear to the see the emotions sure to be reflected there, his own sorrow and pain mixed with the pity and condolence he would have toward me. That would be far too much for me to handle in this state.
Clearing my throat, I nod and walk out the door.
The hall seems endless, and at the same time, far too short. In no time at all I find myself in your room, several lovely outfits laid across your bed or hanging along display racks.
Liam, the dear boy, has decided to become invisible, possibly in an attempt to give me the illusion of solitude as I make this decision. He doesn’t understand that I know he’s here, that I always know when one of my Cursed are near.
I simply decide to let the boy watch as I slowly make my way around the room. Each outfit bringing back such vivid, beautiful memories that I cannot help but wish to lose myself in them. I raise one hand to run my fingers over the delicate fabric of one of the shirts that was laid upon your bed.
Sunlight dappling the ground below the tree we sat beneath highlights the softness of your features as you sleep, resting peacefully against my thighs while I contemplate how precious you are to me. The chill breeze blows through the leaves, stirring you from your slumber.
You blink up at me with those sleep fogged eyes, a heart-warming smile spreading across your lips as you see me looking down at you.
“Have you just been watching me sleep?” You murmur, letting out a slow yawn before sitting up and stretching your arms above your head.
“What would you say if I have?” I reply, brushing my hand against your cheek. I cannot deny the way my heart soars as you nuzzle your cheek against my palm with such a look of absolute affection.
“I’d say, I love you too.”
I slowly exhale, straining to regain my composure through the wetness building in my eyes. Such beautiful memories, and yet others more wonderful still.
My gaze travels to the outfit I could dream of seeing you in a thousand times.
I need to squint my eyes against the bright sunlight pouring in through the window as I await your presence near the entryway. Butterflies are fluttering uncontrollably in my stomach as my excitement and anticipation grow, lovely music filling the room around me as William’s fingers dance across the keys of the piano.
Finally, I see your silhouette break through the blinding light, my breath stolen away by your captivating radiance. My heart is hammering in my chest as you walk toward me, face beaming with affection and joy that I know is reflected in my own. Such absolute serenity I cannot describe, when your hand meets mine.
Words flow with steadfast certainty until at last “I pronounce thee two wed.”
I cradle your chin as you look up at me expectantly. Our lips meet in consummation, our vows of endearing and everlasting love to each other sealed in this moment.
Cheers and applause sound around us by our gathered companions, however I am wholly enthralled with your presence and naught but a faint echo of their adoration graces the moment.
“I love you, my perfect little robin.”
At the sudden ferocity of the memory that floods my mind, I am unable to fight back the tears any longer. Perhaps our dear Ellis was right in his desire to end the lives of those he loves in their happiest moment, surely that would be far better than the all-encompassing agony I am feeling now.
I somehow manage to still myself enough to remain quiet, only the strained breathing of myself and the quiet breathing of Liam dare be heard in your room. This room is far too precious to be tainted with such sorrowful sounds.
My eyes fall at last upon the ensemble I know to be the one I’ll choose. I’ve known all along that you would wish it, and I am loathe to deny you anything. I push a heavy exhale out between my lips as I first approach the very outfit you wore when you first arrived at Crown.
How different might your life have been, little robin, if you’d not opted to stop and help that young child on that fateful day. Your mundane day-to-day would continue as it always had, earning enough money to see shows at the Scala every so often, carefree, and untainted by the blackness of what occurred that night.
Turning away from that unassuming uniform, I finally settle my eyes on your outfit. The one we chose together the day we admitted our feelings for one another.
I turn to Liam and motion to the clothing. The young man slowly returns to view, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he nods and collects the garments.
Golden rays of the setting sun glisten on your hair as you pull me excitedly to the next shop. You’ve been so enthusiastic about this shopping trip, I admit I find myself somewhat in awe. No one before has been eager to accompany me, let alone pull me along with such passion.
I feel my heart begin to race as you turn your bright smile toward me. I’ve denied my feelings for you for far too long. In this moment I know without a shadow of a doubt that you have become the single most important person in my entire world. The realization causes me to freeze in place, your own movement stopped as well.
“Victor is everything okay?” You inquire, your eyebrows knitting together with concern.
Yes, I understand completely now. Every moment with you makes the sky feel brighter, the joy within me bubbling up with such ferocity I can’t possibly hold back any longer.
I let my lips crack in a wide grin, moving forward and scooping you into my arms. You let out the most adorable startled squeak as I hug you to my chest with a laugh from deep in my chest.
“Everything is wonderful! You see, I’ve just discovered a new truth about myself and I couldn’t be happier!” I exclaim, setting you down and looking into your lovely blushing face.
“Oh, well, I’m very glad for you then,” You reply, still clearly confused at my sudden departure from character.
“Ah, but my sweet robin, I must tell you that the new discovery has all to do with you,” I admit.
Your eyes grow even wider and I swear I see a flicker of hope flash across your face at my confession. I lean forward, our faces mere inches apart and murmur with the utmost sincerity “I’ve discovered that I’ve fallen in love with you.”
I hear your breath catch and suddenly your arms are wrapped around my neck and your face is even closer.
“Really?! Are you sure?” You plead, eyes so bright and imploring that I can’t help but understand how my own passion is reflected within their depths. In response, I lean forward and gingerly press my lips against yours.
Your arms immediately tighten, your mouth moving greedily against mine and I feel my heart soar. The racing of my heart has progressed to thunder as I feel my mind flooded with the thrill of your returned affections.
When at last we begrudgingly part, you looks into my eyes and swear, “I’ve fallen in love with your too, Victor. I’ve been in love since the moment we first met.”
My giddiness is unbridled as I announce, “Then we shall commemorate this moment!” We happily make our way into the shop you had intended to go to, hands linked and an air of pure bliss surrounding us. Then I see it. Stunning jet black and midnight hues set the stage for the glistening embroidered details like the deepest night sky.
I lift the garment and hold it out to you.
“Do try this on. I should love to see how stunning you looked dressed in something of my choosing.”
“It’s perfect, Victor. It’s as though I’m wearing your love for me!”
The click of the door closing jolts me from my reminiscence. The pain of memories lost, of those I shall never make with you again is far too great. I need to leave this room before my façade shatters completely as my heart has done.
As darkness falls around the castle, I am prompted by William to dress in my best, his fingers gently guiding a comb through my otherwise unkempt hair.
Another quiet knock draws our attention and I see Ellis standing in the doorway, a bouquet of lovely white lilies in hand, and despair drawn across his face. I see his lips tremble as he approaches, unable to say anything as he hands the flowers to me. I notice the lone tear trickle from his eye as he scurries out of the room.
We all gather in the grand hall, a beautiful glass coffin sitting in the center of the room.
Seeing you lying there with such a serene and peaceful expression is all it takes for all semblance of resilience to crumble completely.
All strength is torn from me, my body collapsing onto the floor.
