Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Is this okay?”

Yang’s voice is smooth and comforting, matched only by the taste of honey on a hot summer’s day. Blake can practically feel it drip down her spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its path. This is love, she decides, turning her attention to Yang’s slightly-parted lips, not the dark, twisted distortion he showed me.

“Yes.” Blake answers, breathless, letting the blonde woman pull her closer. She can feel the heat of Yang’s body as they sway to the music, a soft, melodic tune featuring cellos, violins, and a twinkle of harp. Nobody had ever asked that before, she realizes, staring at the soft smile painted across her partner’s face. There was never a choice with him, every touch, every kiss, every fear-induced apology was nothing more than an obligation, her only shield against the violence and anger that consumed their relationship.

She’s different.

Blake forces herself to meet Yang’s gaze, ignoring the cautionary voice in her head, screaming to run, to hide, to never fall down this hole again. Instead, she embraces the warmth blossoming in her chest, and welcomes the sparks igniting beneath her partner’s touch.

She won’t hurt me.

The faunus can feel Yang’s pulse in her fingertips, beating faster as they lock eyes. I'm in love with you, Blake wants to whisper, biting her tongue only in the hopes that this single, perfect moment could be preserved. On impulse, she reaches up, sweeping her golden bangs aside, marveling at the brilliant violet of the blonde’s irises. They’re gentle, honest, expressive, shining with a familiar gleam that the faunus can’t quite place.

I won’t hurt her.

Their faces are close, now, with Blake’s fingers lingering against the blonde’s cheek. The air between them thickens as Yang’s eyes droop down to her lips, the hand resting on her waist gently urging them closer. And suddenly, when their noses touch, Blake knows exactly what that gleam meant.

Adam kissed Blake roughly, intensely, dripping of passionate yet loveless, until each one grew to be a reminder of the monster he’d become.

So, Blake kisses Yang slowly, softly, letting her fingers curl in the blonde women’s hair, savouring every fleeting moment of pure comfort she’d never felt before. For the first time in years, nothing matters but the taste of Yang’s lips and the satisfaction of knowing that she chose this. She chose to come back. She chose Yang.

And Yang chose her.