Howls of pain rip from my chest as the floodgates holding my emotions in burst open. I crawl to you, my precious little robin. My perfect angel. How was I meant to continue to walk this world without you?
As sobs wrack my body, I hear the gentle sounds of footsteps approaching, William and Roger on either side of me, assisting me to my feet to finish crossing the final paces to where you lay. My light, my happiness.
I let my trembling hands extend, tucking the lilies into your hands before grief once again steals away any strength. I can see your ring glistening on your finger as a pair of hands tucks yours firmly around the bouquet.
Never before has such pain befallen me. Never again shall I experience the heartbreak of a love taken far, far too soon.
They will pay for taking you from me. The Palace Reaper has no humanity left in his heart.
Okay so this is based on what happens in the game as well but here's just a short story of Rauru on losing Y/N.
Triggers: Uh death and spoilers!
He clenched his jaw as he clutched her cooling hand. Her face was relaxed now. One would never think she suffered such an awful murder.
The constructs worked carefully in cleaning and preparing her for the burial, mindful of the Zonai beside her as he watched her.
Ganondorf…he did this. In cold blood too.
It was his own fault, Rauru knew. He knew that his arrogance to keep Ganondorf’s allegiance led to this, his wife’s death.
He only hoped their child would someday forgive him for allowing such an awful thing to happen to their mother.
Though, with the Blood Moon radiating over Hyrule outside, he doubted there would ever be time to send out the information he needed to. He only prayed that they would be safe outside of their newfound country.
“A new land for us to grow,” Y/N had once said as she walked out through the huge plateau they’d made their home. “Not just here either. We could expand outward. The Gorons are lovely people, despite their headstrong nature.”
Her laugh was one he could never indulge in again.
Her lips would never turn up again into a smile.
Her eyes wouldn’t glimmer with adoration.
She was dead.
Ganondorf had killed her and–
“King Rauru?”
His ears twitched as he turned his head, seeing Zelda looking to him mournfully. Mineru stepped in slowly and gaped in shock before her jaw snapped closed as she looked to her brother.
“I want to be alone,” He said simply.
Zelda nodded and looked to Mineru. The Zonai woman sighed and approached, squeezing his shoulder tightly before stepping away and leaving him alone, ordering the constructs to follow as they’d finished their job.
The princess from a future era closed the doors, leaving him alone with her body.
He closed his eyes as he rested his closed third eye against the back of her hand.
“So this is Zonai magic?” She’d asked curiously as she turned the secret stone in her palm, raising it against the sunlight.
Rauru had smiled and shook his head. “Not magic. Technology. Think of it as an amplifier. You have incredible magic over time and this might help to empower it.”
“I doubt I’d need the ability to remember something amplified,” She teased before nodding. “Are you sure though?”
“I am. I trust you, Y/N.”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked down at it. “Careful. That sounds like a marriage proposal.”
“It…could be,” He said, cupping her palm in his hands. “But, it’d mean more than marrying me. You would become my queen, both in title, and in other things.”
“I thought I already was,” She chuckled, pulling him close and kissing him. “I love you Rauru.”
“I love you so much, Y/N,” He whispered as tears fell onto her cold hand. He finally let himself weep as he held her hand, knowing he would do everything to avenge her.
In Case You Don’t Live Forever. (Bakugou x Reader)
masterlist | ao3
Pairing: Bakugou x Reader
Summary: Bakugou, blessed with immortality, meets the love of his life across all of their lifetimes.
“Reincarnation is real. Even now, in what should be his fourth or fifth lifetime, Bakugou will tell you that it exists. He’s not sure which religion is right, which one wins at the end, whose god is real. But he knows that when we die, we don’t just vanish. We remain, somewhere, until it’s time for us to return to where we came from in new flesh and blood.”
Content Warnings: reader death (nothing graphic but this is a fic about reincarnation), rumination, loss of virginity, slight smut, slight cheating, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt / comfort, pining bakugou, completely sfw big brother bakugou (in a VERY non-sexual way), child death (again, nothing graphic, but just in case), needles (an IV), afab reader.
Word Count: 7.2k
A/N: Thank you to @mikaaberry and @suyasgf for beta-reading this!! If you want two songs that set the tone for this fic, listen to in case you don’t live forever by ben platt and stuff we did from up!! I wanted to write a fic about Bakugou experiencing the different types of love, so here this is!!! Also.... I’ve been writing a lot of angst lately... sorry...
Reincarnation is real. Even now, in what should be his fourth or fifth lifetime, Bakugou will tell you that it exists. He’s not sure which religion is right, which one wins at the end, whose god is real. But he knows that when we die, we don’t just vanish. We remain, somewhere, until it’s time for us to return to where we came from in new flesh and blood.
It’s all he could tell himself, the day he had first lost you. The first time he tasted what immortality really meant, what it meant to be ageless in a world where time continuously turns.
Bakugou isn’t like the seasons, not like the fickle fall leaves that crumble under a winter storm. He doesn’t wither or wilt, he doesn’t wrinkle and fall. For Bakugou, time has been nothing but abundant since the day he turned 25.
Bakugou can recall the day he met you lifetimes ago with startling clarity. He can remember what you wore, the traditional style of your hair, the way you carried yourself so proudly despite being of inferior birth.
But he thinks that this lifetime of yours may have been his favorite. It’s when he had known you best. Before he knew that one day you’d go on without him. Before immortality struck him as less of a gift and more of a curse.
It was late summer, just before the leaves turned color and the morning air was crisp and cool before it gave way to sweltering heat.
He was wealthier than you and older by only a few years. Despite being of different social status, you still played with him like any other child. You forwent the formalities and ran at a sprint right to best friends. So fast, in fact, that Bakugou hardly realized you’d weaseled your way under his skin until you were seated right there with the most important people in his life.
The adults in your lives dissented to your friendship, to the feelings that would inevitably bloom from platonic to romantic over the course of your young lives. Bakugou recalls how you’d stolen his first kiss at 14. The first kiss of his endless life, a first that would no doubt span centuries. He can remember the way his heart raced and the way you let out a deep laugh afterward, something about it being weird. The innocence of it, of a moment that sparked so many emotions in him that he felt he had no place to put them.
Come to think of it, there were so many moments with you in this lifetime that he remembers fondly. Almost all of them are tinged with rose, painted over in gloss as if they’re in a museum. At this point, Bakugou’s certainly old enough to be one. Still, there were unhappy moments too. Moments that make his stomach turn with regret whenever he thinks of them.
You were the only person he ever felt bad about making cry. Bakugou’s not an outwardly kind person and it was worse then, when he was young, when he didn’t have the knowledge of several centuries to go off of. He should have been scared, to be so young, to know so little. But all he could think about was how horrible he’d felt when your eyes bubbled over with tears and how awful the terribly in his throat burned from how he’d shouted. The only fear he felt was over possibly losing you, not to death, but to a petty fight about jealousy. About his jealousy over your relationship with the boy who’d moved into the farm down the road from you.
He didn’t live close enough to you then. Where you lived on a farm, Bakugou lived in what was closer to a palace. Where you did it all yourself, Bakugou was waited on hand and foot. You’re probably the reason he can be an adult now at all. You taught him to cook, to clean, to take care of a woman, what it meant to love someone. All of it, he learned from you.
“You can’t go around expecting everyone to do everything for you.” You’d said once when you were 18, hunched over a bucket and a washboard. You didn’t have washing machines then. All of it was done by hand with fat from animals, the original soap. Bakugou cringes thinking about it now.
“What then? You’re going to do it for me?” He sneered, that familiar mean grin slicing across his features.
“That depends. You plan on marrying me, Mr. Heir To The Family Fortune?” That shut him up quick.
“Just… show me already.” He grumbled, reaching out for the bucket in front of him.
You grew quiet then. He remembers the way your face soured like you were holding something back. Bakugou should have asked you what was wrong. Maybe he would have had more time. Time to figure out what to do about the fact that it wouldn’t have mattered if he wanted to marry you because you’d been promised to a wealthy man.
Bakugou still thinks that the moment you told him you were getting married was among the worst heartbreaks of his life. He remembers the way everything seemed to slow down, the way his blood turned to lead in his body and grew heavier with each breath.
“What?” He said, stepping back slightly.
You took his hand, big and soft compared to your calloused ones. “I’ll be married in a week.”
“Why didn’t you t-”
“I tried.” You forced the words out, meeting his gaze. “I tried to tell you. I just- I couldn’t get the timing right. It happened so fast, I don’t-”
Bakugou’s gaze softened on you for a moment. He loved you, still does, but at that moment it was overwhelming.
“I don’t want to.” You said, voice barely above a whisper. “What am I supposed to do?”
Then the tears started and Bakugou pulled you into his chest. It was taboo then for two unmarried people to hold each other like this, but he couldn’t let you cry. He couldn’t just let you sob while he gripped your hand pathetically in his. Bakugou had to hold you.
“I’m in love with you.” The words spilled out faster than he could register. Bakugou remembers how natural they felt on his tongue, spilling out into the shell of your ear.
Bakugou could see them travel down your spine as you lifted your head to look at him. His heart was breaking in his chest. He doesn’t think that it ever fully pieced itself back together from that moment. You took a part of him with you, not just emotionally, but physically. Because that night, Bakugou gave himself to you, and you to him. Another first in a long lifetime.
Bakugou remembers taking you inside of his grand estate, guiding your figure through dark hallways until he laid you out on the floor and kissed you as he’d always wanted to. Away from prying eyes and the harsh light of twilight.
Bakugou laid you out on the mat, perfect and beautiful beneath him as he worked clumsy fingers at the ties on your clothes. So many layers to discard, so many awkward moments spent fumbling with ties not meant to be removed by anyone else. It was vulgar, the way he kissed down your body, the way he left mean marks across your skin.
Some part of him was glad that you’d be each other’s firsts. That your future husband would never take this from you. It filled his mind as he licked into your mouth, as his hand found the heat between your legs and satiated it on thick fingers. He worked you open clumsily. Only 20 and fumbling in the dark for something he’d only previously dreamed of.
You bloomed like a flower for him, pushing your chest out as little gasps escaped your soft lips. You were gentler then he’d imagined, forgiving as he prodded for a spot that made you feel good, forgiving as he smeared his mouth down your stomach and dipped his tongue into your soaking cunt, but unforgiving when he finally pushed himself inside of you. It was overwhelming, how you felt, the way you winced under the stretch and the weight of his body over you.
Bakugou pushed through your tears, through the small squeaks of pain and pleasure, soothing you with his voice and a heavy hand to your forehead. It should have been romantic, but it wasn’t. It was painful because it was the first and last time. It was painful because this time next week, you’d be on your wedding bed and he’d be stuck here without you.
But still, he fucked you deeply. He took from you what you’d give him and gave everything in return. Bakugou promised you that he loved you, that he always would, despite not knowing the long future ahead of him in this body. He filled you with himself, gave you all of his firsts, and ruined you the way you wanted him to ruin you.
Bakugou was uncertain. He asked before everything, paused mid-step to bring you back to earth, to make sure that you remembered every moment.
“Watch.” He grunted out, pulling his cock from you and pushing it back in. “Does it feel good?”
“Yeah. It feels- really good, Katsuki.” You whimpered, hand finding the back of his head and pulling you to him in a kiss. “I love you.”
He mumbled it back into your lips, fucked his hips into you with each gentle word. Bakugou was softer with you then, more so than expected, like he didn’t want to break you. You were already so fragile at that moment. Bakugou wanted to build. He wanted to put down a foundation of him so that when you married, you never forgot.
Yes, Bakugou thinks that that moment should have seemed more romantic, that he should have just run away with you. Instead, all he can remember is how clumsy he was. How nervous his hands were as they danced across your body. He swore to himself that if he ever got the chance to be with you again, he’d do it right. But he didn’t, not in that lifetime. You were married a week later in a formal ceremony. There was a portrait of your wedding in your new family home.
He didn’t see much of you after that, nor you much of him. It was natural in this era for you to disappear into the home after marriage. Bakugou pushed the thoughts of you and your husband away and worked tirelessly to build his own future until he fell ill. The unnatural sickness took a warpath through his body, filled his cells, and broke them down, only to rebuild them and do it again.
He was sure you visited him while he was sick. Bakugou spent months in bed, teetering on the edge of death. He thinks now that maybe it would have been better. If his life had been normal and he’d passed on then, giving you and himself a chance to be free. But life is cruel, as is immortality, and he desired to see you again.
It came to him in a dream the night he recovered. Bakugou was blessed with visions of the future, of himself as young as he was then in an ever-changing flurry of progress. When he awoke the next morning, he’d miraculously recovered and some part of him knew that he’d never get so close to death again.
He married soon after, as everyone did. Bakugou went overseas to marry a woman from the East India Company. He took with him his fortune and his belongings, leaving the estate you both so often visited as children vacant. She was a lovely woman, proper, but she wasn’t you.
He sired children, none of which survived to adulthood, and when his wife began to notice the way he never seemed to age a day, he left. Bakugou promised her a comfortable life, left her with a sum of money, and fled to somewhere he could live in peace. Even then, he was never one for big crowds or bustling cities.
Bakugou wrote you letters through it all. He loved you from afar, but more importantly, he lied. He lied about his wife, his family, complained about growing old and graying because he couldn’t stand to lose you should you find him crazy. But he was honest about his feelings. Bakugou was honest about the way he never forgot your night together and he was vulgar when he said he’d imagined it was you whenever he was with his wife.
Guilt consumed him. Bakugou spent years wondering why the clock never turned, why he’d lied and abandoned what he loved. It wasn’t until years later that he finally came home to you. After so long spent writing letters, he was shocked to find the condition you were in. In his mind, you hadn’t aged a day, but there you were laid out on a mat, not unlike the one you’d spent the night on, wrinkled and weak.
Still, you were blindingly beautiful. A breath of fresh air as he kneeled beside you.
“Katuski…” You spoke, reaching out to touch the soft skin of his face. “You… you haven’t aged a day.”
It wasn’t accusatory. He remembers that well. You were always so forgiving like that.
“I must really be old, huh?” He remembers the way your voice broke, how weak you sounded as a fever ravaged its way through you. “To me, you look as good as you did the day you left.”
Bakugou didn’t have the heart to tell you the truth, but he wishes he had. Instead, he took your hand in his gently and nodded.
“I could say the same to you.” His voice caught in his throat. How were you still so beautiful? How is it that your smile still gave him butterflies and your eyes still looked right through to what he really felt? “You’re glowing.”
You laughed and Bakugou felt years of tension fall from his shoulders. Then, as quickly as that joy took over your face, it soured. You started coughing and you didn’t stop, even as your servants whisked him out of the door with worried expressions. Look at you, you’ve got servants now. His mind was a flurry of emotions. What was happening?
He remembers the way he felt sitting on the steps just outside, listening to the way you coughed and wheezed for hours. Bakugou also remembers the moment you fell oddly silent. The way the sounds of cicadas outside became louder than your ragged breathing until he couldn’t hear it at all.
Bakugou didn’t need the servants to tell him what had happened. He stood, glancing inside of the doorway at your feet under the futon, before bowing deeply and turning around.
There are gifts bestowed upon people through the years. You hear feats of great strength, of the superhuman ability to see the future, to read minds. Bakugou happened to be gifted immortality. But when he recalls that moment, the way his step swayed as he walked home, he is certain that immortality is not a gift. Immortality is a curse. Agelessness is a curse. Living forever is a fate worse than death as there is no greater wound than watching those you love fade away.
Bakugou realized then that he was doomed to live with this weight, the weight of losing soulmates, for the rest of his immortal life. And worst of all, he still fears that should he ever die, he’ll never see you again. If reincarnation is real, what place is there for a man who will have lived a hundred lifetimes?
Bakugou thought that would be the last time he ever saw you. That his final memory of you would be the way you looked lying on the mat where you’d meet your maker, old and gray but still beautiful as ever. It ached deep in his chest and still does when he remembers that this life of yours is now a bygone.
When he stops to think, it hurts. You will never remember those moments the way he does. Even through reincarnation, even if he gets to see you again, these memories live and die with him. He cannot leave this world without knowing someone here protects them, protects you across all of your lives. That’s his job. He’s your keeper.
Those next 19 years were the worst of his life. Bakugou spent it in drink. He spent it hardening himself and growing emotionally distant, moving cities and countries as time turned mercilessly onward. Bakugou grew jealous of graveyards, of old people he’d pass in the street. He’d scowl at children who bounced and laughed as the two of you once did and soon found his emotions hardened to stone.
No one talks about the guilt that comes with immortality. The overwhelming, soul-crushing weight of living forever, of watching the things you knew fade out of memory. Soon, everyone in your hometown had all but forgotten you both. In your wake, his childhood home crumbles.
“Would you care to buy some fruit, sir?” The voice called out to him from one of the stalls.
It was in a small town away from where you both grew up, but he recognized your voice. Sure, he’d had moments where he swore he heard you speak, but nothing like this. Bakugou almost thought himself crazy when he turned to look and found you smiling up at him from where you fidgeted behind the stall. You.
Bakugou remembers the way his heart leaped to his throat, the over-eager yes that broke from his lips before he could think as he fumbled for his wallet. Whoever this was, they were a dead ringer for you. They had your laugh, your forgiving way of speaking, that soft and gentle tone of voice that made him want to give you everything.
Would it be crazy of him to believe that reincarnation was real? That because someone who looked like you once sold you an apple that tasted so saccharine and sweet it made his eyes water, it must be? What was one apple became two, then four, then an assortment of fruits and excuses to visit your stall every day.
Your second lifetime with him was spent as strangers. He was merely a regular customer. Bakugou knew nothing about who you were in this life, about who you loved, but he watched you age from afar. He found ways around the immortality jokes and savored each time your hand would brush against his as he offered you more than was needed to pay.
You were so familiar. He felt it in his chest. Bakugou can still feel the relief that flooded through him every time he’d come back and see you there. Something ancient and primal awakened in his bones that never weakened, in his blood that never slowed.
Bakugou thought that whatever existence this was, it could be made bearable if he got to see you even in passing. Even as a customer. No matter how deeply that lack of recognition ached, no matter how broken and ground down he felt when your stall stopped opening and was replaced with a newer, shinier, younger merchant. He doesn’t know where you went. Bakugou never found out.
There is never enough time with you. Bakugou is certain of that. In all of your lifetimes, not once has Bakugou ever felt he’s had long enough. He’s greedy when it comes to you. He hungers constantly to be near you, to remind you of who he is and what he means.
Bakugou has never been someone things are enough for. He’s brash and calculating. His hands are greedy and needlessly take what they can. For him, you’d think that immortality was the greatest prize he could receive. But instead, Bakugou hated the turn of the day, the turn of the year, and eventually, the turn of the era.
He was certain that in the next life, he’d know you. Bakugou promised himself that should he ever find you again, he’d know you as he did before. He’d take care of you and be honest with you, even if he was convincing himself of something that might eventually break his mind. Reincarnation had to be real. You couldn’t disappear. He wouldn’t let you.
Maybe he’d been alive too long. Maybe a near century and a half had driven him mad. Was this the price of immortality? Not just emotional anguish, but madness as well? Bakugou still thinks that should he be driven mad, he’d like it to be by you. Bakugou would go crazy in a hundred lifetimes if it meant another minute spent with you.
There are lessons to be learned in immortality. That love changes. It’s never stagnant, even if his age is. It changes depending on circumstances, shifts and molds to fit the situation, to fit you. Platonic love can be romantic and after many years, that love can become familial.
Bakugou never defined what his love for you is after your first lifetime. It came with the uncertainty of not knowing who you would be next. He never thought it exclusively romantic or sexual, never thought it mature or immature. All he knew —all he knows— is that you hold a place in his heart that he won’t give up. He’ll be a lover to you if you crave it, a friend should you want it, and a brother should you need it. Bakugou would be whoever you need him to in order to stay by your side.
It’s this kind of love that made your third life so cruel. Bakugou had forgotten that even if he finds you early, life promises nothing to anyone but him. It’s greedier than he is and harsher on the cells in your body.
Bakugou offered you his hand on the dirt road. You were only a child of about 8, young and impressionable and all alone in the world. This is where he learned that his love for you was as boundless as his time and as changing as yours.
He recognized your eyes. The way they reminded him of his early childhood spent flinching through mud and dirt. He saw himself in your scraped knees and bloodied fingers. Bakugou patched you up then and when he asked where your family was, you shrugged solemnly and said that you didn’t know.
The beginning of the 20th century was cruel and hardly as romantic as future novelists would describe it. The world tinkered on the brink of economic depression and it was all he could do to take you in, clothe you, and be the big brother you needed. Bakugou loved you like family in this lifetime and every time he made you laugh or picked you up when you cried, he was reminded of a childhood long gone. Of a lifetime ago that you seemed to have forgotten entirely.
Still, children are closer to their past lives than adults and there were occasions where you knew things you shouldn’t, where you looked at him as if you remembered. Bakugou recalls a time when you pointed to a scar on his knee, one he’d gotten with you in your first life after falling out of a tree.
He remembers the day clearly, but even more so, he was shocked that you did too. You took your little finger and poked him on the scar, babbling about how upset with him his mother had gotten when he “ruined” his perfect appearance. Bakugou was often taken back by how you seemed older than your years at times, how he could catch glimpses of who you used to be in the child in front of him.
Bakugou spent this life of yours ensuring that you got an education, that you lived comfortably, and had a safe place to come home to. And you loved him like a brother, though you knew you weren’t related. You’d make jokes about how you were going to marry him, as young children do about their friends and sibling-like relationships. Bakugou always laughed, ruffling your hair and insisting that he was too old for you, but maybe in your next life, when you’re reincarnated as a princess.
He looks back on those days with you fondly, on the domesticity of your life, the way it felt to parent someone he held so dear. In this life, Bakugou taught you everything you knew. He passed the skills you’d taught him when he was young back to you. You learned to cook, clean, sew, read, and live from him, by his example.
Children are perceptive. Before this, Bakugou had never spent much time around them, but now he knows that they see things others don’t. You’d come to him one morning, sliding into the kitchen table only a few years after he’d found you, and peered up at him through a child’s eyes. And you saw right through him. You said that you knew he didn’t get older, that you’d been his friend in other lives as well, before recalling the way he’d kneeled at your deathbed with startling clarity.
Finally, he could be honest with you. About how he kept you, about how he ensured that you remain unforgotten. Bakugou knelt in front of your small frame seated on a chair too big for you and explained that he was like a guardian, to which you chimed happily that he was your fairy godmother and when you came back as a princess, you’d get a fairytale ending.
It was funny, the way you had such high hopes. The way you laughed while eating meals invented during the beginning of the depression as if money weren’t growing tight. The knowledge you lacked about the world around you was made up for by the knowledge you had of previous lives, of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
Yes, love is not just romantic. It’s familial and familiar, as nurturing as it is persistent. That’s what this life of yours was. Familial. Deep bonds formed in your childhood and a wild tale that seemed like something out of a bedtime story about the young princess and her keeper. Of a prince and his kid sister.
Bakugou recalls how cruel the universe is. He remembers it every time he passes an infirmary ward, every time flu season comes around again. How cruel the universe was to give you a life where you knew his secrets, only to take you away before your life had truly begun.
He remembers the way you looked in the hospital bed. Medicine had gotten far, it’s true, but the Spanish Influenza was a cruel mistress and snatched you away before Bakugou had even a moment to protest. A cold, he thought, that crept its way into your lungs. Only later did he realize that what took you would eventually be known as the common flu.
“Katsuki…” You’d said. It shocked him to his core. You didn’t sound like you. Instead, you sounded like you knew. About what? he’d never find out, but the word and the tone reminded him all too much of kneeling by your bedside.
“Remember your bear, okay? You, uh, you always have nightmares without it.” He tucked the small brown plush beneath your weak arms and forced a smile. It was your favorite, gifted to you the day he’d taken you in.
“You’ll find me again, right?” His eyes snapped up to yours and met the wide, sick ones of a child, glossed over with fever and wise beyond their years. “I’m going to see you again when I’m a princess, right?”
Bakugou nodded, unable to choke out another word as your breathing labored. As your coughs turned to taciturn wheezes. He knew what you meant, what you were talking about. Just like some part of you knew that this wasn’t the last time, he did too. His heart cracked in his chest and then shattered when you left the world. Your cruelest life. Life’s cruelest joke against him. At this point, perhaps he’s just living on your borrowed time.
You must have been reborn the moment you died. The universe must have been eager to return you to the world it stole you from so quickly because 19 years later, at the end of the Second World War, Bakugou found you.
He’d spent the previous years scraping by. After he lost you again, the depression took its toll, and all-out war took the world by storm. Bakugou looked for you everywhere, in everything he saw. He thought he recognized you in crowds, when he walked for rations, and when he passed kind-looking strangers in the street. He lived most of those days in memories. Memories of his childhood, or how you looked old and gray, in the way you laughed. Bakugou spent years lost in all of it.
Like most men of age, Bakugou was drafted into the war, under a different name, of course— a false identity. But he was drafted nonetheless, written down as a 20-year-old with fighting capabilities. He spent a few months training with his squad before spending the night before being shipped out on the town.
Ridiculous, he thought to himself then. He’d lived longer than any of them and nights like these were never any fun without you. But he went. He went because while he might be immortal, he is not invincible. This war could take his life as any other. Among the soldiers, he was finally like the rest. Vulnerable.
This is where he met you again. At first, he hadn’t noticed. It was dark in the bar, a mix of deep greens and dark browns and the chatter of soldiers eager for one last good night before a long war.
“Could I have a rum and coke?” He said, leaning forward on the bar.
“That’s mature.” Bells. They rang in his ears. It was you again. Bakugou knew without looking, he knew just from the sound of your voice and the teasing tone you used.
“I’m mature.” He responded, turning to face you. You looked so beautiful. 19 years old and glowing. Bakugou was sure that you were the beauty of the bar that night, dressed up so lovely.
“That so?” You leaned your chin on your hand, smiling at him. “Must be hard being here then. If you’re so mature.”
Bakugou laughed and the bells ringing in his ears grew louder.
You both spent the rest of the evening talking before you pulled him out to the dance floor. It was nothing more than a fling, but he fell in love with you again. Bakugou swooned every time you laughed, every sway of your hips to the bouncy upbeat music that he still wasn’t used to. He led you in a slow dance, pulled you close to him, and relished in the feeling. It had been so long since he held you like this. Not since your first life, the night before your wedding. It’s ironic, that you seemed to grow close before a distance too wide separates you both.
“You know, you kinda remind me of someone I used to know.” He said into the shell of your ear.
“That right, soldier?” You smiled at him, pulling your head away from his shoulder to look at him. “You tell that to all the girls?”
“Nope. Just the pretty ones.” He sneered, leaning down to kiss you.
Bakugou took you home that night. He walked you to your apartment before you invited him up, following your silhouette through a dimly-lit stairwell. Bakugou would let himself have this. In case you don’t live forever. In case he doesn’t.
He made good on his promise that night. That one day he’d fuck you right, that he’d love you right. This is the life he got to do it, this version of you would only know sure hands living out moments he’d replayed in his head over and over again.
Bakugou’s fingers knew where you liked it. He knew what made you feel good and he knew what made you remember. So he used that and fucked you open on him while a party raged on in the streets below. You could both hear the music, chatter from the slightly open window as the room grew humid and heavy. As you filled it with the scent and sounds of sex, of empty promises muttered over pillows before he shipped out. Vulgar again, but romantic. Bakugou made sure of it.
He told you of how dearly he’d missed you, even if you didn’t understand.
Bakugou left early the next morning, leaving you the addresses of where he’d be stationed and made you promise to write. You did. You wrote to him every week and he you. Even in battle, Bakugou scribbled letters to you, promising that when he came home, he’d take you out on a real date. He’d romance you the right way.
In this life, Bakugou got the life he’d always wanted. He remembers coming home to you, the way he scooped you into his arms and asked you to marry him, the way you shakily agreed and kissed him flat on the mouth. All of his memories of you flooded his mind, his childhood, the letters he’d written, the promises he’d made to you. Bakugou tried to forget the war and sweeter still was the way you felt in his arms from that day forward.
He remembers evenings spent slow dancing in the living room and he remembers telling you about his curse. Bakugou remembers the way his heart cracked again before you placed your hand on his cheek and smiled. I always thought it was weird how you said you missed me that first night. You were happy because you got more time with him. You were content because he loved you well and promised you a future even after you were gone.
Bakugou told you how he made good on his promises. He recounted your lives to you, how this was the fourth time he’d met you, how love changes and grows through the years, through circumstance. Your heart grew fonder, swelling in your chest as he laughed about bygone times. Bakugou was laughing to himself. You didn’t remember, but you listened, you believed, and you forgave. You forgave him for letting you marry someone else, forgave him for not staying by your side that first life, and for not being able to save you in your third. After all, if you hadn’t left this world then, your new future —this future— wouldn’t have been possible. Funny are the fickle twists of fate.
When you grew old, sitting in the overly patterned chair in your shared living room. You made a still-young Bakugou promise to find you in the next life and tell you everything from the moment he meets you. You’d believe him. You were sure of it.
“You like being married to someone so old when you still look like that?” You asked, weak and frail, at the end of this cycle, awaiting rebirth. It brought back memories he’d rather forget.
“Hm. Depends. Do you like being married to me, _____?” He grinned, resting his chin on his hands at the side of your bed.
“I do.” You tilted your head. “Even if you’re a pain in my ass.” You poked him with a fragile finger.
Bakugou shook his head, taking your hand in both of his and grumbling. “There’s your answer then.”
Those were the happiest days of his life. Bakugou will tell you that with certainty. He’ll tell you that loving you this way, simple and real and honest, was the best he’d lived since his childhood, the most meaningful. He holds onto those memories even now, holds them close and keeps them safe.
And your fourth life came to an end with him securely by your side. It’s his favorite life of yours and even now, he visits that time in dreams. But still, he’s envious of age, of couples that grow old together, not apart. Bakugou wishes, more than anything, that he could have grown old with you. That time took its toll on him so that you never had to wither alone again.
Bakugou wishes that his hips had creaked and cracked when he danced with you in the kitchen in those last few years. He wishes that he was able to grow old and frail beside you. He no longer wanted to be a spectator because when you went into the ground, he wanted to go with you.
But he made a promise to the you of 80 years ago. He’ll keep it because he always does. And he has. He’s kept it even after all these years, the modern era roaring around you both, phone screens and electronics and medicine that feels like magic to him.
“That’s all of it.” He says, raising his head.
You gape at him, mouth slightly open, wrinkled at the edges. You’re gray again, a familiar sight to him now. He looks at you fondly, at the way recognition and then acceptance flashes across your face. But he’s finally with you again, even if it’s late, he’s found you in your new life.
Bakugou can hear the familiar beeping of the hospital machine, the quiet breathing of the nurse standing by the door.
“Wow.” You say, letting your head fall onto the stiff pillow behind you.
“I know it’s a lot, but I made a promise.”
Something hums in your chest. It’s ancient and familiar, like his eyes, like the way his hand feels clasping yours so gently. There’s something almost magic about his presence, something so old and sturdy that you can’t help but believe him. You can’t help but feel the truth as it spills from uncertain lips.
“I believe you.” You say, smiling at him. “I know you.”
And Bakugou laughs, relief flooding his bones, blood moving once again. How like you it is. God, he loves you. He loves you so deeply, so earnestly, that he thinks he might collapse. It’s heavy, this feeling. It’s a heavy relief as he continues to talk with you.
You tell him about your life now, about your late husband, your children. Bakugou gets to meet them and they’re beautiful like you. They have your eyes, kind and knowing. He learns about this life of yours from you. Not as a spectator, but as a friend.
Bakugou brings you gifts and visits you daily. He sends flowers to your room and gets teased by the nurses about falling in love with someone of your age. But you’re content hearing stories of reincarnation. He reawakens your previously stale life, fills in a piece you felt you’d been missing.
“I’m sorry.” He says one day, letting his head fall.
You can do nothing but gape at him, at this strangely familiar feeling that fills your chest when you look at him. “For what?”
“I’m a little late this time around.” Bakugou looks at you with tired eyes. In the background, the news plays on the TV, a mumble drowned out by the beeping of the machine beside your bed. His eyes follow the IV in your arm, trace the wrinkles in your skin, fall over every part of you. He knows you like this. Knows every part of you and memorizes it to tell it to you again. Your keeper.
“No such thing.” You smile. You’d always been like that, accepting to a fault. You believe his stories so easily. “Maybe this is why I always felt like I was waitin’ on something.”
Bakugou feels his heart thud in his chest, he feels it hammer once then twice against his ribcage. Is that true? Does every version of you feel like you’re waiting? Was he never alone this whole time? Did some part of you always know? He falls deeper into the chair beside you, placing the back of your hand to his forehead.
“I’m so sorry. That I can’t- couldn’t… grow old with you.” He chokes out the words, strangled in his throat, relief and dread flooding him all at once as he admits this defeat. Bakugou knows that when he loses this moment, he’ll play the game again.
You tilt your head. You may not know him well in this life, but he is so familiar. Even these past two months feel like a lifetime. You’ve aged millennia since you met him. “It’s not so bad. You found me at least, even like this. You should have seen me in my prime.” You whistle. “I was a riot.”
“I know,” Bakugou says, laughing through the ache, worn at the edges from the years. He feels older than you right now, he is.
You offer him a gentle smile. “I can’t remember my promise to you then, but I got the time I had left knowing someone loved me like this. What could be better?”
Bakugou nods, choking back memories and the swelling of his chest. He loved you. He loves you. He always will. You’ve always responded the way he knows you will, even now as he continues telling stories, you’re so forgiving. You wash away the sins of eternal life with clean hands, new hands, every time. His chest aches with the weight of it all.
What did he do to deserve you? He’s waited too long to tell you, found you too late in this life. He keeps you, but Bakugou follows every one of your steps.
“Hey,” you place your hand on his cheek, “find me early in the next one, okay?”
Bakugou nods, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks as you smile down at him from where you lay. It’s not like him to cry so easily, but you make him weak. He’ll keep that memory forever. He knows it. The softness of your eyes, the way you quell every worry with a single sentence.
When you pass like the seasons, you leave him with a gift. One small token to hold onto, something to lock away with all the letters you’d written him in the past, with the marriage certificate of a bygone life. A watch, old-fashioned like him, with a brown leather strap.
You leave this life with a single note, tucked away in the box of the fine brown watch: Must get hard to keep track of the years after being alive that long. Use this while you wait. I’ll try not to be too long. Until next time.
Reincarnation is real. Bakugou will tell you that with all the certainty he has. It’s because of this fact of the universe that he knows every part of you, that he will learn every part of you as he is now. You’ve made him everything he is, everything he is going to be. Bakugou is pieces of you, memories. He’s made of them and made of you, of everything that makes this world bright because you’re in it.
He’s not fickle like the seasons, his skin doesn’t wrinkle or wilt, but he changes. His love grows. The cruel hand of time cannot touch him and it never will, but he finds you again and again. He finds you in life as he never will in death. Fated meetings over centuries, turned in his hands like clay to a potter. He shapes your existence, protects it with all the years you don’t have, and transforms it into something only he can see.
Hello! I saw the howdy one and it was adorable, love how u write him.
Oh and, if u don't mind could u write a angst howdy x reader? I don't mind if u add some fluff at the end.
Thanks! Take ur time and take care of urself too! :)
I've been sitting on this one for a while, hope you enjoy the angst! <3
"Too little, too late."
Howdy was having a normal day at the shop; sorting the shelves, swatting Wally's hands away from the apple stand, and collecting his mail from outside.
He went to take the mail inside, but froze as he saw the limping over from the top of a hill nearby. "OH MY GOD!!!" He rushed over, dropping the mail and checking you out.
"H-Hey, Howdy...." You chuckled dryly. "Ow..."
"What happened?! You look like you've been attacked by a bear!!" Howdy worried.
"Eh...not too far off..." You chuckled.
"Let's get you inside, I have medical supplies to help!!" Howdy said, picking you up.
You chuckled dryly, coughing up some blood. "I...don't know if that'll help, Howdy..."
Howdy grabbed your hand. "I'm not gonna let you die. I can't live with that on my conscience."
Howdy hurried in, putting you down on the counter and rushing to the medical section of his store, grabbing all he thought he needed.
"Howdy? What's going on?" Wally asked, confused.
"NOT NOW, DARLING, I NEED TO HELP SOMEONE IN NEED." Howdy said, rushing back to the front counter.
By the time he got back, your blood was dripping down the counter. He needed to act quick. He shakily started bandaging you up, ignoring how quickly you were fading.
"What's going on in here?" Frank asked, stepping into the store.
"Y/N got attacked by something and Howdy's bandaging them up to try and save them." Wally explained.
"Oh dear..." Frank frowned.
Howdy tried to hours to patch you up, but in the end, it didn't work out perfectly. Frank walked over and checked for a pulse.
Contains reader death but being brought back to life and angst
Gale bringing you back to life bet their soul and Patreon lost, had to give them powers but is waiting for them to die, so they may torment them
Well, you weren’t always the most cautious of people. In fact, you’ve been here a few times before, hands on knees before the demon that made a pact with you all those years ago. Now you stand before them, their smile grew even more twisted than the day they made the pact with you.
“Finally met your match?” Their voice was laced with venom. Forked tongue begging to slither out and taste the sour of your defeat.
You didn’t fully fear them, not after your triumph over them that had them fuming for the last ten years. The bet to force them to grant you a pact. Though that wasn’t the only reason.
“Not exactly, just a bad call, is all.” you match their confidence, they coil in disgust at your response. Fangs barring, more than just a threat.
“And now you are dead. Your soul, finally mine.” they made sure to show all their teeth. “Dead and mine." Claws reached up, yet just before they reached your flesh a burst of light came from you, just as you were expecting.
The friend's eyes narrowed. "Remember, our contract states that it's not yours until there is no one left to mourn me. My friend is calling."
They hiss, and you remind yourself to put some salt and holy water around your love tonight.
You feel your damaged and battered meat suit all around you and a gasp of fresh air into your lungs. Fuck, this is what you get for tormenting your Patreon, but Hells if it isn’t the best seeing their mean mug. So worth the years of torment sure to come when they finally get it.
You finally managed to open your eyes and saw Gale staring down at you with a face that definitely thrilled and not ready to throttle you. “Do you have any idea how worried I was to find you here? Collapsed in a bloody heap in the middle of some destitute and filthy alleyway.”
“They jumped me. It’s not my fault I'm famous.” it hurt to crack a smile, but you did it anyway. You were a charmer after all.
But it seems your charms didn’t work, not when you just died in an alleyway for your lover to find and yank you away from the arms of not only death but eternal damnation at the hands of a greater fiend. Gale looks ready to cry, and that made your heart feel like lead, bile and the threat of tears came rising up like a guilty volcano. Only made worse by the fact he was silent. Man was silent for the first time since you’ve known him. No witty comebacks, no careful nagging or probing. Just silent as he looks down at your crumpled form.
You should have been more careful… if you were, you wouldn’t have to see this heart-wrenching face from him. For the Gods sake you manged to fight off a Mind Flayer invasion, now you're here in the dirt and cobblestone cause of some thugs you pissed off earlier in the week. Pathetic.
“I’m sorry…” It hurts, but you reach up to him and gently wrap your arm around him. He returned it with a desperate embrace, arms shaking as he tried top pull you as close as humanly possible.
He was so warm, so sweet, and so gentle even now. You’d make it up to him by cleaning your blood off his robes. “If Tara didn’t find you…” oh good. You scan the dank alley, and there she is, that dark-colored Tressym staring. She’s pissed. She’s going to rip you a new one once you get back to the tower. Shit, you're sure she won’t even wait till gale’s out of the room, not that he’d stop her.
“I won’t lose you.” his voice was gruff with raw emotion. “I won’t allow it.”
Now, Gale was a passionate man, but something about his tone made your heart leap into your chest and pound like a virgin’s first kiss. You feel your face flush and a bit of embarrassment flooded through you. It feels more like a proposal than grief, though that could just be because half your blood was on the ground.
“Come on now. Let’s get you stitched and cleaned up.” he supported your weak, so you could stand. Your legs trembled and held onto him. Gale seemed to calm now that you were able to be on your feet. “You're confined to the tower for the next week.”
You bark a pain filled laugh. “What are you, my father?”
"No, but I am someone who loves you far too deeply to allow death to do us part." Shit… He really is a charmer as well when he was serious like this. Maybe even more than you sometimes.
Summary: Bad Times, Bad Times, are ahead, I tells ya.
Serious note SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THIS STORY, but also Trigger Warning: Character death, like bigtime.
It had been a month since you left, and the Gerudo kingdom was all the worse for it. During your absence, even the people that hated you came to realize what a calming presence you were on their king. He was prone to making harsh decisions; things that used to be met with patience and a want to mediate were now being ignored or even punished for taking up his time. He was quick to anger to the point that Nixa had once had to physically restrain him–as much as she could until he came back to his senses–from lashing out with his sword against some shopkeep. There were no parties, no festivals, no feasts. The few local holidays that fell within the month of your absence went completely ignored. It seemed, in their haste to be rid of you, the faction against you had failed to realize that they never really knew their king without you affecting his mental state.
Little did they know that they had it easy, but they would soon learn.
Ganon was slumped in his throne like he’d been every day since your departure, unhappy and wanting nothing more than to have you by his side. There had been no leads on the culprit that drove you to take the cursed trip to Hylia, and there was still another month to go until you finally returned. Needless to say, he was not a happy king. He rolled his eyes openly when he saw a messenger that seemed to be shaking with fear approach followed by a covered, horse-drawn cart.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, voice booming through the large room.
The frightened woman cleared her throat nervously as she raised a paper so she could read from it. “Your-Your Highness. A letter has been sent by the Hylian king with this cart.”
That garnered his attention enough that he sat forward in his seat, forearms resting atop his lets. “Well, what is it? More ridicule from a man that keeps chasing off his wives?”
“No, s-sir. I-it says, ‘I am s-sick of entert-taining your thieving ways. Is it not enough that the l-legacy of your pe-people is one no b-better than a band of ba-bandits? Now you steal one-one of our o-own and b-brainwash her to be your wife.”
He paid no heed to her terrified yelp as he roared, “What does he know of her?! We did not steal her!”
“Sir, perhaps if you let her finish,” Nixa spoke patiently, eyes not leaving her temperamental king in case she needed to protect the messenger from his wrath.
His next order was in a growl so low that all present could feel it reverberate through their chests, “Continue.”
Nixa could only toss the girl a small smile of reassurance.
“‘A-as king of Hylia,’” she continued, voice shaking even more than before, “‘I have ordered her to be,” her eyes flicked between Nixa and Ganondorf for a breath, showing how truly terrified of finishing the letter, “‘t-t-terminated. Allow her b-body to be a less-lesson against your true n-nature.’”
Ganondorf’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Speak carefully, little messenger, or your next words will be your last. That cannot be what that letter says; now, you speak the truth of what the king had to say or I’ll feed you to the Molduking.”
Nixa, however, was left shaking both in her hands and her head in a slow denial of the words that were just spoken into being. While the messenger cowered before their king, she slowly approached the cart, torn between not wanting and needing to see what secrets it held. Her hands were vibrating so hard that she had trouble grasping the black cloth overtop the wagon. When she pulled back the draping, she couldn’t help the scream of horror that left her mouth.
Instantly, Ganondorf was on his feet and storming to her side. The messenger barely had time to jump out of the way before he could shove her to the side. Wisely, she made a hasty exit before the king could reach the cart. He paid no mind to the fleeing girl because he only had eyes for the contents of the cart.
Inside, he saw something that would forever haunt him. Something that would never allow him to sleep peacefully again, something that would drive him to the deepest, darkest parts of his soul. Something that brought forth the beast that had been prowling at the edge of his vision, clawing at the back of his skull in an attempt to escape ever since he could remember, held back only by the ray of light that you brought whenever you were near.
Inside the cart, was you.
You were beaten, bloodied, and broken.
One hand was missing, and the dancing attire you were wearing was practically shredded from what he could only assume had been the desperate fight for your life. I knew she never should have left my side.
Beside him, Ganondorf was only vaguely aware of the fact that Nixa, his ever-strong personal guard, was openly weeping, crying out and grasping at your face as if that would make you wake up. “Leave, Nixa,” he snarled in a low voice, only barely managing to keep control of the purple energy that had started writhing around his hands.
She turned teary golden eyes to him. “I won’t leave her,” she insisted. “My baby. My baby! MY BABY! WHAT HAS HE DONE?!” she screamed her anguish as if it would bring her answers.
Ganon’s voice was controlled the next time he spoke, frighteningly so considering the sheer, unfiltered rage that was twisting his otherwise handsome face, “Leave this place, Nixa, or you will be buried here. Find those that did this; find the assassins that took her from me. Find them and kill them. I will handle the king and the rest of Hylia.”
It was Nixa’s turn to let her fury distort her beautiful face, turning her into what could only be described as a monster that thirsted for vengeance and would settle for nothing less. In an instant she had vanished in search of the blood of those who killed her daughter.
It was then that Ganondorf allowed the real magnitude of his rage to take control of his mind, body, and soul. A roar ripped its way from his throat with such ferocity that it could be heard to every border of the Great Gerudo Desert. Dark, purple energy erupted from him in a wave that leveled every structure in the city, killing every inhabitant in one fell tsunami of evil power. There was no chance of escape for anyone that was caught in the warpath as the blight of Ganon was reborn into the world. Skies darkened all the way to Central Hyrule, alerting the king to the plight that would soon be headed his way.
And at the epicenter of all this chaos was him, cradling your corpse as he wept.
“I will kill him,” he swore. “I will tear his throat out with my teeth, and eat his precious daughter’s heart in front of him while his wife watches.” His voice cracked as he murmured those words against your temple, fingers tangled in your hair like he always did when he held you.
It had been a normal scouting mission when a simple Gerudo guard stumbled across a crying little child. Anyone with eyes could see that you were destined to be close to the Gerudo King, Ganondorf. Many said that you were going to be his reason to break the cycle, the reason to save him from the beast that haunted his soul.
No one realized that signing your death warrant was the same as signing their own.
Jim knew it had been too easy for the ship to self-repair, especially in the warp core.
“Sir,” Scotty choked out through his communicator, “you’d better get back down here.”
Jim tore off to engineering, not taking a second to breathe or stop. Scotty was outside the door of the warp core, trying not to look too hard at the portal. Kirk had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from crying out at the sight of you, looking smaller and younger than ever, curled up by the glass and breathing shallow.
“Y/N...oh my god...you didn’t...”
“Someone had to,” you said. Jim knelt down to your eye level to speak to you.
“You worked so hard...hell, you graduated younger than Chekov...you can’t just-”
“I’m seventeen, Jim,” you smiled weakly. “Just a kid. No one’s gonna miss me.”
“I’ll miss you,” Jim insisted, “and Bones, and Uhura, and Scotty, and Sulu, and Chekov...hell, I bet even Spock’ll cry a little,” he sniffed. Your thin laugh made him want to cry.
“That’s good...he could use a good feeling every now and again...” you smiled. Jim watched with tears in his eyes as your vision gassed over, and death pulled you under too soon. He was more than upset, more than distraught; he was angry.
